The Era -- Day By Day

[2 Days Dubai]

I would have thought either man's A2 jacket liner back pressed a map
suited emergent need, so with watch and compass beneath sun or stars some approximation might reasonably be calculated. Didn't think they were in Japanese isles which Terry's recon confirms.

War production labor estimates are superb forecast tools to gauge demand need with cost projection analysis. Bretton Woods has already occurred with White and Keynes snarling at the bit.
Harry Dexter White proved a fellow traveler no less....

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Yeh," nods Sally, "I'll vote f'O'Dwyeh, 'long's'ee tells Flynn an'awlaresta't'em Tammanies we'h t' get awff. An'nee betteh do sump'n 'bout awlese punks an' hoods an' goons runnin'narounnis town. LaGuardieh arways said 'ee was gonna do it, but awlee done is tawrk." "Ah," ahs Alice. "You heeh Mickey's gett'n in t'marra?" continues Sally. "Um," squirms Alice. "Yeh, I hoid." "Ma an' Uncle Frank's gonna go meet'im whenna boat lans," notes Sally, "an'nen 'e's goin' t' Fawrt Hamilton." "I t'ought'ee was goin' t' Kilmeh!" blurts Alice. "F'ra week!" "What'sa diff'ence?" shrugs Sally. "Um," stumbles Alice, "t' -- uh -- climate's betteh'rin Joisey." "Sueh," snickers Sally, as Alice presses her head against the train window, her eyes clenched tightly shut...)

("Oi bet Behan's Bar an' Grill is poot'n ahhn a do farr th' boy," ventures Uncle Frank. "Oi s'poose we aaaghta lay ahhn soom koinda hooley farr Mickey." "Mm," mms Ma. "Oi s'poose Oi c'n spaaar a few bottles," Uncle Frank continues, drumming his fingers on the counter. "We gaaht soom staaack backed oop'n th' waarhoose. Whoy doon'choo see aboot invoit'n sooma Mickey's friends..." "Ye knoo any?" sighs Ma. "Ah,' ahs Uncle Frank...)

(Alone in the bedroom, Joe pulls the small leather case out of his dresser drawer and turns it over in his hands. He opens the lid and considers the raised profile of George Washington on the medal inside. He takes it out of the case and turns it over to read the inscription. "For Military Merit," and beneath that the engraved name "Joseph Petrauskas." "Military Merit," he mutters with a bitter snort, as he snaps the case closed and tosses it back into his drawer...)


(The worm is about to turn...)

(Well, since there was never a Dodger, Giant, or Yankee named Mary, Scarlet, Jane, or Burma, I'm going to throw out the name of Holy Cross alumnus Blondie Ryan, who had a few good years with the Giants in the thirties. You know, it's a pity there was never a ballplayer named "Burma.")

(Don't worry, kid. Nobody likes you.)

(Can't you just see the Page Four extravaganza?)

(Tubby used to be a Golden Gloves boxer before he went into comedy relief.)

(Yeah, but can you keep up with the roots?)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER TWO HERO DOG has a first-rate press agent.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

You don't fall mysteriously out of a 20th floor window. You just fall.

"KIDS TODAY!" -- Bink Scanlan.

Now I want to see a fun B-Movie series, "At Home With Breathless Mahoney."

Min's just upset she doesn't get lines like Millie's.

"And if that doesn't work, I'm sure we can get some cardboard and make him a nice dickey."

You're ten years old, kid. There's a whole lot of things that aren't going to be the same anymore.


Save it, April. Who knows, maybe Pat Ryan will show up.

"Pantywaist."

She'll steal the show next Friday nightr at St. Nicholas Arena. Get your tickets now!

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily Worker....

I think this is the first time any of our papers have touched on the torment of what it must be like to be Mickey Owen. I'm sure nobody in the Army will remind him of, you know...

 

[Fading Fast]

Whoy doon'choo see aboot invoit'n sooma Mickey's friends..." "Ye knoo any?" sighs Ma. "Ah,' ahs Uncle Frank...

He knows Alice.

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

Can't you just see the Page Four extravaganza?

Twenty minute later when Dad opens the door to his private office: "Son, I didn't think you meant it literally when you said you were going to do a full investigation of her."

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

Save it, April. Who knows, maybe Pat Ryan will show up.

Her act has already worn thin. I'll take a Burma or a Hu Shee over her any day. Both would already be doing stuff on this island to help.

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

"Pantywaist."

Today's strip was just cruel to our little friend.

