The Era -- Day By Day

[Fading Fast]

ALL RIGHT WE'RE DONE NEXT STORY PLEASE

Amen. Heck, I'd mail in a dollar for him to start writing a new storyline. I'd send one to "Invisible Scarlet" too.

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Artie looks like he's already planning his next trip to Mexico.

Ava was wife #5 on his way to a total of 8. That might be a Page 4 record - even Tommy didn't have 8, did he?

Ava herself never lost her amateur status with only three husbands in total.

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There is no love like family love.

And Andy Gump will walk right in the middle of it and mess up their nice murder-the-reclusive-relative-for-his-money plan.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Rooney will be in there somewhere too.

We haven't heard from Tommy in a while. I hope he's -- ah --- okay.

 

[Fading Fast]

Rooney will be in there somewhere too.

We haven't heard from Tommy in a while. I hope he's -- ah --- okay.

Great call, Rooney will end with 8 wives, but only 7 divorces (he finally figured it out or he died before he got a chance to divorce the last one ). In fairness to Andy Hardy, his last marriage lasted an amazing-for-him 36 years.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I'll tell ya who Joe Adonis is," fumes Sally. "R'membeh when we was sen'in Durocheh t'em telegrams tellin'im t'get Petey back, an'nem goons showed up an' busted up Ma's stoeh? T'at was Joe Adonis done'at!" "Naaaaah," dismisses Alice. "B'sides, I tol' ya not t'use t'at address t'send'm." "Him an' Durocheh is like t'is," declares Sally. "Just a coupla cheap hoods." 'I betcha wish ya hadn' named ya dawteh after'im," snickers Alice. "T'at was diff'nt," grumbles Sally. "He won'na pennant t'at yeeh. An'nat was befoeh're traded Petey." "You really t'ink 'e's a hood?" queries Alice. "He weahs'em two tone shoes," frowns Sally. "An' poifume. T'at's how y'can tell." "Ohhhhh," ohs Alice........)

("Y'on'y been doin' it f'ra week," assures Solly Pincus. "It takes a while t'getcha business awff t'groun, 'at's awl." "You done awright," mopes Joe, gazing forlornly into his Rheingold. "An' ya know why?" asserts Solly. "I pr'moted. I advehtised. I got my face out'teh. T'at sign wit' my face awn it innat stupid hat? People see t'at. T"ey remembehr'it. 'Sergeant Solly. Hey, less go in, see what it's awl about.'" "Ahhhh," dismisses Joe. "I dunno." "Look heeh," continues Solly, grabbing a paper abandoned on the bar. "Lookit'is guy. James J. Ryan. He's gonna sell ya a diamon'. Lookit'at face. Ain'nat t' hawnes' face of a guy'd give y'ra good deal awn a diamon'?" "I hoid," sighs Joe, "'e was a crook." "Look," exhales Solly. "Lemme woik up some ideehs fawr ya. Ya got a good product, you make t' bes' hamboigeh I eveh ate. Butcha gotta get t'woid aroun'. I'm gonna help ya do t'at." "Huh," huhs Joe. "Hey, you eveh see a black moimaid?")

("Well they wouldn't take them at the pawn shop!")

("I wonder how Billy Conn made out with his father in law?" chortles Mr. Parrott, leaning against Miss Jones's desk. "Shouldn't you be working?" frowns Miss Jones, not looking up from the morning mail. "The old man's not in, is he?" queries Mr. Parrott. "Isn't he back yet from..." "I couldn't tell you," declares Miss Jones. "Well, you COULD," wheedles Mr. Parrott. "But I won't," dismisses Miss Jones....)

(You could just nail the windows shut...)

(""Remember me? That's my name up there.")

(Ya think?)

(Remember the last time you got mixed up with this twerp and his robots? You ended up at the bottom of the river. So maybe don't doze off, huh?)

(It's all perfectly innocent.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

How's that crow taste, Mr. O'Donnell?

Uh oh, Solly won't like this.

"Fortunately, I can fill that emptiness with Breyer's Vanilla."

"You'll get used to it." -- Sandy.

