The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Look, if you're not going to give us a pull-out supplement containing the full text of these letters, it's not nice to tease...

Somebody writes a bit too knowledgeably about love zipped out of a GI sleeping bag.

Good, whatever you do, don't touch that nest.

"I dunno, it isn't rocket science..."

"Mavis, please! Not now, Oi've gaaaht coostomarrrs oot front!"

Yeah, and imagine how the dog feels.

C'mon, Gus, give us a tense story of international intrigue as Eric pursues Germany's WWII-era leadership art thieves. No? Oh well, back to Bleachie...

Hey, it works fine. That's just a Gene Krupa record.

C'mon, Terry, admit you know him.

A rumble seat doesn't do you much good if nobody you know can fit in it.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

"You make me happy and I'll make you happy." Yeah, that about sums it up.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Oi seen it on a chocolate box," eyerolls Uncle Frank. "An ye can farget aboot it, I'm an haaanest bootleggar.

Good one, Frank. I've also noted it before, but what I love about Frank is that he sincerely, truly sincerely believes he is an honest bootlegger. I've met – not bootleggers – but bookies who feel the same way. Their business is illegal, but that's just a "stupid" law. Their dealings – if you ignore the fact that their entire business is illegal – are honest otherwise. And the odd thing is, it can be true.

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

"What afford?" counters Mr. G. "Remnants and scraps I got. You I should pay to take off mine hands.

Aww.

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

"Jug Ruff." If he's still around in the 70s, there's a career waiting for him in a certain type of movie.

Nice.

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

"You make me happy and I'll make you happy." Yeah, that about sums it up.

More recap than new news, but some new news and I kind of needed the recap.

Redwing's a grifter; Lawson, an opportunist; and Coleman, I'm not sure – oh, and Mrs. Langford is a wackadoodle who is lucky her father was born before her, but my best guess is still the loan-shark/hitmen angle.

 

[2 Days Dubai]

Gilbert Roland was a cool guy. He was the Spanish captain of the sinking ship taken by Errol Flynn
in The Seahawks, and, last man honorably off, leaped aboard the English privateer.
And Deanna Durbin, fox of foxes, always displayed classic elegance.

Meanwhile, back at the Langford Ranch, the baroness seems now under legal counsel wing with her sing
all about verbal promissory estoppel as plausible defense amidst homicide conspiracy. The Law is most severe with conspiracy implied deliberate intent. Reed Lawton and Redwing are equally implicit snakes-in-the-grass.
Mrs L is definitely caught somehow in all this. And the press hounds lead the pack. Take a bow boys.

Lt Monahan is a liar who fathered a child by a girl; whose name and age I didn't catch....Hmmm.
Coerced into marriage with statutory **** by his commanding officer; also sings like a canary in court.
Monaghan gives the child his moniker but denies paternity and is heading overseas.
I presume adjutant general naval jackleg law. However, Monaghan admitted intimacy with the girl prior
to matrimony, yet contests paternity. A previous annulment switched divorce for child sake.
A jackleg's dance. Still, Monahan had initially filed for annulment.

