The Era -- Day By Day

[Madhouse27]

Just sent in $2.98. Can’t wait to get my Commander!

 

[LizzieMaine]

("T'is betteh be good," growls Sally, marching into the 62nd Precinct police station, accompanied by Flannery the Cop. "Don'even get my coat awff an' ya drag me down'eeh." "Ya wawncha pocke'book back a' nawt?" snaps Flannery, stepping behind a desk and tossing a worn brown satchel across the top. "T'at yoehs?" he snarls. "Yeh," nods Sally, examining the contents. "I had t'ree bucks in'eeh, an' some change." "We foun' it in a gawrbage can," smirks Flannery. "Inna alley in behind'a Schreibstein's." "Hmph," hmphs Sally. "Ya catch who done it?" "We gawt a suspec'," chuckles Flannery. "T'at's why we ast'cha t'come down'eeh. Wawnt'y'ch'shu'd take a look at 'im." "Yeh," nods Sally. "Bout time t'cawps 'roun'eeh did moeh'rn pick t'eh noses." "In 'eeh," directs Flannery, leading her down a corridor. He opens the door to an interrogation room, to reveal a skinny youth in a torn sweater, his face bruised, slumped at a table. "Sit up!" barks Flannery. The youth looks up, and blinks with recognition. "I din' do it," he coughs, his words labored. "Sweah t'gawd, Missis P. I din' do it." "Gawdawmighty," gasps Sally, staring at the youth. "Sammy!")

("T'is don' make no sense a'tawl," exclaims Joe. "Sammy Schreibstein? A juvenile d'linkent? Not awnya life." "Not on nobody's life," agrees Sally. "Lottie maybe," suggests Leonora. "G'back'ta bed," commands Sally. "I have known the boy since a baby," nods Mr. Ginsburg. "A good boy, a little mischief maybe, but a good boy." "Who can we call, Mendel?" pleads Mrs. Ginsburg. "The magistrate, maybe? Mr. Solomon? Go and call, right now." "The store is closed," sighs Mr. GInsburg. "Schreibstein and his wife, what they must feel." "T'whole t'ing's rotten," growls Alice. "Anyt'ing t'at rat Flannehry's mixed up in is rotten." "Yeh," nods Krause, his face dark with anger. "I dunno t'is kid like t'restayez," admits Solly. "But if allayez t'ink he ain'NAT kinda kid, t'at's good'anough f'me. Whatta we gonna do about it?" "I dunno yet," declares Sally. "But we'eh gonna DO it...")

("Even better, on the 23rd, and then it'd be over!!")

(Wait, doesn't everybody empty mop water down the sink? Have I been doing it wrong all my life?)

(What, no more scandals? Boring!)

(A $50,000 bonus and $500 commission every week? You've done this before.)


(Oh well, he was probably a collaborator anyway.)

("And it'll be HER! Get it??")

(Everybody's getting amnesia again. Must be like the flu, happens every winter.)

(One of these days, Kitty is just going to snap. I wonder if they take cats at Bellevue?)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

And so ends the Golden Age of the American Popular Song...

And if you miss your stop on the Sea Beach get off at 18th Avenue, and Sally will be happy to tell you where to go. But if you take the West End train by mistake and get off at 18th Avenue, well, y' gonna end up way t'hell downeh awn 85t' Street, an'ya awn ya own...

The proverbial cool cucumber has nothing on our Tess...

Sigh. Thought we were rid of him at last...

Every good director shoots the same scene from multiple angles just in case...

He'll make a fine furniture salesman.

Nobody draws a murky, gloomy night like Harold Gray.

"She used to be senior foreman here, you know."

"Well, something better happen soon, this corset is killing me."

Coin collectors can be so single minded.

 

[Fading Fast]

This story has three very 1940s things: a jewel robbery, a candy store, and a trip to the movies. Finally, had I plotted to steal, my father would not have provided my bail money: "he can rot in jail and learn what it's like to be a crook."

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

A $50,000 bonus and $500 commission every week? You've done this before.

Did the judge rule on the building-land issue yet?

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

...an'ya awn ya own.

Nice.

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

Sigh. Thought we were rid of him at last...

Kudos to Caniff, though, you can tell it's him just from his ugly silhouetted profile. The artistry in all four panels is quite good today.

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

"Well, something better happen soon, this corset is killing me."

