The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

("Anoothar crackdoon!" fumes Ma. "Hoo's an haaanest wooman s'poosta make a livin'?" "Yaar paid oop," dismisses Uncle Frank, sipping his two-cents-plain. "Ivvry toime they coom oot with anoothar invistigation," complains Ma, "th' bill goos oop! R'mimbarr whin Mistarrr Amen coom aaahn th' scene? Doyle DOOBLED whot Oi was payin'." "He's joost passin' aaahn th' increased caaahst'a doin' business," sighs Uncle Frank. "His payments wint oop too. It's th' waaarld we live in." "Oi doon't know HOW," declares Ma, "they expict oos t' keep a roof oovar our heads!" "Ye oon this place free'n clear," scoffs Uncle Frank, "an' ye knoo it." "That doon't mean," scowls Ma, "th' roof doon't leak...")

("Huh," huhs Sally. "I see ya Magistrate Solomon's inna papeh again?" "He is?" gapes Alice. "Magine'at. I hoid'ee was gonna retieh. Y'know, he's a pretty squaeh guy. Why, I was tellin' im..." "When'd you run inta HIM?" Sally wonders. "You one'a t'ese people hangin' 'roun coehtrooms f' laughs?" "Um," ums Alice. "I -- run int'wi'm downtown. A while ago. Not lately. Jus' -- um -- t' pass t' time'a day. Jus' hapn't to see'im -- um -- aroun' is awffice, but -- uh -- it ain' like I wen' downeh special, I mean, lotta reasons t' go downeh, an' -- um -- we -- um -- tawked 'about -- uh -- t' weat'eh an' -- um -- stuff." "Ah," eyerolls Sally. "Yeh," nods Alice. "He's a pretty squaeh guy. I mean, I don' really know 'im t'at well, um, but he jus' -- uh -- seems...." "Yeh," nods Sally, her eyes narrowed....)

(Still too soon.)

(Basinski needs a new fiddle, and those things run into money.)

(Of course you realize...)

Ew.

(Atr least this time she wore boots.)

(Yeah, the ones who couldn't make the cut in Argentina.)

(Gee, who COULD have pushed that gate open...?)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Doryce?" Well, I mean, who wants to be plain old Doris?

"Sueeeeeh t'ey will." -- Sally.

Master of Disguise.

Oh, Min...

You can't con a con man.

Aw, can't we hold out enough to pay for lunch?

Be the hero they deserve.

"Well, you're strangely unsettling, but in my world everybody is."

It must be nice to have a closet that's bigger on the inside.

Too many condiments conceals poor quality beef. Right, Joe?

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Already a meme.

 

[Fading Fast]

Yeah, the ones who couldn't make the cut in Argentina.

The only thing that would have made this storyline fun would have been Invisible Scarlet fighting refugee N*zis. Don't call in the FBI just when it's about to get good.

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

"Doryce?" Well, I mean, who wants to be plain old Doris?

Very quietly, "Doryce" is a good-looking woman. She could be played by Mary Astor.

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

Ma should grumble less about Doyle's protection right now; if she's not careful, she could wind up in the hoosegow. She and Frank don't have that many levers to pull and while we love her, she is the definition of small time.

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

Master of Disguise.

This could go either way.

 

[Harp]

Sipping coffee, my eye caught the postwar economic article on the $4B loan to Britain.
Its export driven economy needed capital blood transfusion lickety-split, recalling an excellent
book on Bretton Woods I read seven or eight years ago:
The Battle of Bretton Woods, John Maynard Keynes, Harry Dexter White, and The Making of A New World Order.
An insightful look at global economic restructure after the Second World War. The circa newsprint relay the real time desperate need for capital and market resurgence. I've Keynes' Theory here someplace, a college staple that has pursued me ever since. I should reread both.

Today's paper brought back memory of a Hollywood Canteen film clip of lovely exquisite Deanna Durbin.
Along with Ann Blyth, Linda Darnell, and Ingrid Bergman, Ms Durbin floored me in adolescence. ....

The proxy marriage in Mexico settled post divorce child custody with wedlock validity, though I concur learned judge's proctorship conclude. Such shenanigans are best addressed proper zip code.