I knew guys like Private Ennis in the Army. A marginal. Someone to watch.
However, carnal GI sleeping bag antics is a new one on me. Usually, screwups are offered combat to
soldier themselves out of a jam but with the war winding down he's looking at hard time stockade.
Mary Jane looks under consent age; so with false imprisonment of a minor with statutory ****, burglary,
automobile vehicle adversarial possession, this-and-that, he's in like Flynn for a stretch.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Hiya, Bohunk," greets Mickey as he breezes up to the counter, the slow ceiling fan doing little to disperse the tension hanging in the torpid air. "H'lo yaself," frowns Joe. "What's buzzin'?" continues Mickey, sliding onto a stool. "Some'vus got jawbs," replies Joe, his frown edging toward scowldom. "Whattya wawnt?" "Ahhh, gimme a Coke," Mickey replies. "Might help me shake t'is headache." "Up late?" responds Joe with a pointed squint as he scoops the chipped ice into the glass and holds it under the syrup dispenser. "Bink ain't in yet," he adds with just the right note of sarcasm as he jets the seltzer into the glass and stirs up the drink. "But I guess you know t'at awready, huh?" Mickey plunges a straw into his glass and takes a deep sip, never taking his eyes off Joe. "Hey," he injects, taking on just a slightly poisonous tone, "how come you ain' innat Poiple Hawrt p'rade. Sal tol' me you gawt one. Fight'n awf t' Krauts wit' a soup ladle, huh?" A flush of red climbs up Joe's neck, and the muscles in his jaw ripple. "Michael!" calls Ma, descending into the store from the back stairway. "Oi harrrd this marrnin' thar's jobs hirin' at the Todd's Shipyaaaaard. James an' Daniel woork doon thar an' tharr pootin' in a warrd farr ye. Butchee bettar hurry, thim jaaahbs goo quick." "Ahhh, Ma," whines Mickey. "You know I ain't one f't'at kinda woik." "They get," advises Ma, "a full hoooor far loonch," and punctuates this statement by shaking her hand in a gesture suggestive of a back-room **** game. "Oi advoise ye," she continues, her voice hard, "t'get oovar tharr now." Mickey glares at his mother, deliberately ***** up the rest of his Coke, and emits a pointed belch. "Awright," he nods. "I get t'pernt." He skeens open the screen door, and looks back over his shoulder. "Hey," he calls to Joe, "tell Bink I'll see'eh t'night." With a suggestive wink, he saunters off into Rogers Avenue. Joe watches him board the trolley, and turns to Ma. "You din' heeh nut'n bout no jawb, didja?" "No, Joseph," Ma acknowledges, nodding toward the stairway door. "Boot I haaaaard enoof.")

("Hannnest t'gaaahd," pledges Uncle Frank into his office telephone. "A loive alligator, an' it was aaaahn th' loose. Oi haaaard thim things live doon th' sewarrr, boot --- No, Thomas, Oi doon't think a .38 special would do a damn thing, thim things got a shell loike a taaaartle, doon't they? Well hoo tha' hell d'w Oi know, Oi ain't nevarr seeen woon in paarrson. Anyway....Oooh, Oi got t'letchee goo, soombody at me door. Yeh, yeh, you'll getchee money. G'bye't'ye." He replaces the receiver on its hook and slides the instrument across his desk, as the door opens to admit a middle-aged woman just slightly overdressed for a June evening in East Flatbush. "Missssars Dineeen," he greets, standing in his courtliest manner and turning his charm to its fullest extreme. "Sooo good'a ye t'coom." He shoves a pile of ten-year-old plumbing supply catalogs off a side chair, and beckons for his guest to be seated. "What's'sis awl about, Leary?" she frowns, snapping open a scratched silver case and selecting a cigarette. Uncle Frank pops a match on the sole of his brogan and hastens to offer a light. "I c'mawlla way up heeh," she puffs, "s'wit betteh be good." "Remembarr last moonth," Uncle Frank begins, "ye needed a new watarr heatarr, an' Oi couldn' get it?" "Yeh," nods Mrs. Dineen. "Me goils need t'eh bat's. I run a sanitary house." "Well, I got one now," Uncle Frank declares. "Arrr, t'be haanest, Oi know WARRR t'get woon. An' Oi'm happy t'letchee have it -- uh -- at cawst ploos a reasonable fee farr installation." "Swell," nods Mrs. Dineen, puffing a blue cloud. "Get it done nex' week, t'is heat is takin' its toll on me business." "Absaaaaarlootley," smiles Uncle Frank. "Now, Oi'm happy t'do ye a favaaaar, boot Oi gaaaht a favaaaar Oi'd loike in retarrn. Ye gaaaht this pitcharrr hangin' in ye hooose thar, an'..." "HEY FRANK!" interrupts an unmistakable foghorn voice, accompanied by a rattling and pounding at the door. "YOU INNEH?" "Chroistahhlmoity," gasps Uncle Frank, his face draining of all color. "E're noo, Mrs. Dineen, have Oi evarr shoon ye me staack room? Oi gaaht soom lovely new tarrrlets in, an' ye moit looike t'look'm ooovar." He grabs his guest by the forearm and yanks her into the stockroom. "Joost look arooond," he calls, closing and latching the door. "If ye doon' see anything ye loike, Oi can aaaarder..." "Hey Frank," frowns Alice, barging into the office. "I seen ya light awn. We gotta tawk. We gotta letteh t'day fr'm...hey, whassat smell?" "Ahhh," stammers Uncle Frank, "Danny was joost in here, you knoo how he smooks thim aaaaaarful cigarettes." "Yeh," sniffs Alice. "But 'ee don' weah poifume." "Ummmmmmmmmm...." jitters Uncle Frank....)