For $2.98 you could try the Commander.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Yeh," nods Joe. "Take it. Awluvus inna buildin' is witcha. We awl chipped in, maybe'll help go his bail." "I dunno what t'say, Joe," sighs Morris Schreibstein, a worn, sad-eyed man with a greying moustache. "Sal's gonna go 'roun'a resta t' buildin's lawng 'eeh," adds Joe. "Maybe raise s'moeh. Ev'rybody awna block's gonna want in awnis. We couldn' get alawng wit'out Sammy runnin' messages f'rus, doin'em awdd jawbs. Nobody t'inks 'e done it." "He didn' do it," declares Mr. Schreibstein. "It's awl because'a what I said t't'at rat Flannehry." "Huh," huhs Joe. "Yeh," nods Mr. Schreibstein. "You know how t'is business woiks, Joe, y' take a few bets, run a few numbehs, I gawtta pinbawl inna back -- I mean, howtahell y'sposta make a livin'? We got two kids t'raise, an' Lil ain' been right since she hadda las' one. SIck awla time. Doctehs don' take trade, y'know. I gotta do what I gotta do. An' I pay my p'centages. But eveh since Flannehry come backta t'neighbehood 'eeh, he's been squeezin' me like a gawdam grapefruit." "Ahh," nods Joe. "Yeh," continues Mr. Schreibstein. "An' fin'ly I tol' 'im I ain' gawt no moeh. He's squeezed me dry. An'ee din' like t'at. An' -- well, now t'is hap'ns." "You know what Sal would say if she was'eeh," frowns Joe. "It goes double f'me. We'eh gonna get t'is sonuvvabi'ch, Morrie. We'eh gonna get 'im good...")

("Yeh," nods Sally, glaring at the occupant of 1768 63rd Street, Apartment 1-A. "T'day it's Schreibstein's kid. T'marra it might be yawr kid." "I'm in," declares the householder, her face hard. "Lemme get me poice." "How much we gawt so fawr?" Sally mutters. "Um," ums Alice, consulting a small notebook. "Eight bucks an' some change." "T'at ain' gonna do it," Sally frowns. "We gotta keep goin'." "Heeh," declares the householder, returning to hand Sally a folded bill. "Twenny bucks," gapes Sally. "Take it," insists the householder. "I was savin' up t'get outta t'is place. But my boy ain' comin' home fr'm t'wawr, an'ee wouldn' wan' rats like Flannehry get'naway wit' what t'eh get'naway wit'." "Gawblessya," murmurs Alice. "Yeh," agrees Sally, as the door closes....)

(Not in Bensonhurst, not on 63rd Street. Not tonight.)

("Is he in?" queries Mr. Parrott, tipping his head toward the door. "He's in," nods Jane Ann. "But you don't want to see him today. Trust me.")

(We all get old, you know.)

(HICK BURG! HICK BURG! HICK BURG!)

(The Gang's All Here!)

("Yeah, whatever. Isn't anybody going to notice my blouse?" -- Marge.)

(Some dogs just chase cars.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Zoot Suiter?" Somebody isn't keeping up with the trends.

FRANKIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

("Oh that. She just saw in the paper that Sinatra's married.")

So how many does this make for Itchy? I've lost track.

I miss Pat and Connie and Stoop and Captain Blaze and Burma and Normandie and (sigh) Raven and...well, you get the idea.

Dream big.

I never figured Pop for the night-life type, but we're all different people when we're young.

That's nothing, wait'll you look in a mirror.

Ho-Ho-Ho!

And even worse, he's the who has to get up before everyone else to light the kerosene stove.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also --

And once again for the record, Clark Griffith makes a substantial piece of his annual income renting his ballpark to the Homestead Grays, while at the same time signing Cuban players who may not be of entirely Castillian ancestry to play for the Senators. Hmm.

 

[Fading Fast]

Joe discretely tears a small item out of the paper and puts it in his wallet.

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

"You know what Sal would say if she was'eeh," frowns Joe. "It goes double f'me. We'eh gonna get t'is sonuvvabi'ch, Morrie. We'eh gonna get 'im good..."

"Twenny bucks," gapes Sally. "Take it," insists the householder. "I was savin' up t'get outta t'is place. But my boy ain' comin' home fr'm t'wawr, an'ee wouldn' wan' rats like Flannehry get'naway wit' what t'eh get'naway wit'."

Hopefully, there's a deep place in hell for cops like this.

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

"Zoot Suiter?" Somebody isn't keeping up with the trends.

That really did read dated. But, Jesus, he killed her with a lead pipe. That's brutal. And then he confessed without being asked - is there a conscience there or what?

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

I miss Pat and Connie and Stoop and Captain Blaze and Burma and Normandie and (sigh) Raven and...well, you get the idea.

