The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily Worker....

I bet the time will come when the Lords of Baseball will deny this report ever existed.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Y'really wanna know?" "YES!!" bellows Ma. "Awright," exhales Bink. "I s'pose y'd find out soone'hr'a lateh anyways. See, it awl goes back t' when...."

I got the popcorn ready and I'm all ears (to listen, not like Solly).

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Who had 25 on his/her bingo card for the number of flights daily from New York to Boston in September of 1945?

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"I should ride twenny blocks awnat smelly bus jus' t'look at Bogawrt's ugly pan. B'sides, I t'ought you liked Deanna Doibin." "I like 'eh fine," shrugs Joe, "but t'at pitcheh we jus' seen was made in nineteen t'oity nine."

"Conflict" is just eh, and I agree with Sally about Bogie's looks, but why does Joe think "Lady on a Train," one of Ms. Durbin's better pictures, was made in '39?

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They couldn't just serve him in court?

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Yet it wouldn't even register on social media today it's so tame.

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Gotta keep up that self-mattress somehow.

I'm just worried because the baby is sleeping on its stomach.

 

[LizzieMaine]

There are a lot of reissues playing the sub-run neighborhood houses these days, especially from minor studios like Universal, and the Walker is a classic example of such a theatre. Enticed by DEANNA DURBIN on the marquee, Joe and Sally didn't read the fine print, and were shown "First Love" instead of something more current. "I wouln'a minded," explains Joe, "if it'uz 'Nine'y Nine Men anna Goil,' I mean, Leopold Stickoutski was innat one. Strickly high class."

At least the newsreel was current. "I neveh t'rew no bricks neit'eh," declares Sally. "Not ev'n when'nat MacAwrteh was onneh!"

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Westchister!" marvels Ma. "Oi still can't b'lieve it, Francis. That garrl cooms fr'm Westchister!" "Is that a fact?" sighs Uncle Frank, warily dabbing margarine on a slice of toast. "She toold me th' whool staaary," continues Ma. "Said she was baaarn t'wa foine fam'ly, she caaaahhled it, boot 'arr poor moothar took sick an' doied, an' a'rr fatharr tarrned t'drink an' took it aaal oot aaahn th' poor choild. So she roon away f'rm home when she was six yarrs oold, an' had t' laaaarn t'live boi'arr wits. Noo woondar she's sooch a thievin' thing." "Is that what she toold ye?" injects Uncle Frank, wiping away the toast crumbs with his shirt cuff. "Peculiar whin she faaaarst coom 'eer, she toold ME she was baaaarn'an raised on Kingston Avenar, doon boi Fenimore Street. Roit in th' neighbarhood 'eer. An' she toold me 'arr fatharr used t'do business with me in th' oold days." "Ah," ahs Ma, her mouth flattening into a hard line. "Ah," nods Uncle Frank...)

("T'ey awta t'row awlem gamblehs right'n jail," recommends Sally. "Nut'n but social parasites." "I dunno," shrugs Alice. "Ain' nut'n wrawng wit', you know, a lit'l action. Y'know? Jus't'keep t'ings innehrestin'." "Ahhhh, don' gimme t'at," dismisses Sally. "I neveh bet awn nutn' in my life. An' I ain' missin' out." "I bet I c'n make you bet," chuckles Alice. "I'll lay ya a Coke afteh woik t'at -- oh -- inna papeh heeh, I betcha boy Oil Browdeh t'eh, I bet'ee sings like a c'nary f'ron'a t'at committee. I betcha!" "Oh yeh??" retorts Sally, her hackles rising. "Ya'r awn!" "See?" snickers Alice. "HEY!" roars Sally, as the usual heads turn in the car....)

("And all they want to talk about is 'that climacteric age in women!'")

(LEAVE. NOW.)

(MacPhail has fled to Havana because he knows Nat Low won't find him there.)

(What a gentleman he is. He went out and rented a morning suit just so he could show up and ruin the wedding.)

(Mary Haworth's Family.)

(You have to wonder how a guy makes inspector without ever once opening his eyes.)