This is an awfully spacious back seat. Must be a Chrysler.

"Now what's for supper? I could sure go for some Spam."

Every circus needs a clown.

And that airline, you may recall, was a front for the DL's operations in Hong Kong. Maybe she'll give a reference too.

It's OK, Hon, you only have to live in Reno six weeks.

Even your best frends won't tell you.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Those who like to paint Joe Louis as an amiable accomodationist might be surprised.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Him an' Durocheh is like t'is," declares Sally. "Just a coupla cheap hoods." 'I betcha wish ya hadn' named ya dawteh after'im," snickers Alice. "T'at was diff'nt," grumbles Sally. "He won'na pennant t'at yeeh. An'nat was befoeh're traded Petey." "You really t'ink 'e's a hood?" queries Alice. "He weahs'em two tone shoes," frowns Sally. "An' poifume. T'at's how y'can tell." "Ohhhhh," ohs Alice........)

Once again we see why Alice is the best.

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The Russeks model looks really similar to actress Rita Johnson - any offbeat chance it's her? She was only a B movie actress.

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You could just nail the windows shut...

The net must be why there are no bodies on the streets. My God this is a dumb story.

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Uh oh, Solly won't like this.

No kidding. You do not want to be competing with Davega. Solly's going to have to buy better "inside" people or is all this stuff sold at legit public auctions? I'm guessing there's so much of it, plenty of slippery deals get done with dog runner types.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Rita did quite a bit of radio, most of it out on the Coast, but she also dabbled with the stage, and I have a fuzzy memory that we ran across some mention of her being back east for a play within the past year or so. If it is her, she wouldn't be the first B-lister to moonlight as a model.

Hey Reet, there's still time to get in the running for Miss Rheingold 1946...

 

[LizzieMaine]

("People joompin' aaahf bridges," muses Uncle Frank. "Oi doon't woondar, th' waaarld bein' as it is." "Oi see a man coom in th' stoor t'day," relates Ma. "Had aaahn this foine Arrrmy jacket. Asked 'im if'ee gaaaht it at Sergeant Solly's Sorploos. He says "nivvar harr'd'v'it. Oi gaaht this at Davega's. A foine thing, an' yaar roit next door b'soides." "Solly ain't warried," shrugs Uncle Frank "He's gooin' t'wan auction ovarr in Jarrsey next week, thar'll be plenty'a jackets t'goo aroond. Noo Jeeps thoough." 'And paaar Joseph," continues Ma. "He soold two hambarrgers t'day." "I bought one'v'm," adds Bink. "He says Solly's goin' t' hilp 'im with pooblicity," adds Ma. "Put 'im onna sign," suggests Bink. ""cept'ee don' have dumb eehs." "Oi gaaht some oideaars me'self," adds Uncle Frank. "Oi gaaaht a meet'n at th' Friendly Soons'a St. Patrick t'night, an' Oi figyarr a lotta thim boys owe me faaar past favarrs rinder'd. They moit -- ah -- appreciate a loonch suggestion." "That..." hesitates Ma, "is a good oidear." "Oi thaat so," smiles Uncle Frank. "An' whoile yarr at it," reminds Ma, "tell sooma thim booms t'pay what they owe ME." "Ah..." ahs Uncle Frank..

("Lissen 'eeh," suggests Sally, holding up the October issue of "Mademoiselle." "T'is awrticle 'bout women afteh t'wawr. Says "a cawmbination a' fawrces is shapin' up to t'rust women back towehd an American voision of 'Kindeh, kooche, Koiche.'" "Koochy?" puzzles Alice. "Nah," corrects Sally. "Kuuuhch," she enunciates, failing to achieve the umlaut. "It's Goiman. It means 'children, kitchen, church.' T'at's what Hitleh said was awl women was good fawr. Din' wan'm woikin in jawbs. An'nis awrticle 'eeh, t'is says we gotta be ready t'fight f'r oueh jawbs. It's gonna be like t'ey done t' you, out t' plant, bustin' you down fr'm supehviseh so t'ey could give it t'wa man, on'y t'eh gonna try t'run us right out t'dooeh." "Oh," sighs Alice. "S'awrways gotta be sump'n, ain' it? Couese, it might be nice nawt t'have t' ride'is train no moeh, not have t'get up at foeh t'oity.." "Says 'eeh," continues Sally, "'t'is revoision to t' more-ays of a by-gone day is as unrealistic an' dangehrous as any ot'eh attemp' t' toin back t' clawk. It t'reatens t' status an' statcheh of American women as self-reliant grown-up human bein's." "Kids gawt it easy," exhales Alice, resting her head on the back of the seat, as the train rolls on toward home....)