Yes and Hu Shee (if she's still with us). It's time for Caniff to start bringing some of the old crew back.

BTW, if ever a guy will smell a secret mission is afoot and have to talk about it, it's Charlie.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Thaaat's roit," affirms Uncle Frank into the telephone. "Oi said a hoondred ****ds'a oice. An' Oi need it this aaaftarnoon. That's roit. D'livarr it to F. Leary an' Soons Ploombin' an' Heatin'. Droive aroond back, an' joost lood it in th' backa th' trook oot thar. An' doon' ask me noo questions, Oi'll mail ye a check. What's thaaat? Nooo, ye can't aaaarder a case a' rye! Oi'm oota that business. Ahll roit, Oi'll look. G'bye-t-ye!" He hangs up and turns to Joe. "Saaary, me boy," he sighs. "It's me busy day." "Yeh," shrugs Joe. "Now, like I was sayin' -- I mean, you know cawps an' how cawps woik innis town..." "Oi've had a moite of experience," concedes Uncle Frank, taking a sip of his two-cents-plain. "Ye'see, with Doyle, whoy, oi'll scratch his back an' he'll scratch moine, ye get me? Boot this man Flaherty..." "Flannehry," corrects Joe. "A roit baaastard boi any oothar name," sighs Uncle Frank. "Yeh," agrees Joe. "Sal's ready t' -- well, I do'wanneh t' do 'tat, but I can't blame 'eh, what'ee done t't'at pooeh kid jus' t' settl' a scoeh." "Hmmm," hmms Uncle Frank. "Tharr moit joost be a way to fix Mistarr Flannehry withoot any -- ah -- undue soilin' a' th' haaands. Oi think t'marra Oi'm goin' t'have a laaaang loonch with me ol' friend Tommy Doyle." "Remin' 'im," frowns Joe, "he owes me a buck f'sanwiches." Uncle Frank reaches into his pocket and produces a half-dollar and two quarters and slides them across the counter. "Oi am, ye will obsaaarve," he chuckles, "scratchin' 'is back....")

("I mean," shrugs Sally, "it ain' no secret roun'a neighbehood what goes on inneh. I mean, I seen guys makin' bets, an' Leonoreh come home one day an' says'at Lottie was showin'eh how t' play pinbawl. But y'know, t'eh good people. You know when Leonoreh was bawrn, Lil come right oveh'n gimme a buncha Lottie's old diapehs, stuff like t'at. She hawrdly eveh goes out, y'know, bein's she's sick so much, but she come oveh t'do t'at f'me. T"eh good people, even if t'ey do have crooked stuff goin' awn inneh jernt." 'Mmm," notes Ma, looking up from her ledger. "It looks like t'eh gonna let Sammy out awn bail," adds Sally. "We raised a lotta money roun'a block, an' Misteh Ginsboig is tawkin' t' Magistrate Solomon, try'na pull some strings. I know f'ra fack it wasn' him that done it, I din' getta good look at 'is face, but 'e was a big guy. Sammy, he'd tip oveh'r in a good wind." Sally sighs and takes a sip of her Coke. "Y'know, Ma," she continues. "I awrways been kinda prouda you, runnin' 'is place onna squaeh. It can'na been easy." The door jingles open to admit Bink Scanlan, who tosses the canvas bag on the counter before bouncing up the back stairs. "Noo," agrees Ma, sliding the bag out of sight. "It has naaaaht been easy...")

("Whassat book t'ey was tawkin' bout onna radio? I wanna read 'at. Oh yeh, 'Foreveh Ambeh.' "-- Leonora.)

(The World Of Tomorrow Today.)

(Pee Wee! All right, where's Reiser?)

(C'mon, she could be the next Marie Dressler!)

(Well, at least they're not as drippy as Flame and Chinny McChinstein.)

(Tsk. To think that it happened on Midwood Street.)

("I've got to stop listening to those radio programs.")

(A cat burglar! WATCH OUT KITTY!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Ew.

"An election of professions."

We're all actors, and everything we do is a performance.


"Oh, and I'm keeping the coat!"

"Sergeant Wallet's Fireworks."

He'll remember when they send him back to General Population.

$166.67 a day once a month. Aim high, son.

Wesleyan? Hey, did you know a heavyset guy with big bushy eyebrows on the baseball team that never stopped talking? Name of Rickey?

I hate hotels.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also --

Didn't you wear that in the act?