(Took you long enough.)

(And the cat doesn't like any of you.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Of all the celebrities rampant in our world of 1945, of all the outsized personalities that cavort for our daily entertainment on Page Four --- John Houseman?????

Twice The Circulation Of Any Other Paper In America.

You can see where Breathless gets it.

In an alternate universe, meet Bink Scanlan...

Poor Walt. Oh well, maybe Corky will want to sell furniture.

Lil needs to lay off the coffee.

Bim is like the little kid who catches a black ant and shoves it down a red ants' hill.

Who is hiding out on Spook Island? Axel 3-1, that creepy candy-store lady 10-1, Mrs. Bleating-Hart's even more evil sister 50-1, Nick Gatt 100-1.

You know, gals like April don't age very well.

There comes a point for all of us where we seriously question the choices we have made in our lives, and for Lord Joseph Plushbottom, that point is now...

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily Worker...

In the outer office at 215 Montague Street, Miss Jane Ann Jones pauses at her typewriter and listens to the sound of a soft, rumbling chuckle emanating from the inner sanctum...

 

[Fading Fast]

"Ah," ahs Ma, her mouth flattening into a hard line.

I would not want to be Bink right now.

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Of all the celebrities rampant in our world of 1945, of all the outsized personalities that cavort for our daily entertainment on Page Four --- John Houseman?????

It can be a very small intersection between the 1945 and 2025 worlds, indeed. Oh and, John, what, no ten-percent reward for the honorable Housemans?

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Twice The Circulation Of Any Other Paper In America.

The comicstrip writers know their audience.

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In an alternate universe, meet Bink Scanlan...

Heck, ask her now, Bink probably has a version of this upbringing in her repertoire.

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

Who is hiding out on Spook Island? Axel 3-1, that creepy candy-store lady 10-1, Mrs. Bleating-Hart's even more evil sister 50-1, Nick Gatt 100-1.

"I'm ready to come back anytime Gray is ready."

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

You know, gals like April don't age very well.

Other than Cheery Blaze, April is the least appealing of the Caniff women: The DL, Burma, Raven Sherman (sigh), Hu Shee (double sigh), and probably a few I've forgotten all had it in spades over April whose act wears very thin, very quickly.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I neveh tawk about it," sighs Bink Scanlan, gazing across a Dewes Deli corned beef sandwich, "'cause it's embarassin'." "Huh," huhs Solly Pincus, leaning back in his seat. "Since when'dYOU get embarassed?" "Lay awff, huh?" frowns Bink. "I'm try'na be serious. My faw'teh woiked hawrd, OK? In a fact'ry. I was jus' a lit'l goil, but I r'membehr'im comin' home an' fawlin' asleep befo'eh're could eat 'is dinneh. An'nen t' Depression come. He lawst 'is jawb. He couldn' fin' anot'eh one. A whole yeehr 'e looked f'woik. An'nen one night 'e wen' down'a basemen', an' 'e...." She trails off and pokes at her sandwich. "When I was eight yeehs ol', I'd a kilt f'ra sanwich like t'is. One time I seen a lady wawkin' wit' a basket 'a groceries. She gawt awna trolley. I gawt awna trolley. An' I swiped 'eh basket an' jumped awff t'rolley an' gawt away. An'nen I done it again. An' ev'ry t'ime I done it, it gawt easieh." Solly looks across the table, tapping his soda bottle against the scarred wood. "What fact'ry?" he asks. "Huh?" huhs Bink. "Ya fawteh," elaborates Solly. "Whe'd 'ee woik? What fact'ry?" "I -- I don' r'membeh," stammers Bink. "Some place up'n Williamsboig, I t'ink. I was just a lit'l kid." "What was 'is name?" interrogates Solly. "Eddie," replies Bink with an edge of irritation. "Eddie Scanlan. Look, what's wit' awl'ese questions? Do I ask 'bout any'a youeh dumb life? Huh?" Solly give her another long look. "Jus' curious," he shrugs. "Like t'get t'know people. Now eatcha lunch." "Yeh," nods Bink, eyeing him carefully as she takes a bite....)