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

I think this is the first time any of our papers have touched on the torment of what it must be like to be Mickey Owen. I'm sure nobody in the Army will remind him of, you know...

You've built a compelling argument of why that wasn't really the critical event in the loss, but (as we say today) the narrative has been set and Mickey will - as we know he did - just have to live with it the rest of his life - unfair as that may be.

 

[2 Days Dubai]

I can understand the tight hunkering down pending full enemy recon.
April is an obvious distraction for Charles but he seems to have his wits about him.
The war brides seem to have started arriving, kids in tow. Quite sweet romance amidst all the hell.
A great read is Anton Myrer's The Last Convertible which tells tale of four Harvard men prewar-WWII--postwar Cambridge. Myrer is like Wouk. Epic majestic storytelling that really draw readers in. And dancing to the big bands.

 

[Fading Fast]

I can understand the tight hunkering down pending full enemy recon.
April is an obvious distraction for Charles but he seems to have his wits about him.
The war brides seem to have started arriving, kids in tow. Quite sweet romance amidst all the hell.
A great read is Anton Myrer's The Last Convertible which tells tale of four Harvard men prewar-WWII--postwar Cambridge. Myrer is like Wouk. Epic majestic storytelling that really draw readers in. And dancing to the big bands.

It's been many years since I read it, but my distant memory agrees with you - "The Last Convertible" is good read, a very Fedora Lounge read.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Ahhhl these men," frowns Ma, scanning the throngs lining the pier. "Warrrr ahhhl these men prisonaaars loike Michael?" "Soom warr," shrugs Uncle Frank. "Soom coomin' hoom ahhn furlough, soom gettin' ready t'goo t'th' P'cific, soom..." "FRANK!"" calls a husky voice. "FRANK LEARY!" "Who?" queries Ma, noting a husky man and a short curly-haired woman advancing in their direction. "Well!" greets Uncle Frank. "Mistarrr Moozelewski! An' Miss Koplitz!" "Kaplan," scowls Miss Kaplan." "Whaaat brings ye oot here?" questions Uncle Frank. "On oueh lunch break," nods Mozelewski, gesturing toward the vast spread of Bush Terminal. "T'ought we'd come oveh an' see t'ships." "Nora, you know Mr. Mozelewski," introduces Uncle Frank. "He made that dress we rented farr ye on New Yarrr's Eve." "A bit darin'," notes Ma. "Funny y'should mention'at," injects Mozelewski. "I been meanin' t'..." "MA!" bellows a loud voice closing in fast. "MICHAEL!" shouts Ma in return. "OVARR HERE!" "Outta t'way," thrusts Mickey, pushing thru the crowd. "Comin' t'ru!" And just like that, there he is, tossing Uncle Frank his duffle bag and embracing his mother. "Yarrr lookin' well, son," declares Ma before noticing a lump on Mickey's forehead. Her eyes narrow. "Wharr'd ye get that knot?" "Fell down onna ship," lies Mickey. "T'em decks is hawrd." "Ye have a good trip?" queries Uncle Frank. "I done awright," grins Mickey, patting his hip pocket. "Whoozis?" "Emil Mozelewski," replies the dressmaking drill press operator, extending a hand. "We useta woik wit' Joe," interrupts Miss Kaplan. "You Joe's broteh'rin'lawr? Ya don' look like 'im." "Coupla pickle packehs, huh?" snickers Mickey. "We woik oveh T'EH," scowls Miss Kaplan, squaring her shoulders and jerking a thumb in the direction of the Sperry plant, its E pennant spanking in the breeze. She wrinkles her nose and turns to Mozelewski. "He's jus' like 'is sisteh," she frowns. "Reg'leh high hat." "I'll give ya a cawl, Frank," shrugs Mozelewski. "I got some ideehs." "Why you wanna waste ya time wit' t'em low-class people," admonishes Miss Kaplan as they bustle back to work. "I on'y gawt a minute," resumes Mickey. "T'ez a bus gonna haul us oveh t'Fawrt Hamilton, an'..." "SWEENEY!" bellows a sergeant with a clipboard. "Wrap it up!" "We're poot'n togetharr a parrrty," begins Ma, "an..." "Yeh, great," dismisses Mickey. "Look, I gotta go -- I'll cawl ya when I getta chance -- meantime, keep ya knees loose!" He reclaims his bag and melts back into the crowd. Ma and Uncle Frank watch him go, each with their own thoughts, before turning to make their way back to the subway...)