I can't even look at Terry. Drags like Hector behind Achille's chariot. Were I Terry, I'd be AWOL in Hong Kong
chasing skirt and an inside straight at some stud poker table in Macau, not sweating over a summary court
or some interior secret message I had to deliver. War's over and fun and frolic take priority.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("It's COLD!" complains Leonora, standing in the middle of 63rd Street as her cousin gestures her into position. "It's spring trainin'!" retorts Willie, taking his position at a convenient manhole cover in front of number 1762. "Y'gotta get warm't up!" He settles into a batting stance and takes a few practice swings with his sawed-off broom handle. "Now t'row me t' bawll!" "WHAT?" bellows back Leonora, tilting her head to favor her good ear." "T'ROW T' BAWLL!" demands Willie, settling into an Eddie Stanky crouch. Leonora scowls, squeezes the dirty pink rubber ball, and lets it fly. Willie swings and generates only a Bill Nicholson swish. "GO GET IT!" yells Willie, as Lottie Schreibstein runs down the escaping sphere. "T'at one was TOO HIGH!" he yells at his scowling cousin. T'ROW IT DOWNA MIDDLE!" Leonora receives the ball back on a bounce, and glares at the batter with a glare worthy of Freddie Fitzsimmons himself. She fires again, and once again Willie swings and misses. "T'AT ONE WAS TOO LOW!" he complains. Leonora smirks menacingly as she receives the ball back. She winds up and with a kick reminiscent of Whitlow Wyatt in his prime, the ball zooms in and hooks wickedly as Willie flails desperately for his third and final strike. "NO FAIEH!" he screams, flinging the broomstick to the pavement "YA FLUKED IT! I SAID NO FLUKIN'!" "I din' heeh ya," smirks Leonora, flouncing off the field in triumph...)

("I'm tellin' ya, Joe," repeats Solly Pincus thru a mouthful of beefwich, "it's t' way t'go. I met one inna Awrmy. He'd joik on ya back, some'pn'd go snap an' y'd be good as new." "I don' get it," dismisses Joe, leaning stiffly against the back counter. "Wha'ja cawlit again?" "A chirapracteh," replies Solly. "T'at's a guy knows how t' do t'ings t'ya spine. Look, wha'ja docteh say? Ya slip't a disc, right? Inya backbone. Ya spine. Well, you go t'one'a t'ese chirapracteh guys, an'ee'l give ya a snap, an' it's awl oveh." Joe ponders this statement. "He eveh woik on you?" he queries. "T'is guy you met, he eveh woik awn you." "Me?" replies Solly. "Nah, I neveh had nut'n wrawng wit my back. But I seen'im do it." He looks across at Joe, who is leaning back with his arms folded, chewing on his lower lip. "Whassamatteh??" Solly erupts. "Ya don' trus' me?" "Wellllll," exhales Joe. "On'a one han', ya my pal." "Yeh," nods Solly. "I AM ya pal." "Annnnn'," continues Joe. "Yawr my pal push't me inna brine vat f' laughs." Solly inclines his head to acknowledge the truth of this statement. "Wawr," he declares, "changes a man." "Hmm," hmms Joe as he weighs his options...)

(It's ALWAYS Brooklyn against The World.)

(Honor Among Thieves.)

(Obviously another script rejected by Daffy Duck.)

(Mr. Bushmiller's fantasies go to a very dark place.)

(I wear an old coat. Hey Sam, where's MY contract?)

(Well at least she put her clothes back on.)

(Somebody gave me an old fur once and my cat made a bed out of it. Wonder if Hattie has a cat.)

(I hope she gets ptomaine from the egg foo yung.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Is it just me or is there an unusual amount of "ew" going on these days?

Those Long Island potato fields are just sitting there waiting...

Hey kids, comics....

Hope you're packed.

Wait'll you see what Granpaw does with all the corn he raises...

This is what happens when you don't pay attention in Sunday School.

What I wouldn't give for it to be warm enough to rain.

Mr. Mosley is the only cartoonist who can pack a year's worth of plot into one episode. And poor Min has had thirty years to say "if only I hadn't wasted my time talking to you."

Better check the registration slip, boys.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Sure, "more fuel."