("Lissen'a t'is," requests Sally, sitting in bed with her copy of Introductory Sociology propped againt her thighs. "We wen' oveh t'is in school t'night. "Says 'eeh, "Moeh-rays of coehse awr much moeh compulsive t'en folkways. T'ey awr not simply nawrms, but rat'eh rules f' behavieh, anney have real sanctions back of t'em. Oueh friend Alice may become a wawlfloweh t'ru gaucherie..." "Gooch..." stumbles Joe. "Gaucherie," repeats Sally. "T'at means -- um, I dunno, sump'n like pickin' ya teet' at t'table wit' a steak knife, junk like'at. Sump'n uncout'." "I neveh seen Alice do t'at," declares Joe. "An' it goes awn," continues Sally, "...an' on'y be pitied by 'eh associates. But when she jerns a nudis' cult, spends a night wit' a man unchaperoned, awr steals sumpn' from 'eh roommate, she really gets inta trouble...'" "Alice?" gapes Joe. "In a nudis' cult? Nahhh, t'at'll neveh happen." "Well, no," shrugs Sally, "but ain' it funny t'ey say 'ya frien' Alice. I gotta show 'eh t'is, she'll t'ink it's funneh." "Whassat book say," snickers Joe, "'bout t'rowin' ya pan'ies at Rudy Vallee?" "HEY!" roars Sally. "I'm try'na sleep," bellows Leonora, as Joe leans back against his pillow and tries to stifle his laugh....)

("Whatt'l ye have?" queries Ma, as a shortish woman with an eruption of curly black hair plops onto a stool. "Gimmee," ponders Miss Kaplan, "a banana split. Extra wawlnuts." "I gawt no waaalnoots," declares Ma. "It's peanuts arrr noothin'." "Whateveh," shrugs Miss Kaplan as Ma slaps down the little tin dish and with a deft stroke cleaves the banana. "Hey," ventures Miss Kaplan as Ma scoops out the ice cream. "Ain' you Joe Petrauskas's mot'ehr'in law?" "Oi am that," nods Ma, as she pumps the chocolate syrup. "I useta woik wit' Joe at Sperry's," Miss Kaplan continues. "I bet it's hawrd fawr 'im, huh?" "Whot is?" queries Ma, spooning on the whipped cream and reaching for the jar of peanuts. "I mean," sidles Miss Kaplan, "about'cheh daughteh. 'S'awright, I wouldn' tell nobody. 'Boutcheh daughteh." She shoots Ma a conspiratorial wink, as Ma stands baffled, the red glaze of the cherry dripping unheeded on her apron...)

(The People's Friend.)

(Find another year with pennant races like this. GO SENATORS.)

(Mr. Plumb certainly likes to draw noses, doesn't he?)

(Flame is no prize package, but Mr. Walker is an absolute pig.)

(Do any actual cops in this town ever do police work?)

(Well, that's what happens when your watch turns invisible too.)

(This strip genuinely made me tear up...)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

(These reissues are getting completely out of hand.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Dan Topping is also a pig. SKATE FAST SONJ!

"Hey Kay, what happened to that little kid?" "I don't know, Mae. Let us never speak of her again."

I hope this works out, they kinda deserve each other.

"Shut up and work, or you won't get your 'E' pennant!"

"It's a pity you don't have any furniture though. Sure you don't want to go into business with me....?"

Enjoy occupation duty, kid.

'When in doubt, sell out!"

Just spinning your wheels, hon.

Of course he will.

Just like used to happen to Babe Ruth.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily Worker --

Rep. Rankin, we may recall, is the dedicated public servant who called the KKK "an old American tradition," and on the floor of the House declared Walter Winchell to be "a dirty little k**e."

 

[Fading Fast]

"What was 'is name?" interrogates Solly.

Bink learns there is a price for lying / integrity matters. I have no idea if this father-factory story is true or just another Bink made-up tale.