(While the iron is hot.)


("Sawry, t'is is a **** game goin' awn in 'eeh. You wawn' Gawd's Life Currents, t'at's Room 202, crawsta hawl.." -- Sgt. Doyle.)

(COOOOOOOOOKIE!!!!!! Tell Jack Pierce to get his balloons ready!)

(Either the laws of physics mean nothing, or that's a dummy.)

(What would Billy Conn's father in law do?)

(From now on, this is my response to every challenge: DIDN'T HE GIVE ME TWO LOAVES OF BREAD?)

(You'd think she'd learn to wear a wristband or something.)

("Oh well, I'd better go home to bed.")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Ew, again.

Are we deliberately overlooking all the trolley accidents? Hm?

Pretty good. Keep it up and Fitz might offer you a contract for next season.

But don't let it bother you, it's all part of kayfabe.

Don't try to play a player.

The Army has made you hard and cynical, son.

"And your new quarters in the basement are just about ready."

"We could just shoot him from here, you know." "Yes, but where's the fun in that?"

"Can I stop and find a bathroom first? That was a long ride."

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

"What'd I tell ya?" -- Sal.

 

[Fading Fast]

It's nice that all that worked out and Venezuela has had a democracy ever since.

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

"He says Solly's goin' t' hilp 'im with pooblicity,"

I'm excited to see the advertising campaign Solly will work up for Joe.

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

"Sawry, t'is is a **** game goin' awn in 'eeh. You wawn' Gawd's Life Currents, t'at's Room 202, crawsta hawl.." -- Sgt. Doyle.



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

"Oh well, I'd better go home to bed."

"...and my worries are over."

Always one of the most dangerous lines uttered in any comicstrip.

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Ew, again.

Ew, indeed.

Separately, absolutely amazed that Imogene Stevens got off. Something suspicious with our justice system went on there.

And once again, we see what a lucrative and active field jewel thievery is in the 1940s.

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

"And your new quarters in the basement are just about ready."

"Does this mean no more aromatherapy?"

 

[LizzieMaine]

("He's doin' it again," sighs Sally. "I woke up mid'la t'night, an'ee was out awna fieh 'scape spittin' t'bacceh. He hadn' been doin' it f'ra while, 'n I t'ought he was awl done wit'it. But 'e was out'teh awrmos' two houehs befoeh'ree come back t'bed. I didn' let awn I was awake, an' I know 'e jus' laid t'eh starin' at t' ceilin' till t' sun come up." "You knew, though," reminds Dr. Levine, "that it wasn't just going to go away." "Maybe it ain' t' wawr t'ough," observes Sally. "Maybe he's jus' worried 'bout not sellin' no hamboigehs. I mean, it'sa on'y t'ing 'e's been tawkin'about f't' las' mont', t'on'y t'ing he's gawt excited 'bout since'ee gawt home. An' if it ain' gonna woik, well, I gotta do sump'na 'bout it, ain' I?" "No," corrects Dr. Levine. "What *could* you do?" "Well, maybe I c'n, I dunno, get sump'n goin'. Me 'n Alice. Maybe we could get out some papehs tellin' people nawt t'go t' Toomey's awr Dewes's a'none'a t'em places. Tell'm t' suppoeht a vet'ran, t'at fought Germany's WWII-era leaderships, n'awlat. Well, he was a cook, but y'don' eat, ya don' fight, right? At'sa same as fightin', ain' it? Maybe I could get up a petition..." "Maybe," ventures the Doctor, "he needs to work this out for himself. Maybe you could just offer -- quiet support." "Me???" puzzles Sally. "Try it," affirms the Doctor...)

