The Era -- Day By Day

[Fading Fast]

"T'at Bink," muses Joe, "is a pretty smawrt kid sometimes." "Sometimes," acknowledges Solly...

I feel so defeated on this one; I just hope she makes him a good wife.

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

Hmph. If there's one phrase every first-year-French student is guaranteed to know, it's 'voulez-vous coucher avec moi?'"

As did most kids in the 1970 when "Lady Marmalade" was a hit and it was "so cool" to know that line.

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

"Poor Carole. I don't miss those days at all..." -- Ann Sheridan.

Hard to believe Sanders is very consoling, but maybe that's just his screen persona.

Re Matt Kimes: Why does a prisoner serving two life terms for slaying officers get "leave" in the first place?

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

Sally doesn't miss working retail at all.

I worked retail throughout college and, one, I don't miss it and made a point of never being in a "public facing" role again in my life (and haven't), two, Sally is congenitally wrong for retail, and, three, all those types do exist (maybe less exaggerated, but they exist). BTW, working with the "hard to get" ones just means you do more work.

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

On the cover of the Coloroto section, Paulette says "Well, whattaya expect in November, a bathing suit??"

But, Paulette, it's warm in Hollywood. We'd have settled for a low-cut blouse.

Thank you, Lizzie.

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

"Good thing we can still breathe. Oh, wait..."

Won't happen for obvious reasons, but IRL, I could see Itchy shooting her.

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

And the one place Terry absolutely does not belong is show business.

Which worked out fine here as she all but played it like a monologue.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Y'really not gonna tell me weh y'got t'at dough, awr ya?" sighs Sally. "Once again, t'ez stuff goin' awn people don' tell me." "T'ez t'ings y'wanna know, Sal," warns Alice. "An'nez t'ings y'tink y'wanna know an'nen y'know'm an' y'wish ya din't." She falls silent as the train rumbles onward. "But -- um -- " she adds. "T'is ain' -- um -- one'a t'em t'ings." "Whateveh," sighs Sally, tired of the evasions. "I wish we din'hafta go t' woik t'day. Sammy's s'posta go t' coeht. We should be t'eh." "We been absenteein' a lawt," notes Alice. "It ain' like we'eh goin' out gallivantin'," retorts Sally. "T'is is impoeht'n. T'is ain' jus' f' Sammy an' 'is folks. It's f'ev'rybody's eveh been pushed aroun' by a doity cawp. I ain' f'got Woolwoit's nineteen t'oity-seven, y'know." "Awr," adds Alice, "t' Paramoun' Theateh, nineteen t'oity-one." "I'm serious," growls Sally. "Sawry," shrugs Alice, as the train rolls on toward Newark...)

("Sueh, Misteh Leary," smirks Heckie Capiello, flipping the cherry from his sundae into the air and catching it in his gaping mouth. "I c'n help y'out. But t'ey ain' got no moehr'a t'em big size toikeys, leas' not t'at I can get outta t'eh easy." "Well," grumbles Uncle Frank, "what CAN ye get me. Thaaanksgivin's in three days, an' Nora's givin' me th' look." "I c'n getcha two twelve poun' toikeys," replies Heckie. "We've oonly gaaaht," points out Uncle Frank, "woon oven." "Cook one t'day befoeh," suggests Heckie. "I woondar if Sally would cook one at harrr hoose," ponders Uncle Frank, "an' bring it ooovar." "Sueh!" declares Heckie. "She'd love'ta." "You are naaaht well acquainted," sighs Uncle Frank, "with me step daughtarr. An' hoos she goin' t'get a twelve ****d hot taaaarkey oovar here from Bensonhaaaarst?" "I seen awl kindsa dopey stuff awna subway," snickers Heckie. "Of coehse, if y'd rat'eh pay retail..." "Ahhhl roit," snaps Uncle Frank. "So," grins Heckie. "T'at's toit'y two cents a pound, so..." "Whoot happn'ta twenny-foor cents'a ****d?" demands Uncle Frank. "Ahhhh," shrugs Heckie. "It'sat postwawr inflation. Whatcha gonna do...." "Oi gaaht," growls Uncle Frank, "a few things in moind.")

Coming events...