Separately, not commenting on the strike itself, but if ever a union was facing a losing battle over the next several decades, it is the elevator operators. I have gone into one older coop in the past decade that still - amazingly - employed an elevator operator. But it was one of those swanky buildings where, I'm guessing, they keep the position because they like having it and money is no object.

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

"Whassat book say," snickers Joe, "'bout t'rowin' ya pan'ies at Rudy Vallee?" "HEY!" roars Sally.

She lets her libido off its leash one night and then can never live it down.

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

"I bet it's hawrd fawr 'im, huh?" "Whot is?" queries Ma, spooning on the whipped cream and reaching for the jar of peanuts. "I mean," sidles Miss Kaplan, "about'cheh daughteh. 'S'awright, I wouldn' tell nobody. 'Boutcheh daughteh." She shoots Ma a conspiratorial wink, as Ma stands baffled, the red glaze of the cherry dripping unheeded on her apron...

Oy, this is not going to end well for "Miss Kaplan."

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

Mr. Plumb certainly likes to draw noses, doesn't he?

What an absolutely stupid plot this was if this is literally the end of it.

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Dan Topping is also a pig. SKATE FAST SONJ!

Hobart D. Martin is the living embodiment of "a fool and his money are soon parted." He deserves to get it back legally, but what idiot.

 

[LizzieMaine]

The only NYC building I was ever in that still had an operator -- at least as of 1997, when I saw him -- was the Manhattan Center. And he wasn't much good when the elevator jammed and we had to walk down howeverthehellmany flights of stairs....

Our local downtown department store, killed off by the arrival of Wal Mart in 1994, had a hand-operated cage elevator that was a childhood thrill until I realized the store had no toy department waiting at the end of the ride...

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Gum wooehs," snickers Sally. "What t'hell'sat awlabout? I ask ya!" "You otta heeh," sighs Alice, "some'a t'stawries Siddy tells 'bout t'ings wen' awn inna las' wawr." "I bet he goes awn an' awn," eyeroll Sally. "He don' tawk much," admits Alice. "But sometimes, y'know, when 'e's had a coupla bot'ls'a beeh, it stawrts comin' out. He was jus' a kid, y'know, seventeen when'ee signed up. T'ey didn' caeh, he was bawlheaded awready, din' look seventeen, y'know. An'ee was married, r'membeh, she died while 'e was oveh t'eh, but he was married when'ee wen' in. An' I guess he fooled aroun', y'know, like awla resta t'em guys done, wit't' mam'selles. He was jus'a dumb kid, y'know? But 'e still feels guilty'bout it, t't'is day. An'ee tells'ese stawries, an' -- well, t'at's when I tell 'im t'waw'rs oveh, an'its time t'go t'bed." They ride on in silence for a time before Sally speaks again. "Joe neveh tawks 'bout t'wawr," she notes. "You know, 'caus'a what happ'nt onnat truck, gett'n shawt -- n' awl. But I c'n tell ya, f'ra fack, t'at inna time 'ee was oveh t'eh, he neveh gawt mixed up wit' no ma'amselles." "How," questions Alice, "c'n ya be sueh?" Another long interval of silence. "Because," Sally finally declares, "He's Joe....")