 

[Fading Fast]

Willie flails desperately for his third and final strike. "NO FAIEH!" he screams, flinging the broomstick to the pavement "YA FLUKED IT! I SAID NO FLUKIN'!" "I din' heeh ya," smirks Leonora, flouncing off the field in triumph...

How old are these two?

So is there any more doctor followup with Lenora's ear, or this as good as it gets?

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

Is it just me or is there an unusual amount of "ew" going on these days?

And I thought Sally was going to comment on the Riot Act for sure.

Hopefully, there's a jail cell for Bette Bowman somewhere.

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

Wait'll you see what Granpaw does with all the corn he raises...

I'd sign a contract for Annie and Sandy's sake if making moonshine is the worst thing he does.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Willie is going on eight -- his birthday is March 8th, in fact. Leonora will be five in September, and evidently has a powerful right arm to go with her gifted mind and her Sally-like mouth.

She has another ear appointment coming up, so we'll see how that goes....

 

[Harp]

Saw the Reds in Iran story. A nice aerial campaign but ground troops will be required....

Bettie Bowman is a bigamist larcenist practioner world's oldest profession.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("T'is ain' bad," nods Sally, chewing a beefwich. "Joe tawt ya good." "Eh," ehs Bink. "I wisht'eed get back fr'm t'at chiropodis' a'whateveh'rit is he's seein'. I don' like people t'see me back'eeh innis getup." "It din' look bad," scowls Sally, recognizing one of her hand-me-downs, "when *I* woeh'rit." "Lissen,' sighs Bink, wiping her hands on her apron. "Lemme ask ya sump'n. You hadda kid. Whassit like?" "Awl I remembeh," sighs Sally, sipping her Coke, "is goin' in t' labeh. At Ebbets Feel." "What happn't?" queries Bink. "T'ey won," shrugs Sally. "Beat t' Giants. T'oiteen t' one. Camilli hit two." "Leas'at's sump'n," nods Bink. "'Cept I din' see none'v'it," exhales Sally. "T'ey took me downeh inna fois' aid room, an'nen'a ambulance took me t'wa hospital. Down'eeh t' Caledonian. T'at's wheh you'll prob'ly go." "Huh," huhs Bink. "What's a Caledonian, anyways?" "Same t'ing as a Scotchman, I guess," replies Sally. "I mean, when ya check out t'eh right t'eh wit' t' bill." "Did it hoit?" questions Bink. "Not t' bill, I mean, t' -- um -- you know..." "I don' remembeh," admits Sally. "T'ey gimme t'is stuff, mawrphine a'sump'n. Joe said when t'ey took me inna hawspital, I was yellin' an' screamin' so t'ey gimme a shotta t'is stuff, what'ev'r'it was. An'na nex' t'ing I r'membeh I was in bed an'na noice was showin' me Leonoreh." "An' ya don' r'membeh none'v'it," marvels Bink. "My head didn'," elaborates Sally. "But t' resta me did....")

("Well, Mr. Petrauskas," nods the chiropractor, "what seems to be the trouble today." Joe unbuttons his shirt to reveal his Gent's Surgical Supporter. "Ah," nods the chiropractor. "We see a lot of this sort of thing in men of your age." "Huh??" scowls Joe. "Yawr oldehr'n me!" "No matter," continues the chiropractor. "Please, remove your shirt." Joe complies, and the chiropractor notes the florid scar just below his neck, and the matching mark just under his collarbone. "Combat?" he comments, as Joe visibly tenses. "Neveh min'at," mutters Joe. "Can we get awn wit' it?" "Ah," nods the chiropractor. "If you would remove your -- ah -- brace, please." With a sigh, Joe laboriously undoes the hooks. "Ahhh," observes the chriopractor, noting the label in the garment. "She does fine work," he comments. "NEVEH MIN'AT!" growls Joe....)

("It's a hot cake iron, sir.")

(244 pounds, in the Army? That's a lot of Spam.)

(There's always something you overlook in the business plan.)

(This'll be good for a whole chapter.)

(A good cop always carries five pounds of plaster of paris.)

(Oh good, now we can sit around the office again.)

(Let's you and him fight.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Well that was easy.

Mr. Hill does his part for the postwar effort...

"Course, there've been a few nice folks. The Tecums, the Slaggs, Dr. Zee, and o'course good ol' Nick...")