(Mary Worth has nothing on her sister Helen.)

(Hey, it's our old pal Vito "Tomatoes" Tamulis, who you may recall had a few good years with the Dodgers around the turn of the forties. And as for the limerick how about "He don't belive my name is Clyde Kluttz.")

(Now this is a new direction for this strip I can get behind -- Wilbur Wackey, Militant Animal Rights Crusader!)

(Hey Matt, forget Mary, write a letter to Helen!)

(It's AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO CABBIE LEONARD WEINBERG!)

(So Stamm got Billy Halop and Leo Gorcey -- but why not Huntz Hall??)

(A PUPPY? AM I BEING REPLACED? ME? AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG? I'LL SUE, SO HELP ME I'LL SUE!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

I wonder if Elliot Roosevelt knows Mrs. Langford?

I thought that stuff only happened once they were ON the bus.

"She wants to hear the ball game, and I don't want to miss 'Our Gal Sunday.'"

Yes, 1945 is a world where mothers think nothing of leaving their carriages, with baby complete, in front of the store while they go inside.

Well you don't have to look so smug about it.

"Gyro jig?" frowns Miss Kaplan. "We'eh making jukebawx pawrts now?" "Be happy ya still got woik," admonishes Mozelewski.

"I DEMAND MY CONSTITUTIONAL RIGHTS." -- Sandy.

If there's one thing you don't want, it's to have **** Tracy feeling put out at you.

Honestly, Chazz, everybody looks at you that way.

I hate revolving doors.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

"Why didn't you announce those people?" After all, there is an order in things without which civilization will collapse. Oh, and Colonel Verdel -- or is that Oberst -- is a real piece of work.

"By all means, sir," nods Mr. Rickey. "A week of respite in that good and pleasant land of the blueberry and the lobster will do you a world of good." "Ayuh," acknowledges Mr. Sukeforth. "And upon your return," continues Mr. Rickey, lowering his voice and selecting his words with great care, "I shall have for you a new assignment. I propose to send you forth on a confidential scouting mission." "Ayuh," agrees Mr. Sukeforth, leaning forward in his chair. "As you are aware," ventures Mr. Rickey, "I have a certain -- ah -- interest -- in the affairs of our new tenants, the Brooklyn -- ah -- Brown Dodgers. Your assignment shall be to observe the various colored clubs in the midwest and report to me your views concerning certain players whom I shall enumerate. I have assigned similar duties to Mr. Greenwade, Mr. High and Mr. Sisler. My most perceptive scouts, you understand." Mr. Sukeforth hesitates slightly, turning over the weight of his employer's words in his mind. "Ayuh," he nods. "You shall treat this matter," Mr. Rickey concludes, "with the strictest confidence." "Ayuh," agrees Mr. Sukeforth, rising to accept the Mahatma's hand. "One other thing," adds Mr. Rickey. "Ayuh?" replies Mr. Sukeforth. "I should appreciate your bringing to me upon your return from Maine," inserts Mr. Rickey, "another two dozen of those -- ah -- what do you call them? Smelts." "Ayuh," chuckles Mr. Sukeforth, making his exit....