("A cowboy," snickers Joe, putting away the paper. "I wondeh if he know'sat Indian chief runsaroun' wit' t'at Missus Langfed." "Joseph," begins Ma, putting down her cleaning towel, "I wanna ask ye soomthin'. Soomthin' serious." "Oh," ohs Joe. "Um, yeh, I guess so. What's awn yeh min'?" "Is Sally all roit?" continues Ma. "Huh?" huhs Joe. "I mean," elaborates Ma, "is she -- ahhl roit. Is she havin' any oov arr -- um -- you knoo -- harr foony tarrns?" Joe is taken aback by this inquiry. "No moeh'n usual," he shrugs. "I mean, she slung a brick at t'at cawp Flannehry a while back, but, I mean -- well, it ain' like she hit 'im. Jus' kin'a let 'im know t' stay onna ot'eh side'a t'street, y'know? But -- well, I mean, we went t'wa pitcheh t'ot'eh night an' awl she done was hiss MacAwrteh inna newsreel. An' she din'even do t'at out loud, jus kin'a whispehed. Sssssssss. Y'know?" "She's still seein' Doctarr Levine?" questions Ma. "Yeh," nods Joe. "An' y'know, she's takin'is collitch t'ing serious. Ev'ry night t'ezza class, she sits up late read'nem books, doin' homewoik. An'nen gets up at five inna mawrnin' t'make t'train t' Joisey. I dunno how she does it." "Ah," ahs Ma, twisting the towel in her hands. "She doon't --" she exhales, "sleeepwaaalk, doos she?" "I neveh seen nut'n like t'at," declares Joe. "Ahhl roit," nods Ma. "Boot Oi want'chee t'do a favarrr. Whin she goos t'sleep, Oi want'chee t'hoide 'arr shoes." "Wha..." puzzles Joe. "Joost," sighs Ma, "t' be safe....")

(Tsk, Jack. We know you don't like to spend money, but you really shouldn't skimp on a toupee.)

("Trade extra roof trusses with your friends!")

(So let's get this straight. The Senators have no more games to play, so to win the pennant they have to wait and see if the Browns can beat the Tigers three out of three? And all because Clark Griffith wanted his ballpark empty to make way for football?? DOESNT ANYONE SEE ANYTHING WRONG WITH THIS???)

(On the other hand, who doesn't love carrying their lunch to school in a canvas bag with a dollar sign on it?)

(I was thinking more like, oh, Alcatraz...)

(This is the same kind of irritating detective-story presumptuousness that bugs me when Ellery Queen does it: "no man would ever go to the theatre without a top hat, but there is no top hat here, therefore the killer took the top hat away...")

("A dollar Esterbrook? Who you trying to kid??")

(Poor Pansy. I wish I could adopt her, but my cat makes Kitty look like a positive caninophile.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Why drag ME into this??" -- Vinegar Joe.

No wonder Bern's going into the cult business, he's got a lot of alimony coming up.

Look, toots, just go into show business. The kick's the same, and people don't gossip as much.

"I should have stayed in that cave." -- Bim.

Still can't get a Pullman, huh?

**** is disgusted by old men who collect dolls.

Look, a cigarette smuggler!

"Actually, that's Lieutenant Brown."

"It's not as easy as it looks." -- Mary Worth.

"Now if you don't mind, I'm going to dose him with paregoric, just in case."

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also....

Ahhhhh yes, Gerhard Westrick. The Gauleiter of Scarsdale.

 

[Fading Fast]

"I bet he goes awn an' awn," eyeroll Sally.



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

"Because," Sally finally declares, "He's Joe...."

And that's all the proof she needs.

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

"No moeh'n usual,"

He is the absolute perfect straight man.

Separately, the cowboy wasn't in the bar, but he showed up at the police with his lawyer, hmm.

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

Beside being a very pretty young woman (and a pretty dress - simple is always best), she has a wasp waist that I'd accuse one of our comicstrip illustrators of exaggerating. Or, were they doing that level of photoshopping in '45?

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

This is the same kind of irritating detective-story presumptuousness that bugs me when Ellery Queen does it: "no man would ever go to the theatre without a top hat, but there is no top hat here, therefore the killer took the top hat away..."

I agree completely with you, but being sandwiched between "Mary Worth" and "Invisible Scarlet" always makes "Jane Arden" seem smarter.

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

Poor Pansy. I wish I could adopt her, but my cat makes Kitty look like a positive caninophile.

Pansy seems like a sweetheart.

I'm pretty sure I posted this before, but my girlfriend's mother's cat and dog are best friends.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Junior sizes, that's the giveaway. In 1945 "junior" meant you were both young and very very slender. A 24 inch waist was not uncommon for such youngfolk, especially with the proper underpinnings.