("You eveh go inneh?" queries Rosa Capiello, strolling past Mozelewski's of Brooklyn. "Yeh," replies Bink Scanlan. "T'ey got nice stuff. 'Spensive gloves." "Hey," injects Rosa. "How come you ain' out t'night witcha boyfrien'?" "What boyfrien'?" scoffs Bink, flicking her cigarette **** into the gutter, and jamming a stick of Black Jack into her mouth. "You know," snickers Rosa, giving her ears a pull. "Dumbo." "He ain' my boyfrien'," snaps Bink. "He's jus' some guy. An'ee's old. You know how old he is? He's awrmos' t'oity-foueh. He's like t'at guy inna Bible t'eh t'at was old. Macushla." "Oh," nods Rosa. "Stood'ja up, huh?" "Ahhh," snorts Bink. "He had sump'n he hadda do ovehr'in Bensonhoist, he said. Some kin'a business." "An' here YOU awr," chuckles Rosa. "Outa business." "Don' remin' me," fumes Bink....)

(Of course Army has a great football team. And yet, one day they'll all turn into second lieutenants.)

(And they thought Louis B. Mayer was bad...)

("Atomic!" Yeah, a deadly blast.)

(Better pay in advance!)

(Or maybe that's her name! Some detective you are.)

("Yes. I am waiting for you. I've been waiting for you a long long time.")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Divorce's not over till the paperwork's done.

Y'know, Mae, hemlines are dropping.

Such asterisks!

You have more to worry about than that.

"And if the phone company goes on strike, why, who knows what we'll do!"

Is this Charlie in a clever disguise?

A whole roomful of lawyers just lost their retainer.

"Now the first thing let's do is get stationery printed. I've got some great ideas for a letterhead..."

Come and smell the mothballs!

"Richwitch."

 

[Fading Fast]

"Oi gaaht," growls Uncle Frank, "a few things in moind."

Namm's, Frank, Namm's.

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

"Atomic!" Yeah, a deadly blast.

It is funny, though, to see that and a few other like words slip into the vernacular.

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

Divorce's not over till the paperwork's done.

Heck, I check the stove at least twice to make sure it's off, but these people don't make sure their divorce paperwork is final?

Separately, the brothers look like brothers, but you know Harold is thinking, "thank God I got the height gene."

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

Y'know, Mae, hemlines are dropping.

Should you really be asking Santa to bring you "lace undies?"

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

Is this Charlie in a clever disguise?

Please, this kid knew Hu Shee, you're not going to impress him with your silly list of "talents."

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Five t'ousan' dollehs t' bail my boy out," exales Morrie Schreibstein. "An' we ain' even got haff'v't'at." "We got some savin's," assures Sally. "Ain'wee, Joe?" "T'at still ain' gonna get us t'eh," sighs Joe. "We need somebody wit' propetty t'put it up," continues Mr. Schreibstein. "An' none'v'us got none." "All my life," nods Mr. Ginsburg, "my shop I rent. I think one day I'll buy maybe. But that day has never come." "Maybe we c'n go canvassin' again," suggests Alice. "Hit s'moeh neighbehoods. You know a lotta people, Sal, t'at carries aroun' signs an' stuff -- maybe we c'd..." "I know somebody gawt propetty," exhales Joe, glancing at Sally, whose eyes widen with understanding. "Yeh," she nods. "But she'll neveh do it." "Lemme tawk to 'eh," insists Joe. "Maybe she'll lissen t'me." "Te'z t'ings she'll lissen to," contends Sally, "an'nen t'ez t'ings she'll t'row ya out t'dooeh y'bring'm up." "It's awl we gawt," sighs Joe....)