(Wandering the fourth floor at Martin's, Bink Scanlan finds herself in the Layette Shop, gazing at a pair of knit booties. She picks them up, examines them closely, and squeezes them into her palm. Her hand moves casually toward her coat pocket, and then stops....)

("I was not aware," declares the French-accented voice of Hector Racine, over the long-distance wire, "that you work on a Sunday. This is for you something new, perhaps?" "Extraordinary events," rumbles Mr. Rickey, "call for extraordinary methods. As you know, political tides in conjunction with our mayoral election have forced an adjustment in our schedule. It will be impossible to carry out the plan at the conclusion of the football campaign. Our young man has advised me of his intention to play for a winter club in Venezuela, but likewise there, political matters force an adjustment. I have advised him of our thinking on the present situation, and he has agreed to report to your offices on Tuesday. My son will arrive in Montreal tomorrow to represent the Brooklyn club." "You yourself will not...?" queries Mr. Racine. "I do not believe it to be advisable," declares Mr. Rickey. "My presence would be seen as, in the words of my associate Mr. Parrott, a cheap publicity stunt. Too much is at stake, my friend. Too much." "All will be in readiness," assures Mr. Racine. "Bon courage," exhales Mr. Rickey. "To us all," agrees Mr. Racine...)

(If they had Page Four in the Old West, this story would be on it.)

(Movie Bugs has all his lawyers trying to cancel this strip.)

(They do deserve each other.)

(Why does Christiana Goethe look exactly like Cheery Blaze? STRANGE AS IT SEEMS!)

(Maybe try a cup of Ovaltine before bed.)


(If you had asked me what President plays shuffleboard, Harry would honestagawd be my first guess.)

("Go home to Bill and those awful children? Pfah!")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

All right, Imogene. Get busy on your vaudeville tour.

All the office boys are looking terribly mature these days...

Bill Terry? Is Bill Terry still in the league?

Well, that's certainly going to upset the poor bride.

Somebody's gonna get the rug. And "half a face" is a bit -- ah, well, all right, no it isn't.

A CLIP SHOW???? Really, Mr. Caniff??? No wonder he has to share a page with Peter Pain.

No one in the Mullins family has ever slept thru the night. And really, Shad, dont you know sharing makeup is unsanitary?

A forced smirk? Not a smile, but at least it's something.

This pantleg thing is getting out of hand.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Honestly, this is more exciting than anything Caniff has come up with in the past two months.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also --

Today's "Talk To The People" broadcast by Butch over WNYC contains some vigorous comments directed to his good friends at the Daily News over the O'Donnell affair...

https://www.wnyc.org/story/october-21-1945

 

[Fading Fast]

Maybe I could get up a petition..." "Maybe," ventures the Doctor, "he needs to work this out for himself. Maybe you could just offer -- quiet support." "Me???" puzzles Sally. "Try it," affirms the Doctor...

Alice's answer had Alice gone to medical school and become a psychiatrist.

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

Wandering the fourth floor at Martin's, Bink Scanlan finds herself in the Layette Shop, gazing at a pair of knit booties. She picks them up, examines them closely, and squeezes them into her palm. Her hand moves casually toward her coat pocket, and then stops....

Bad karma for the baby, Bink; good move to stop.

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

All right, Imogene. Get busy on your vaudeville tour.

Some really dirty deal got made behind the scenes on this one.

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

Somebody's gonna get the rug.

It should be a heck of a rescue scene.

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And "half a face" is a bit -- ah, well, all right, no it isn't.

No, sadly, it isn't

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A CLIP SHOW???? Really, Mr. Caniff??? No wonder he has to share a page with Peter Pain.

I had forgotten about Big and Little Jane – I liked them.

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

Honestly, this is more exciting than anything Caniff has come up with in the past two months.

Why is the war still going on in this strip?