Enjoy it while you can, hon -- when you hit thirty, them days is gone forever.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("We ain' hadda change t' clawcks f' t'ree yeehs," sighs Alice. "But I guess it'll be nice t'get back t'at houeh'ra sleep." "You ain' really gett'n it back," argues Sally. "Ya gonna wake up same time y'been doin' an' ya gonna lay in bed starin' at t'ceilin' till y'say t'hell wit' it an' get up. R'membeh what t'at was like?" "Oh," frowns Alice. "But what if I go t'bed 'noueh oilieh?" "Y'gonna be doin'at anyways," points out Sally. "Y'gonna feel tiehed an' t'ink it's ten, 'leven'a clock ev'nough t' clawck says nine. I'm tellin'ya, t'ey gotcha comin' an' goin'." "Oh," exhales Alice. "Well, I guess I won't change t'clock at home anyways t'en. If you say it don' matteh..." "Oh, it does matteh," declares Sally. "T'at'sa woise of it. You don' change t' clawck -- well, say t'marra night y'wanna lissen t' Jack Benny, right? He's awn at seven. You don' change t' clawck, an' ya gonna toin awna radio when ya t'ink it's seven an' its on'y six. An' ya gotta sit'teh f'ra 'noueh an' lissen t'wa buncha junk." "T' Great Gildehsleeve comes awn at six-t'oity," rejoinds Alice. "I like him, an'nat guy onneh says 'well now I wouldn' say t'at." "Awright," concedes Sally. "But at six ya got t'at Monseenyeh Sheen on'neh. Who wawns t'lissen t' him?" "Well," mutters Alice, "maybe I do, I dunno. I mean, I neveh hoid no monseenyeh befoeh. Aincha sposta kneel down foist?" "At's a bishop," sneers Sally. "I neveh hoid one'a t'em neiteh," sighs Alice. "Maybe I'll jus' set t' clawck back an' f'gettabout it.....")

("So Oi've gaaaht sooom oidears aboot jeeps," announces Uncle Frank, "woonce we get ahoolda soom, an' Oi'm thinkin' that place oot in Flooshin' moit be -- are ye lissenin' t'me?" "Yeh, yeh," jitters Solly, tapping a pencil against the backroom desk at Sergeant Solly's Surplus. "I t'ink t'at'sa way t' go, yeh, t'ezzat vacan' lawt t'eh, we could use'at, line up a buncha jeeps." "Oi had a woire fr'm Lowrey in Chicagarr," continues Uncle Frank. "Business is soo good he's had t' take oon anoothar man t' -- see here, now. Ye get aaahl soor when Oi doon't lissen t' YOU, an' yarr sittin' thar doodlin' on that blottar." "Huh?" huhs Solly. "Sawry, Frank. Guess I'm a little d'stracted. I dunno, I guess I jus' gawt sump'n undeh my skin." "Carbaaalic sooap'll fix thaaat," declares Uncle Frank. "No," exhales Solly. "I don't t'ink it will...")

("Colossal idea! Gigantic! Stupendous! Can we use Olsen and Johnson?")

(A WALK IS AS GOOD AS A HIT.)

(Is the movie page really the best place for this ad?)

(Yeah, let's reserve judgment till it clears.)

(Doc Rockwell of Boothbay Harbor, Maine is a fine comedian who often does guest shots with Fred Allen, and I hope he sues the proprietors of this strip for defamation by association.)

(Look, if you're going to pay off a gag with a take like that, you have to show the guy in the other panels so we can see the buildup. Who's directing here, anyway???)

(Those little .25 automatics are great, you can tuck them right into your stocking. But don't try it with rayons, they'll bag.)

(**snif**)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

I didn't know Frankie Germano followed boxing.

Remember when this page was all about heiresses, phony counts, Indian chiefs, and gigolos?

If you like privacy, don't live in a boardinghouse.

It was inevitable that she'd finally crack, but I didn't think it would be like this.


"Look here, an entire case of Canadian whisky!"

"For the last time, Agnes -- he was expelled! For swinging from the bell rope!"

Any audience can tell when your heart isn't in your performance.

Fish in a barrel. A smelly rotten fish, but fish just the same.

Woo hoo, let's go buy some chairs!

I can't wait till Leonora's this age.