 

[Fading Fast]

T"eh good people, even if t'ey do have crooked stuff goin' awn inneh jernt." 'Mmm," notes Ma, looking up from her ledger. ".... Sally sighs and takes a sip of her Coke. "Y'know, Ma," she continues. "I awrways been kinda prouda you, runnin' 'is place onna squaeh. It can'na been easy."

Dear Lord.

Separately, Sammy is the type of kid who will be horribly embarrassed by his arrest. Beside the experience itself and the fear of the trial, he'll just be horrified that people might think he actually committed the crime. What Flannery has done is cruel.

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

"Whassat book t'ey was tawkin' bout onna radio? I wanna read 'at. Oh yeh, 'Foreveh Ambeh.' "-- Leonora.

When I was growing up in the 1970s, almost every book on that list at the bottom was still part of a library's "children's" section and many were assigned in school or on a recommended summer-reading list.

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

A cat burglar! WATCH OUT KITTY!

"What's wrong with our yard?"

Sometimes you just have to love the sweet innocence of America's Number One Hero Dog.

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

An election of professions.

Any idea what Leo's on-stage role was to entertain the troops: straight man to Kaye's schtick? Or did he have a routine of his own?

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

"Oh, and I'm keeping the coat! And the p*nties!"

"You said we'd never talk about that again!"

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

$166.67 a day once a month. Aim high, son.

~$3000/month today + room, board, clothing, and some other stuff. That's not bad at all.

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

Wesleyan? Hey, did you know a heavyset guy with big bushy eyebrows on the baseball team that never stopped talking? Name of Rickey?

"Soup and fish" is a phrase/expression that has long since all but disappeared.

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

Did the ghost get Annie?

 

[LizzieMaine]

I'd give a lot to see film of Kaye & Durocher in action. There was a song-and-dance element to their act that must've been sublime. I have heard Leo sing on the Fred Allen Show and he actually isn't half bad, in a deadpan sort of way.

Annie's page is missing from the Brooklyn edition of today's News -- but I found it in the Pink Edition...

Twiffy must've been a real card in the House of Lords.

 

[EngProf]

Leo may have had significant comedy aspirations. He was in episodes of "The Beverly Hillbillies", "Mr. Ed", and "The Munsters" during the 60's.
***
More advice for Skeezix (as if he was a real person).
I had forgotten he also had jet-engine experience.
You won't find anything related to jet-engine-related employment in a local paper's want-ads.
Double the previous advice to take his GI Bill educational benefits and major in Mechanical Engineering.
By the time he finishes his degree it will be the real start of the Jet Age. Opportunities will be everywhere.
(If he's in a hurry, he should contact General Electric, Pratt&Whitney, or Allison Division of GM for non-degree jobs. They are in the jet-engine business now.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Oh yeh," nods Sergeant Doyle, dunking his half-donut in Uncle Frank's coffee. "T'ezza big push awn. O'Dwyeh's onna hawt seat, an' LaGwardieh don' wanna leave lookin' bad, so t'eh pushin' hawrd. Y'gotta lawta t' boys goin' t' town in Bed-Stuy, y'know, t'ink t'eh put'na feehra gawd inta t' coleheds." At this, Uncle Frank replies with a sour scowl and pulls his cup out of range. "Aw, don' gimme t'at," scoffs Doyle, dabbing his mouth with his coat sleeve. "You know I don' go f't'at Bilbo stuff. White awr colehed, I don' caeh -- lawng's ya paid up." "Ah," frowns Uncle Frank, deciding the time is right to receive a back scratching of his own. "Speakin'a t' boys," he nods, as nonchalantly as possible. "What'evaaar becoom'a that saaaargeant ye useta have at Empoire Boolevard, back in th' oold days." "McLuhan?" replies Doyle, pulling the cup back into reach. "Hey, t'is is rich. Y'know weh'ree is now? Intoinal Affaiehs." "Ye doon't say," deadpans Uncle Frank. "Seems I did heeh soomthin' aboot that." "Yeh,'" snickers Doyle. "Reg'leh big shawt now oveh t' Cenneh Street. I t'ink 'ee made inspecteh las' yeeh." "Imagine thaaaat," chuckles Uncle Frank. "A Pigtown boy makin' good." "I run int'wim a while back," adds Doyle. "Same ol' McLuhan, know what I mean?" "It's good," nods Uncle Frank, "yes, it's verrry good t'heer thaaat.....")