("I was tawkin t' Mame G," says Alice. "She wawnts we should have t' boit'day pawrty f'Joe inneh pawrleh." "Yeh," nods Sally. "I rat'eh do t'at t'en have it oveh t'Ma's. 'Specially if Mickey's gonna be aroun. He don' like Joe much, cawls 'im t' Dancin' Bohunk." "Bout Mickey's speed," sneers Alice. "I dowanna tawk about Mickey anyways." Sally begins a question about a certain delicate matter, and seeing a cloud pass over Alice's face, immediately reconsiders...)

(Joe freezes as he turns the pages of the Eagle, closes his eyes, and takes a deep, slow breath...)

("She told me her favorite movie star is Eugene Palette!)

(That would be Jimmy DeShong, who had a few good years for the Yankees in the thirties, and gawdshonestrut', his middle name was indeed Brooklyn. Go figure.)

(Don't take the goose, though -- those lumberjacks haven't seen poultry in months.)

(Panel Three Lyric has a pretty good face going there, but it's still not as good as THAT face. You know the one.)

("At least let me finish my lunch!")

(Hey, who doesn't read the paper in their underwear?)

(THE GREAT ESCAPE)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

She still hasn't hocked the mink?

I hope Wilda, at least, finds some peace.

Don't we live in an age of marvels.

Good thing Tracy has an expense account.

"And you KNOW you don't get much of a rib roast from a goat!"

You'd never guess the hash is made from soybeans.

The Dragon Lady has her methods, April has hers.

What's on your mind, Mr. Gray?

Honestly, it's a wonder we haven't seen Shadow in a mug shot on Page Four.

Television is going to love her.

 

[Fading Fast]

One, good picture and, two, "...as close as ten past 2..." good phrase.

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

She still hasn't hocked the mink?

From what we've read, I wouldn't have minded if the judge had up the number she had to pay her lawyer - it sounded like he wanted to.

Also, all these years I've always read that "Betty Grable was the most popular pin-up girl of WWII." I've never really gotten that and can, easily, better understand Rita in that role.

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

I hope Wilda, at least, finds some peace.

Amen. The thing not said in this story all along because it couldn't be said and even really thought in 1945 is the really horrible thing.

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

The Dragon Lady has her methods, April has hers.

April is becoming thoroughly dislikable. The Dragon Lady makes no bones about who she is.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Meanwhile, an item of interest for Dodger fans, as aren't we all -- one of Larry MacPhail's experimental yellow baseballs, used during several games in 1938-39. This one was posted recently by the Baseball Hall of Fame, as donated by a woman from Virginia whose mother said it was a foul ball she caught at Ebbets Field and had signed -- and bears the signatures of several Dodgers of 1939 including Ray Hayworth, Luke "Hot Potato" Hamlin, Tuck Stainback, and -- PETEY!!

"

"I was at t'at game," fumes Sally. "Y'don' get too many foul balls in Section T'oity-seven. Of couese, Petey bein' a gen'leman, would sign f'anybody, even if she AIN'T fr'm Brooklyn!"

 

[2 Days Dubai]

The new six month training mandate before combat was surprising.
At Ft Polk, Louisiana four months packed qualified Saigon; unless only seventeen, then the Army waited until eighteen before send to Vietnam.

Linda Darnell was just the loveliest girl with all due Rita, whom never
really sparked my interest for whatever reason. But Linda really set bonfires of desire ablaze inside me. I recall watching Zorro on tv with my uncle when he remarked he had met her during World War II. At a bond drive hockey game in Chicago, he opened a door for her and she thanked him. He was a Navy corpsman at Great Lakes on pass and he met the goddess herself.

The thoroughbreds tied track pix remind Belmont post draw for Saratoga tomorrow. Saratoga's rail, though far from dead isn't favorably inclined like four to seven. After the draw, a deep dive into this race which has a thirty percent rain dance chance. A slick track is akin a payday latrine **** shoot. A fast track for a decent shot at a superfecta wager is all I need.

April is quite the tease. Caniff drove me against the wall with Burma.
Were I Charles, I'd join her. Rub a dub dub.

 

[LizzieMaine]

April was always a manipulative flirt, but this is beyond that. God only knows what the Japanese did to her, and maybe this is her way of trying to regain control.

 

[2 Days Dubai]

April was always a manipulative flirt, but this is beyond that. God only knows what the Japanese did to her, and maybe this is her way of trying to regain control.