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I dunno," shrugs Joe. "I been t'inkin' 'bout whatcha said t'ot'eh day, 'bout advehtisin' 'nawlat, but I jus' can't t'ink'a nut'n. Whattaw' I know 'bout'tat kin'a stuff?" "Well'a fois' t'ing," instructs Solly, "is y'gawtta have a name t'sell. Lissen, you eveh t'inka askin'a ol' lady t'change t'name'a t'is jernt? 'Lieb's' c'n be any'ting. An' who knows Lieb anyways, he ain' been'eeh f' what, twenny yeehs?" "She'd neveh go f't'at," declares Joe. "She wawnts t'keep whatchacawl a low profile, 'causea -- well, you know. She neveh wanne'd 'eh name awna place, and we'couldn' cawl it 'Joe's,' f'chrissake, t'ezzat place downtown cawlt 'Joe's,' 'at fancy jernt awn Fulton Street wit't tablecalawts 'nawlat." "Well'en," suggests Solly. "How'bout 'Lieb's Luncheonette?' Y'know? T'at at leas' tells people y'sellin' moehr'n sodehs an' papehs n' cigarettes n' junk." "I s'pose she might go f' t'at," considers Joe, "'long's she ain' gotta buy no new sign." "'Nezza not'at'ing," adds Solly. "You sell Coca-Cola, right? Barrels a' t'stuff. Well, d'joo know t'ey give ya signs f'free? Putcha name right on'neh, long's it says Coca-Cola undehneat'. Paint up ya windehs, do awlat'at. Awl ya gotta do is ask." "I din'no t'at," admits Joe. "Well," grins Solly, "now ya do. Y'see? It's easy when ya know how. Now less tawk about what t'cawl ya hamboigehs....")

("Yeh," marvels Sally, "it was t'damndes' t'ing. I wen' inna stoeh t'eh, afteh'r I gawt done wit' Docteh Levine, right? An'nat Bink Scanlan's sitt'n'eh awn a stool wit' knittin' needles an' a big bawl'a yawrn, an' she's awl tangled up. I ast'eh what she's doin', an' she says she's try'na knit a bootie. Y'know, like f'ra baby. 'Cep' she don' know how, an' she's get'n awl soeh'rabout it. An'nen Ma says, '*you* know how t'knit...'" "Y'do?" gapes Alice. "Yeh," huffs Sally. "I do. R'membeh las' Chrismas? I loint howta knit so I could make t'em sawks f' Joe." "Oh yeh," recalls Alice. "T'at was a nice scawrf." "Whateveh," snaps Sally. "But anyways, Ma wants I should show Bink how t'knit. An' she's comin' oveh t'house t'night so I c'n show 'eh. I ask ya!" "C'n I wawtch?" requests Alice. "Howcome," frowns Sally. "You don' know nutn' 'bout knitt'n." "No," admits Alice, "but I know Bink...")

("Fortunately, the short ton of sugar I have in my garage should see us thru...")

(Whattaya want f'ra nickel? The Man From Cooks?)

("Have you seen the Twig?" queries Mr. Parrott, approaching Miss Jones's desk. "I wanted to go over some minor league rosters, and.." "Young Mr. Rickey," declares Miss Jones, "is out of the office until Wednesday." "Oh," ohs Mr. Parrott. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me where he is." "No," agrees Miss Jones. "Y'know," snorts Mr. Parrott, "I remember when the Old Man told me *everything.*" "So," sniffs Miss Jones, "does he.")

(Arnold Stang is a very busy radio actor these days, but I think this is his first comic strip role.)

("Hmph." -- Angel Varden. "You'll get used to it." -- Leona Stockpool Blackston.)

(At last! Comedy relief!)

(Ew.)

(Get Out Of Jail Free!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

If only Marie Dressler had lived to see it.

HEY DON'T MAKE ME SPILL IT

"I told you we should have eloped!"

"Um, just trying to keep you motivated, that's all."

It's not nice to rub it in.

Careful what you wish for...

He's getting ready for college.

Mr. Clark does have a way with faces.

Don't go away, folks -- this won't take long.

Seize the moment.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

No place ike home...