Yeah, the Colonel is a real piece of --- ah --- work.


Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick.....

 

[Fading Fast]

"Ahhh," stammers Uncle Frank, "Danny was joost in here, you knoo how he smooks thim aaaaaarful cigarettes." "Yeh," sniffs Alice. "But 'ee don' weah poifume." "Ummmmmmmmmm...." jitters Uncle Frank....

If Frank put the same energy into running his honest business honestly and properly that he does into all his schemes, he'd be or would become a rich man with a heck of a lot fewer hassles.

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

It's AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO CABBIE LEONARD WEINBERG!



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

A PUPPY? AM I BEING REPLACED? ME? AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG? I'LL SUE, SO HELP ME I'LL SUE!

Meanwhile, in a discrete doctor's office a certain orange dog is having a consultation.

Doctor: "You look fine for a dog your age." [The dog winces.] "So what is it you would like me to do?"
Dog: "I was thinking if we could just tighten up a bit under my chin and around my eyes, I'd look three dog-years younger."
Doctor: "I think I could help, but you are a little young to be doing this now."
Dog: "I work in an unforgiving youth-obsessed business. They'll replace anyone with a young handsome pup any day of the week." [Hollering over his shoulder.] "And I've told you before, my fur is 'sunset copper!'"

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

Re the Langford story: something is fishy about the early reports that the elevator operator could hardly see.

And of course someone with three different last names was questioned – even if he wasn't part of the Langford's crazy menagerie, he probably should have been.

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

"Gyro jig?" frowns Miss Kaplan. "We'eh making jukebawx pawrts now?" "Be happy ya still got woik," admonishes Mozelewski.

Pop should look into that service where customers could pick a tune and it would be played from a centralized business and piped into the store. I can't think of the name of it, but it had a moment just after the war.

 

[2 Days Dubai]

Nota bene.

The comic strip butcher shop scene where the mother left her baby in carriage outside shop recalls the Jones case with the girl sisters taking a sleeping infant out of carriage. The infant suffered a broken neck and expired. Story disappeared papers but is quite unsettling.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I dunno how t'ey s'pec' people t' breat' on'neese trains," exhales Sally, "when it's'is hawt. Somebody had liveh'r'n onions f'lunch, an' I c'n smell ev'ry bite." "Hey Sal," ponders Alice, "lemme ask ya sump'n. What if ya gawt reason t't'ink somebody y'know is maybe doin' sump'n'ey hadn' awta do wit' somebody t'ey hadn'awrteh be doin' it wit'?" "What?" replies Sally, untying her bandana, the better to use it to mop her forehead. "Well," continues Alice, chewing her lower lip as she works on her phrasing, "le's's'pose t'ezzis guy, right? Le's cawl'im -- um -- Fr- uh --Fred. An'eese married t' -- um -- Nawr---Nawr---Nawrella. "Nawrella?" snickers Sally. "An' s'pose," continues Alice, "t'at -- um -- Fred had ano'teh woman in'nis awffce an' when somebawdy else stops in t'tawk t'wim 'bout -- um -- sump'n -- an' t'is ot'eh poisson KNOWS t'at woman is aroun'neh hidin' cause, I mean, t'ezza cig'rette wit' lipstick awn it inna ash tray, still boinin', a'nne'zza smella poifume inna aieh." "T'at poisson," hehs Sally, "awtta go t'woik f' Scawrlet O'Neil." "No, f'serious, Sal," insists Alice. "Should'at poisson say sump'n, try t'fin' out what's goin awn?" Sally regards her friend quizically. "Well," she offers, tying the bandana back on her head, "t'ink of it t'is way. T'ez t'ings inna woil' ya wanna know, an'nez t'ings ya don't. But once ya know sump'n ya don' wanna know, y'ain'neveh gonna not know it again. So maybe it don' pay t' as' too many questions." Alice absorbs this argument. "Yeh," she finally nods. "I guess'at makes sense. Jeez, Sal, y'know, yawr pretty smawrt. I don' caeh WHAT people say." "What?" "Um, nut'n....")