('You got a lotta noive," snarls Patrolman Flannery. "Try'na put t'squeeze on ME." "I ain' putt'n no squeeze," denies a bulky man in a dark overcoat, resting his beer glass on the table in a shadowed corner of the Old Reliable Tavern. "I'm jus' t'rowin'a matteh out f'discussion. I done you a faveh, an' now you c'n do me a faveh." "You was paid," growls Flannery. "An' you hadda lotta noive sublett'n t'jawb! I wawned t'at lit'l brot'eh'ra yez t'do it. He's about t' same size azzat Schreibstein kid. You took a big chance doin' it yaself." "He had a date," snorts the thug. "Y'wanna roon 'is social life? Anyways, you got whatcha wanned. T'at Petrooski dame got 'eh poice swiped, an' it got dumped right wheh ya wawned it. Whatchoo done afteh t'at ain' no r'sponsibility a'mine." "Neveh mine what I done," growls Flannery. "You know's well as I do you can't say nut'n less y'wanna one-way ticket upstate. So pull in t'at fat necka yez, an' be happy I don' run ya in f'carryin' a ***. I could put t' bag on ya right now, so keep ya ugly face shut..." Meanwhile, across the dingy room, at the end of the bar, a tall man pushes his glass forward. "Not'eh Rheingold," he requests, pushing back his hat to scratch a prominent ear...)

("It's no soap Misteh Leary," explains Heckie. "T'ey changed'a lawck onna meat lockeh. T'one Rosa gimme don' woik no moeh, an'nney ain' giveh a new one." "Well that's joost FOINE," blasts Uncle Frank. "Oi doon't sp'oose y'got any OOTHAR broit ideaars?" "I heeh," suggests Heckie, "t'ey put awn a nice feed at t' Dragon's Den....")

(Mr. Lichty can be awfully pointed when it suits him.)

(Football, boxing, basketball, and the Ice Follies. How I hate November.)

("Now about my new contract..")

(Ah, the Businessman's Bounce. Swing it, boys.)

(Somebody just got a motorcycle and loves to draw it.)

(These are rough times for teenage boys.)

(Chekhov's Turkey.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

It takes a man of courage and honor to face a Grand Jury with post-nasal drip.

Oh, and Season's Greetings.

So you might as well get comfortable...

I hear Crosby's really great with kids.

Meet cute.

I'd love to know what Jon said there before the editor changed it.

Skeezix Micawber.

Every evening-clothed billionaire needs a stooge. Here, kid, dress up like Punjab.

I see ghosts in my bad dreams all the time, but they don't go around pulling lamp chains.

My grape-juice Methodist grandmother used to have a row of cut-glass liquor decanters that she filled with colored water. It didn't taste very good.

 

[Fading Fast]

Meanwhile, across the dingy room, at the end of the bar, a tall man pushes his glass forward. "Not'eh Rheingold," he requests, pushing back his hat to scratch a prominent ear.

To quote Bob Dylan: "Things should start to get interesting right about now."

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

"t'ey put awn a nice feed at t' Dragon's Den...."

Doesn't the Chinese place, which I don't see today, usually have the best price for a table-service meal, with H&H being the cheapest overall? Things are looking up with the war over, so I think they should all just go to Howard Johnson's – Ma can afford it.

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

"Now about my new contract.."

"What?"

"I'm thinking an envelope with $300K should do nicely."

"That's extortion!"

"Yes, but it's not murder. You know, they fry you for that."

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

Meet cute.

Maybe she'll settle down, but right now, she's wearing me out. Does she breathe between sentences?

 

[Farace]

My grape-juice Methodist grandmother used to have a row of cut-glass liquor decanters that she filled with colored water. It didn't taste very good.