Coming back to the strip, April's experience since last seen inside an alley-if memory rightly recalls-Hong Kong. If she were once held captive; presumably attendant psychological affect would be more pronounced. Instead, April seems a level headed sharp American girl; albeit quite a mercurial personality. And here an impossible flirt.
Not that I disapprove but April is pushing the envelope. And I am lost as to whether Terry is reason.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Joe's boit'day is nex' Wednesday," says Sally. "I dunno if I got enough sugeh stamps f'ra cake t'ough." "Mame G has t'cake undeh control," assures Alice. "B'tween her an' Misteh G an' me an' Siddy an' Willie, we got stamps. Consideh t'cake a boit'day present." "T'at's swell," nods Sally. "One las' t'ing t'worry about." "One moeh t'ing," Alice continues. "C'n you get Joe's measuehments? Misteh G wants t'make 'im a nice summeh spoeht coat. He's got some a' t'is nice Pawrm Beach wool, glen plaid 'e cawls it. I dunno who Glen is, but Misteh G says it'll look great. He says 'Yussel needs --', an' hey, y'know what I foun' out? 'Yussel' issa same t'ing as sayin' 'Joe,' cept in Yiddish. I neveh knew t'at. Anyways, he says 'Yussel should have a good spoeht coat t'at fits 'im like a good spoeht coat should. An' not wit' a belt inna back, t'at is what you cawl 'cawrny.'" "He said t'at?" chuckles Sally. "Yeh," nods Alice. "I woneh how ya say 'cawrny' in Yiddish. I'm gonna ask'im an' fin' out. T'at would be a good t'ing to know." "Yeh," nods Sally. They ride on in silence for an interval, as Sally pores over the Eagle, and Alice attempts to swat a belligerent June fly that has invaded the car, but manages only to knock off the first straw hat of the season, worn by a red-faced World-Telegram reader in the seat ahead. "Sawry," she apologizes, handing back the dented boater. She settles back in her seat and gazes out at the pallid New Jersey scenery. "Hey Sal," she resumes. "You t'ink Mickey's gonna be at t'pawrty?" "I dunno," shrugs Sally. "I dunno when 'e's s'posta be outa camp." "Siddy says if he is," sighs Alice, "we oughta get a babysitteh f' Willie so Mickey don't see 'im an' maybe roon t'pawrty. I wondeh if Mrs. Nucci would do it?" "I wouldn' leave my cat wit' Mrs. Nucci," warns Sally. "She's nuts." "Hm," hms Alice. "Hey Sal," she queries again. "D'you know anybody t'at AIN'T nuts?" Sally wonders about that, as the train rolls on toward home...)

("Oi got a boondle a' these booklets," says Ma, placing them on the counter next to the Tums display. "Ye can give 'm oot t' vet'rans," she continues, "boot if ye doon't know'm, ask t'see thaar booton. It looks loike this hyarr." "Huh," huhs Bink Scanlan. "I ain't had a chicken in a lawng time." "That ain't a chicken, ye plank," frowns Ma. "It's a doock. That's whoot they caaahl it, a rooptchared doock. Anyway, Oi've saved a coopla'v'm oondar th' ****tar tharr farr Joseph an' Michael. Give Joseph his when 'ee cooms inta warrk, will ye." "Wheh ya goin'?" queries Bink, eyeing the gum display. "Jamaica," replies Ma. "Oi'm doin' whatchee caahl resaaaarch." "Don't bet too much," snickers Bink. "Me? Bet?" scoffs Ma, heading to the door. "Ye think Oi'm daaft?")

(One argument that can be made for the Brown Dodgers is that way too many ***** League teams are called the Giants...)

(Arky has ulcers? Who do you suppose GAVE them to him? And I doubt Sukey has a cold, he probably just got sick from Cincinnati chili.)

("When I want a dozen eggs beaten..." I hope she never meets Shadow Smart.)

(Better be sure the check clears before you give him the file.)

("Just don't drive it off a pier, like happened the last time a cop borrowed my cab.")

(It's like a Thorne Smith novel come to life.)

(No one ever accused Trix of being too smart for his own good -- UNTIL NOW.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Control yourself, Mickey.

"I know whot I tol'jee," pleads Shaughnessy the butcher, facing Uncle Frank's relentless glare. "Bot Oi joost doon't have th' chickens! Me sooorce droied oop!"

"Now if we'd done like *I* wanted, and put it in soybean futures..."

A very tall guy who communicates in gestrures and a short guy who seems to be in charge. Hmmm....

And a very old fashion it is...


Nah, he's just getting posters printed. The wrestling game is all about publicity.

None of us are getting any younger...

Jurisidiction? Oh, why quibble about fine points.