("Ahhl roit, Inky," sighs Uncle Frank. "I taaalked t'Blanche Dineen, may gaahd farrrgive me, an' it's goin t'caaaahst me that watarr heatarr Oi was gonna taarn int'wa new still, boot Oi gatchee pitcharr." Inky quickly pulls the etching from the wrinkled brown paper bag in which it was transported, and feasts his eyes upon Art. "Such technique," he sighs. "Such inspiration. It shall have pride of place in my living room." "Livin' room?" replies Uncle Frank. "Ye live at th' YMCA." "It is a room," states Inky, "and it is the room in which I live. This delightful work shall do much to banish the institutional miasma that permeates the establishment." "Nivvar moind that," hustles Uncle Frank. "Ye gotcha thingummy, now get busy on me gasoline coupons." "I anticipated your success," nods Inky, pulling an envelope from the pocket of his immaculate ice cream suit, "and am prepared already to complete the transaction." Uncle Frank flips the envelope open and riffles thru the coupons. "These bettar be good," he warns. "Chester Bowles himself," declares Inky, "could not tell the difference." "It ain't Chestar Bools," sighs Uncle Frank, "Oi gaaaht t'warry aboot....")

("Busy day at th' shipyaaard?" queries Ma, sliding a banana split toward a downcast Jimmy Leary. "Eh," ehs Jimmy, plucking off the cherry and tossing it into his mouth. "Hey," he adds, licking whipped cream off his spoon, "we'hs Bink? I ain' seen'eh 'roun'." "Ahhhhh," nods Ma, a tiny smile flicking across her lips as she prepares to shift a plan into motion. "As a mattar o'fact," she continues, carefully regarding her stepson, "Barbara's been oot ivvry noit this week with -- ah -- Michael." Jimmy looks up, a trail of ice cream speckled with walnuts trickling down his chin. "Is ZAT so," he frowns. "Foist I've hoida T"AT." "Looks loike they reallly hit it aaahf," nods Ma, glancing at the strip of flypaper dancing in the slow breeze of the ceiling fan. "Looks loike," she adds, "ye missed ye chaaance." "Is ZAT so," repeats Jimmy, shoveling half the banana into his mouth in a single motion. "Mgrrh ffxat rttt! Seffy doon!" "Ah," nods Ma, the tiny smile back for a return engagement. "I give it t'Danny," fumes Jimmy, swabbing his mouth with his sleeve, and flipping a quarter onto the counter. "An'nat rat Mickey's gonna get DOUBLE." "Saints pr'saarve oos," protests Ma, clasping her hands as if in supplication. "Yeh," scowls Jimmy, slapping his cap onto his head, missing, and tossing it across the counter. "Um, gimme me hat?" Ma obliges. "Doon't kill 'im, now," she calls as Jimmy storms toward the door. "Jooost laaaarn'im a good lesson!)

("And it's the only place in town you can get those donuts with the powdered sugar!")


("Opera, sir?" queries Mr. Parrott. "No doubt it shall be gentler on the turf," explains Mr. Rickey, "than full scale war games." "But -- opera?"" persists Mr. Parrott. "Do you really think -- um -- our crowd will go in for --opera?" "What is opera," declares Mr. Rickey, "but the epic story of the human spirit, the triumph and tragedy of man's passions, set to music. It is nothing more or less than baseball with a libretto. " "I don't think you should tell Gladys Goodding," warns Mr. Parrott. "She's got -- um -- ambitions." "She would," concedes Mr. Rickey, "present a formidable Brunhilde.")

(I don't think the goose is going to appreciate a new roommate.)

(Speaking of opera..)