My Congregationalist grandparents had a midcentury split level with a bar in the basement. Grandma was a teetotaler. All the liquor bottles were filled with colored water. Except the rum. Despite never drinking alcohol, for some reason my grandmother would sometimes make a rum cake so strong the vapors could knock you out from across the room.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("So t'at's t'stawry, Ma," concludes Joe. "We gotta come up wit' anot'eh two'na half grand t' go Sammy's bail." Ma considers the story, and exhales. "Why?" she demands, looking her son-in-law in the eye. Joe considers this question for a long moment. "B'cause," he declares, "it's how t'is fam'ly woiks." Ma regards him in complete silence, but does not turn away. "I mean," he continues, "''y'evveh t'ink about it? Awla -- hoit people innis fam'ly? Lookitchoo. You jumped awna boat when you was just a kid 'bout Sammy's age, right? I ain' gonna ask ya why, but y'didn' do it f't' scenery. An'nen --y'husban' leavin' you wit' Mickey an' Sal t'raise. An'nen you meet Unca' Frank, he's raisin'em two kids'a his alone 'cause 'is wife died. An' somehow -- y'took caehra each ot'eh. 'Nen Sal n' me -- I mean, you know what it was like f'me as a kid. An' maybe ya din' like me at fois', butcha come aroun'. An'nen Alice Dooley shows up, afteh'raw'lat mess she had wit' Mickey. An' -- I mean, she's one'a t'fam'ly. An'nen she marries Sid Krause, who got messed up so bad by som'p'n y'cn hawrdly getta woid out'v'im. An'nen t'ez Willie, who knows what it was like f'him b'foeh he come 'eeh. An' now Alice an' Krause is raisin' 'im. An' NOW y'gawt Bink Scanlan livin'eeh, an'ev'rybody knows she's carryin' anot'eh one'a Mickey's kids. I neveh hoid of a fam'ly took caehr'a moeh -- I dunno, misfits -- t'en'nis one!" Ma nods a small nod, which Joe takes as his cue to continue. "An', well, it's t'same way fr' Sal 'n me oveh'r'n Bensonhoist, inna buildin'neh. Me'n Sal an' Leonoreh an' Alice 'n Krause 'n Willie 'n t' Ginsboigs. It's like a fam'ly. An' Sammy's kin'a pawrta t'at too. An' when one'a ya people's in trouble, y'don' ask questions, ya do sump'na bout it. So t'at's why I'm askin' ya, y't'las' chance we gawt. Whattaya say?" Ma chews at her lower lip, as Joe waits anxiously for her reply. He flicks an eye at the illuminated clock behind the counter. "We still gawt 'n houeh'r'na half b'foeh t'couehthouse closes," he adds in a very quiet voice, as Ma considers her answer.....)

("Soo, anyway," sighs Uncle Frank, "we'll be havin' aaaarr dinnar at th' Dragon's Den t'marra at three, an' if ye care to ye welcome t'jaaarn oos." "Yeh," nods Solly. "I t'ink I'd like t'at. I neveh had toikey chow mein b'foeh." "Whoot's thaat?" queries Uncle Frank, nodding toward an open crate in the Sergeant Solly's Surplus stockroom. "Oh yeh," replies Solly. "I picked'is up attat auction out'n Lawng Islan' City. It's a sample, I could get fifty of'm if I t'ink we'cn sell'm. It's like a reckid playeh, 'cept y'cn make reckids wit'it too. Y'swing t'is t'ing down'eeh, an' ya put awn a blank reckid, an' ya tawk innnis micr'phone'eeh, an' it cuts a reg'leh groove inna reckid, an' y'c'n play it right back. I guess'ey used 'em f'monitorin' radio traffic a'sump'n." "Does it waaark?" wonders Uncle Frank. "T'at," declares Solly, "is sump'n I inten' t' find out...")

("So yeh, t' Dragon's Den," sighs Sally. "You know it, it'sat Chinese jernt on Flatbush Aveneh, jus' down fr'm t' Patio Theateh." "F' T'anksgivin'?" ponders Alice. "I dunno, I mean, ain'nat whatchacawl sacreligious a' sump'n? I mean, 'nem Pilgrims neveh had no chop suey, did'ey?" "Who caehs," scoffs Sally. "T'ey'd'a had it if t'ey coulda. Ten times betteh'rn toikey, anyways." "I wish t' Schreibsteins could be t'eh," sighs Alice. "I as'tm," nods Sally. "Lil said t'ey wasn' feelin' too T'anksgiviny, an' y'can't blame 'm." "You t'ink y'Ma's gonna come acrawst?" exhales Alice. "If t'ez anybody c'n convince 'eh," hopes Sally, "he's oveh t'eh right now....")

(A corporal, a leader of men, a master of the clipboard...)

(Sixty grand for Joe DiMaggio? All the more incentive for Dom and Vince.)

(Well there you go. Endorsement deal with Sheffield Farms.)

(Hey, it works for Clark Kent.)

(DONT TOUCH THE EVIDENCE)

("I'll just sit here in my little house and allow my canine minions to do my work. It's good to be the king.")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Given some of the things we've read about poor Bummy over the years, I can't say I'm surprised he's met his end, but I didn't expect it quite this way.