("Look," sighs the desk sergeant at the 62nd Precinct station. "I ain' unsympat'et'ic. I gotta boy'a me own." "Yeh, I c'n see ya cryin'," frowns Sally. "Wanna hankie?" "Y'otta be happy t'ey din' sen' 'im upta Raymon' Street," shrugs the sergeant. "He's gotta felony rap awnim. But y'can't bail 'im 'till 'ee gets arraigned, an' wit' awla juvenile cases goin' right now, I dunno when'nat's gonna be." "Magistrate Solomon," mentions Mr. Ginsburg, with a grave nod. "You are familiar, perhaps?" "Yeh," acknowledges the Sergeant. "But t'eh still ain' nut'n I c'n do. Now don' lookit me like'at, I'm jus' doin my jawb." "My son, overseas," intones Mr. Ginsburg, looking the policeman square in the eye. "Others he has met, just doing their jobs...")

("Lookit'at mess inneh," sighs Danny Leary, shining a flashlight into the back of the truck. "Awlat ice melt'n t'rough t' flooeh boehds." "An'nat bundle inneh," observes Jimmy Leary. "Soakin' wet." "It looks roont," agrees Danny. "We mize'well t'row it out," exhales Jimmy. "Do Pop a faveh," nods Danny...)

(And that book will make a great episode in the Dr. Kildare series.)

(Hig, in the Phillipines? I wonder if he ran into April. It would explain a lot.)

(What'd I tellya? Marie Dressler!)

(Hinkey Dinkey Parley Voo.)

(Serves you right for driving with the top down in November.)

(It's nice to hear that this office operates under a strict code of ethics. Because I was beginning to wonder.)

(And when you get done here, there's a poor soul in East Flatbush who'd give you some business.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Please, it's five and a half weeks. Let's not rush the inevitable

.

To be posted in every candy store in town...


I'd be a little more tolerant of our word-censoring robot if it used comic-strip symbols insteat of asterisks.

Tie twiddling? Meddle not in the affairs of spirits, base mortal!

Follow your dreams, kid. But have a backup.

Trolleys? Meet the future "Charlie on the MTA."

"Now don't interrupt me, I've got to get this bet down before the store closes."

A couple of whacks with a rubber hose will clear that mind.

Eighty years ahead of her time.

Choate? Funny, he doesn't look WASPish.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Coming events....

 

[Fading Fast]

At least three of these headlines just need to be tweaked a bit and they could be headlines today as the issues are still very much with us eighty years later.

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

"Lookit'at mess inneh," sighs Danny Leary, shining a flashlight into the back of the truck. "Awlat ice melt'n t'rough t' flooeh boehds." "An'nat bundle inneh," observes Jimmy Leary. "Soakin' wet." "It looks roont," agrees Danny. "We mize'well t'row it out," exhales Jimmy. "Do Pop a faveh," nods Danny...

One indirect point these idiots have is there doesn't seem to be a turkey shortage this year, so why'd Frank buy this bird in the first place? Also, wasn't one of these dopes sent to Chicago?

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

Hig, in the Phillipines? I wonder if he ran into April. It would explain a lot.

That is an interesting article/interview with real-time takes on the A-bomb dropping and Robinson. History hadn't had a chance to filter his thoughts yet.

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

What'd I tellya? Marie Dressler!

Good call, Lizzie

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

To be posted in every candy store in town...

Betting one game a week only slow the odds-grind-you-down process – his advice there had no real value.

Now that we've had decades of gov't run lotteries we know two things about them: the gov't-run payouts are meaningfully worse than the mob run ones and the "public" lotteries work, effectively, just like a very regressive tax that nobody complains about.

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

Coming events....

TV made the real difference; separating the theaters from the studios didn't really matter in the end. Oh, and how'd that Cuba investment turn out? And my God, he's an angry man.

 

[LizzieMaine]

It's rare that you see a public official whose entire course of office is clearly laid out before he's even sworn in. Gen. O'Dwyer had better step carefully.

I think poor old Frank just can't help himself. He's a firm believer in the old adage "retail is for suckers." And clearly Lowrey sent Jimmy back east, express collect. One can only put up with so much.

The prescient observer of the picture industry might suggest that television won't just eliminate the need for vast theatre circuits, it will also provide a safe home for hundreds of dispossessed B-picture directors, writers, and actors.

And maybe, once divestiture happens, they'll let Sally back into Loew's Oriental.

 

[Fading Fast]

...

I think poor old Frank just can't help himself. He's a firm believer in the old adage "retail is for suckers." ...

I knew a few older people like this growing up: they were happier "getting a deal" from someone shady even if it really cost more as, as you note, they firmly believed "retail is for suckers."

And, yes, Sally might be allowed back in, but would she stay out on "principle?"