(Hey, who knows? Maybe it's time for Janie to have a love life.)

(Let's see **** Tracy try that.)

(You'd drink too, if you were a circus elephant.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

It's sad to live to be 77 and have something like this to be the biggest thng that ever happened to you.

Everybody likes Ike.

They're leaving Penn Station with suitcases, so they've just arrived in the city. Only one suitcase each, so they don't have a whole lot of stuff. Did she just get out of stir? Should we ask Alice about her?

Johnny Jingo had a whole fleet, didn't Johnny Jingo!

"At least he don't sleep in a bureau drawer!" -- Kayo.

Postwar inflation will be a real problem.

"To be sure!" Joe Penner may be gone, but his catchphrases linger on...

"DAMMIT ALMOST GOT AWAY!"

Yeah, well you shoulda thoughta that, huh?

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily Worker...

And that's why Sally won't be going back to Woolworth's.


I didn't know Fannie Hurst was a baseball fan, but it makes me very happy to learn that she is.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Livin' room?" replies Uncle Frank. "Ye live at th' YMCA." "It is a room," states Inky, "and it is the room in which I live.



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

It's sad to live to be 77 and have something like this to be the biggest thng that ever happened to you.

That time gap is quite interesting as somebody is either wrong about the time or what the heck were those two doing for nearly an hour before killing Langford?

With all the resources the police are throwing at this one, I assume they've thoroughly explored the "woman who got off on the third floor" angle so I'm surprised the News, which seems to know stuff before the police does, doesn't have an update for us.

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

Everybody likes Ike.

It's fascinating to read in real time the very early events that will lead to the historic events of the split of Germany into East and West, the Berlin Airlift, and eventually, Reagan's "tear down this wall" speech (to name just a few).

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

"DAMMIT ALMOST GOT AWAY!"

"I bet you they are, right now, sitting down to dinner on the farm."

 

[2 Days Dubai]

A war in youth is life's supreme test but veteran life is given meaning those untouched Hell flame do not know.

Passion is legitimate defense marital issue homicide; however, its allowance has ill specified causation within plausible timely occurrence. But for Justice to exist, there must necessarily live a measure of Injustice.
Mary Deewerter walked away from Justice though probably met inner punishment.

=========

LIZZIE: Asking a favor. Site technical issues similar banning encountered, cannot send message Scotrace.
Can you inquire whether this is deliberate? Thanks a bunch.

 

[LizzieMaine]

I've been having a lot of glitches lately myself, so that's something. I spend a lot of time trying to keep ads from showing up in the middle of my posts.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Now that, THAT, is a jacket," enthuses Mr. Ginsburg as Krause models his spectacular Father's Day gift. "Ain'it swell, Pap?" declares Willie. "Ya look like Robe't Tayleh if he was bawlheaded." "Mendel," whispers Mrs. Ginsburg. "Those sleeves. On poipose you made?" "The fashion it is," Mr. G whispers back. "The style. Soomday, even the President will wear." "I can believe," sighs Mrs. G, visualizing Mr. Truman so arrayed. "We gawtta go someplace an' show it awff," declares Alice. "Yeh," grins Krause, regretting that it is impossible to shoot one's cuffs when one is wearing a T-shirt under one's jacket. "Someplace aieh conditioned," Alice continues, "so ya don' hafta take it awff." "I t'ought we was goin'a Coney Islan'," insists Willie. "I dunno," reasons Alice, "it's s'posta be awrful hot t'day." "Neh," insists Krause, squaring his shoulders and admiring his reflection in the parlor mirror. "You sueh?" queries Alice. Krause looks down at Willie, and winks. "Yeh," he declares, buttoning his glorious jacket for the day...)