Aw, you should have milked it a bit longer.

A warrant? Why quibble about fine points?

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

You can't beat the Brooklyn Spirit, even though it took quite a beating last year...

And finally...

Are you sure you want to do this??

 

[Fading Fast]

...warns Sally. "She's nuts."

And not a trace of self-consciousness.

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

It's like a Thorne Smith novel come to life.

No kidding. Constance Bennett is already envisioning herself in the role.

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

A very tall guy who communicates in gestrures and a short guy who seems to be in charge. Hmmm....

Yup, but man, that's a big country – what were the odds.

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

Jurisidiction? Oh, why quibble about fine points.

He's a regular reader of "**** Tracy." (Just saw you Tracy comment - Hah!)

 

[2 Days Dubai]

Reading the legal criminal articles really show yesterday's no nonsense
criminal pursuit. The long ago story about that seventeen year old sent to Sing Sing for ****/homicide electric chair sendoff still chills mere thought.

...and speaking of the devil, demure April is a bag of tricks twisting Charlie boy into a pretzel.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Sometimes I feel like t'ings is gett'n betteh wit' Joe," sighs Sally. "Sometimes I look at 'im an'nee kinda looks like, y'know, Joe -- like t'is mawrnin', he was sittin' inna kitchen an' Stella -- she's oueh cat -- she jumps up on'is lap. T'at'sa fois' time she done'at since 'e been home. An'ney say, y'know, cats know t'ings, t'ey c'n see t'ings people can't. Now, I dunno 'bout t'at, I mean, Joe had sawrdines awn toast f'breakfas', so maybe t'at's what Stella was innehrested in, but jus' seein'm like t'at it kin'a felt like it -- useta be. Y'know?" "I do," nods Dr. Levine. "But t'en again 'nez times I catcha look at'tim, " continues Sally, "an' -- I dunno what I'm lookin' at. Las' night 'e couldn' sleep again, an'nee wen' out an' sat onna fieh 'scape -- inna RAIN -- an' jus' sat t'eh till mawrnin', not doin' nut'n but chewin'at t'bacceh an' starin' out inna street. Leonora says t'me 'Pa's n'rawtic again.' N'rawtic she cawls'eh'r own fawt'eh! I'm gonna pull'eh outa t'at clinic she keeps tawkin' like t'at. Foeh yeehs ol' an' she t'inks she's a headshrinkeh!" A wisp of a frown flits across Dr. Levine's composure at this last. "Sawry," flushes Sally. "T'at slipped out. Anyways, y'see what I'm sayin'?" Dr. Levine taps her pencil on her pad as she selects her words. "It took how many years," she observes, "to fight the war. It might take even more to recover from it." "T'at's s'posta make me feel betteh?" protests Sally. "That's supposed to," admonishes Dr. Levine, "make you feel determined to help get Joe thru this.Let him do what he needs to do. Encourage him when you can. Don't push him, don't try to force him to talk. But if he does, listen." Sally is silent for a long moment. "Yeh," she nods.)

("At leas' no mail on Sunday," sighs Alice, "means we don' hafteh worry if we'h gonna get a letteh 'bout t'em adoption papehs." "Yeh," nods Krause, glancing out the window to watch Willie rolling the courtyard mud with Butch the dog. Alice slumps in her chair and picks up a strewn section of the Sunday Eagle. "Solomon," she observes. "You read t'is?"" "Yeh," nods Krause, not turning from the window. "T'ey say he does t'right t'ing when kids is invawlved," comments Alice. "Y'tink he's gonna do t'right t'ing wit' us?" Krause chews on his cigar stump and looks over at his wife, gazing closely at the photo of the magistrate. "Yeh," he assures, turning back to the window...)

(Welcome back to the Leaning Tower of Flatbush. He's no Camilli, but at least he has a good nickname.)

("I'm the real ramrod of this outfit." Who do you think you are, Dude Hennick??)

(Movie Bugs would NEVER let himself be swindled by Elmer Fudd.)

(Whatever else you can say about Mr. Bushmiller, he clearly enjoys his job.)

(Miss Daley was one of that forgotten breed of loud, rowdy 1940s comediennes who flared up during the war only to fade away once the world moved on. You tell 'em kid, orthodontia's for chumps.)

(Sandy's stunt dog moves on to bigger and better roles. MORE MONEY TOO!)

(Now that Herr Goering is out of circulation, the epically vile Senator Bilbo is the next best thing.)

(Well, hell, any of us coulda told you that!!)