Let's see it from another angle.

"That's Latin, rattlebrain. I've been to college!"

"Whattat'ey gottagainst redheads???" -- Alice.

Grand Theft Auto.

KIDS TODAY.

It's a pity nurses aren't armed.

Shake any family tree and you'll get some nuts.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Jimmy's been reading the Worker.

And speaking of which...

And so it begins...

 

[Fading Fast]

A good cop always carries five pounds of plaster of paris.

It was smart of Jane to get the shorter fur in her kind of work.

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

Oh good, now we can sit around the office again.

But nobody's paid them, or did I miss that? At some point they have to earn money to pay the bills.

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

Well that was easy.

You noted honor among thieves yesterday and today that jewelry gang ratted each other out as fast as each one could. Still, nice to see the profession making a post-war comeback.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And it's even making a post-post-war comeback. But with hardly the panache...

https://brooklyneagle.com/370251/midwood-jewelry-store-robbed-of-almost-100k/

 

[Fading Fast]

And it's even making a post-post-war comeback. But with hardly the panache...

https://brooklyneagle.com/370251/midwood-jewelry-store-robbed-of-almost-100k/

As you note, with nowhere near the style, but definitely someone trying to keep the profession alive.

By the time she fences those stones, she'll be lucky to get $25k.

 

[Harp]

A light traverse across fields of ink over prison breakouts, geisha house of joy,
a Brooklyn still where the corn mash yielded plenty of hot sauce, and a gem stealing crew that reminds the film, King of The Gypsies.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Let's see'm settl'a phone strike," growls Sally, "wit'out no phones. T'ey betteh set'l wit' US befoeh t' resta'v'm, awr else." "Awr else what?" shrugs Alice. "Awr else t'ey c'n stawrt tyin' tin cans t'get'eh wit' string," Sally retorts. "R'memebeh t'at movie t'ey showed ya when ya stawrted woikin' at t' plant? 'Weste'n Ele'tric is t' man'yehfactchehrin' an' supply unit of t' Bell Syts'm.' An' wit'out t'at, whatcha got? Whez'awlese people t'at wanna get phones gonna GET phones?" "Me'n Siddy been tawkin'," ventures Alice. "We'eh t'inkin'eh awtteh be a phone inna buildin', y'know? I mean if t'ez n' emoigency who's got time t' run oveh t' Schreibstein's?" "Hmph," hmphs Sally. "Waste'a money. Who needs a phone?" "Ah," ahs Alice, losing track of the argument...)

("Nah," nahs Joe. "I went t'see t'is guy, like ya said, an' it din' do nut'n." "Y'gotta give it time," admonishes Solly. "Y'gotta give time f' t' swellin' to go down." "I ain' swole," denies Joe, "I'm soeh. T'at guy latched onna me back, an'ee put 'is t'umbs like t'is, an'ee squeezed, an' I hoid sump'n snap." "See t'eh," declares Solly. "T'at was ya spine snappin' back inta shape." "No," nos Joe, "it was him drawppin' 'is glasses onn flooeh." "You'll get sump'n out'v'it," promises Solly. "I hope so," sighs Joe. "HE gawt twelve dollehs out'v it.")

(What's even worse is that this guy's an opthalmologist.)

("That sunset stage when Rickey loves to sell." Hey Dix, whattaya hear from Camilli?)

(I bet she has Dan Dunn t ied up in her basement.)

(DISCORDANT MUSIC STING)

(Did he stand on his head? Did he sing "I Am The Very Model Of A Modern Major General" while filling out the slip? Was he n ude? Oh wait, that was the bank in Valley Stream...)

(Did Stamm's editor kill this story? Because I'm getting a real "Harold Gray and the OPA" feeling from this weird abrupt finish.)

(Catenfreude.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Flier, thief, forger, and scion of a cereal clan? Even if he ISN'T Sinatra, Sven hasn't got a chance.

"Because of the lack of locker space."

It's a seller's market.

Someday you'll learn to mind your own business.

Now that's a pivot.

At the very least.

Shoulda signed up for college when you had the chance.

It's one of those deals where the whole town is the cult.

Don't fall asleep there, Tony, we need to keep the plot moving.

The house always wins.