("Whot's this?" queries Ma, as Uncle Frank hands her a parcel wrapped in butcher paper. "A ****d'a hambarrger," he whispers. "Ask me noo questions, an' Oi'll tell ye no lies." "Hey," injects Sally, sipping a Coke before heading off to her weekly visit with Dr. Levine. "Wheh you gettn' hamboigeh?" "Ahh," stammers Uncle Frank. "A gift froom a -- grateful coostomar. Oi cleaned oot 'is grease trap." "Hope it ain' from t'at crook Shaughnessy," snickers Sally. "Can't b'lieve 'e's still in business. I still remembeh t'em sausages we useta get when I was a kid. Put'm awna stove an' it smelt like wood." "Thaat's th' d'licious smooked flavar," insists Uncle Frank. Leonora looks up at her grandfather and shakes her head. "You woodn' even knoo," mutters Uncle Frank, "ye wasn't even barrrn yet." He attempts to change the subject with an observation to the effect that it saaaaartainly is a scaaaarcher, but is cut off by the skeening of the screen door as Mickey arrives. "Wot happ'n'ta YOU?" Uncle Frank exclaims, observing that his stepson bears a swollen ring around one eye and a furious bruise on the side of his jaw. "I run int'wa dooeh," growls Mickey. "Gimme one'a t'em Bromeh-Seltzehs. Hey, Bink ain' aroun', is she?" "Barbara isn't due until 1 o'clock," replies Ma, as she pours the foaming remedy from glass to glass. "Tell 'eh I ain' goin' out wit'teh t'night," Mickey continues, guzzling the medicine. "Sump'n come up." "Isn't thaaat a pity," sighs Ma. "'Bout time," snickers Leonora, as her grandmother shoots her a look....)

(Camilli, in Fenway Park? Aim for the bullpens!)

(See, this is what a sidekick is supposed to do.)

(Kids, PLEASE don't try this at home.)

(Bushmiller's fantasies are getting out of hand.)

(Careful, Gabby -- that's the kind of habit that can bite you in the end.)

(One sharp blow to the side of the head, just above and slightly behind the ear. Swing from your wrists, don't choke up -- and don't flinch.)

("Hot water?" What, no beer?)

(Well, you know, genetics being what they are, there's a pretty good chance that's exactly what you're going to get anyway.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Some with a professional interest in romance..."

"Skilled underworld torpedoes." Clearly the News knows more than Mr. Hogan does.

Ah, those two-dollar permanents from Namm's.

Mr. Gould had some tree people out to the place, and got a discount for promising to use them in the strip.

HE'S SITTING RIGHT THERE.

Yeah, sure, we remember how stoic and manly "Daddy" was in that cave. And Shadow has moved on from Joe Penner and is now stealing catchphrases from Colonel Stoopnagle.

When I want hard-hitting ruminations on the question of personal morality, this is not necessarily the first strip I turn to.

I wonder how much that cost Uncle Bim?

Sometimes the negotiations are the whole point of the transaction.

I want to see Terry with a beard.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Imagine that.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Skilled underworld torpedoes." Clearly the News knows more than Mr. Hogan does.

The News can turn a phrase. This article, though, never really supports its premise about the DA blocking the police. Plus, they don't identify who said the damning quote at the end of the article. A sloppy piece of reporting all around for the usually sharper Daily News.

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

"Some with a professional interest in romance..."

The News tossed a few good euphemisms into this one: "shortcut the normal routine of courtship."

Also, give the girl who asked about the end of non-fraternization credit for logic.

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

Yeah, sure, we remember how stoic and manly "Daddy" was in that cave. And Shadow has moved on from Joe Penner and is now stealing catchphrases from Colonel Stoopnagle.

"Yes, yes, very nice speech on Father's Day, Annie. Say, any idea when we eat around here?"

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

I want to see Terry with a beard.

Didn't Terry's surrogate father sport a beard for a bit? It's time Pat Ryan reappeared.

 

[LizzieMaine]

It looks like there's a line missing from that part of the story, probably something like "policeman who declined to give his name." Never mind sloppy reporting, that's poor linotype work.

Pat is hiding out with Connie and Stoop until he's sure April is gone.