Sally would remind everyone that Joe's curly black hair is completely natural.

Flowers -- in November? Twiffy really does have connections.

The OSS has eyes everywhere.

I don't exactly know what would happen if you fired a hand-held device for the propulsion of lead slugs by means of a contained explosion in such a small enclosed space, but it would certainly be instructive for Itchy to find out.

Well, he certainly learned how to sell.

Two Way Stretch.

This never happens to Ellery Queen.

Now don't spend it all in one place.

Too many concussions can have long-term effects. But I guess we're already too late.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

If you heard any of Mr. Pound's wartime broadcasts, he was right up there with Lord Haw Haw, except less coherent.

Lenin did in fact speak English, and what's more, because of the circumstances under which he learned it, he spoke with a pronounced Irish accent. Moothar 'a maaaarcy.

"That great lover and admirer of character." Ohhh, Larry, maybe you can get John McDonald to go your bail.

 

[Fading Fast]

Sixty grand for Joe DiMaggio? All the more incentive for Dom and Vince.

The thing that's crazy is that Joltin' Joe's $42,000 is about $760,000 today. It's hard to say, because he'd now sign a ten-year deal for over a hundred million, but clearly $10,000,000 for one year would be cheap for a DiMaggio today.

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

Given some of the things we've read about poor Bummy over the years, I can't say I'm surprised he's met his end, but I didn't expect it quite this way.

Those were also some energetic crooks; I got tired just keeping track of all the bars they held up in one night. Plus (one assumes) when they couldn't open one of the registers, they just carried it out (and those old registered weighed more than a bus).

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

I don't exactly know what would happen if you fired a hand-held device for the propulsion of lead slugs by means of a contained explosion in such a small enclosed space, but it would certainly be instructive for Itchy to find out.

The singularity is not going to be happy with you, Lizzie. It's watching.

 

[LizzieMaine]

(It's Thanksgiving Day in 1945, and the Eagle doesn't publish. At the Dragon's Den on Flatbush Avenue, the Petrauskas-Leary-Krause melange is seated at three pushed-together tables, serving themselves from three large bowls of turkey chow mein. "Hey," comes a voice from a corner of the restaurant, a distinctive rasp that can issue only from the throat of Miss Kaplan. "Hey Moze!" she repeats. "Ain'nat Joe oveh t'eh? HEY! JOE!" "Huh?," huhs Joe, picking thru the gravy looking for the meat. "C'mon," commands Miss Kaplan. "Push'is table oveh! Hiya Joe, whatta ya know runnin' inta YOU heeh." She notices Sally glaring at her. "Hello," Miss Kaplan acknowledges, her voice an icy dagger. "Hiya, Moze," nods Joe, taking his old co-worker's hand. "How's betteh dresses?" "Gett'n lawngeh," shrugs Mozelewski, taking his relocated seat. "Hey," heys Miss Kaplan, glaring down the table. "Don' I know you?" "Nah," nahs Bink Scanlan. "Lotta people look like me." "Nawt in brawd daylight," snickers Solly. "Stop dippin y' eehs inna duck sauce," sniffs Bink. "Ahhhh, it's woondarfool t'have a foine Thanksgivin'," enthuses Uncle Frank, "an' ye nivvar had t'cook a thing." "Oi doon't knoo hoo ye doon it," eyerolls Ma. "Gimme t'at egg roll!" fumes Jimmy. "You had yez," growls Danny, crunching in a marked manner. "T'is one's MINE." "T'is is good chow mein," declares Alice. "I betcha t'em Pilgrims woulda loved it!" "Yeh," agrees Krause. "Yeh!," seconds Willie, his cheeks well-stuffed. "C'mon, Sammy," nudges Alice. "Eat up." "Sueh," sighs Sammy Schreibstein, poking at his food. "Eat," commands his mother. "You ain' had a good meal in a week." "Maybe t'boy ain' hungry," submits his father. "When he's hungry he'll eat. "Yawr a slob," snorts Lottie. "Lookit'at food in ya lap." "Spppppppt," replies Leonora, tucking the morsels in her pocket for Stella the cat...)

And in the Daily News...

If there's one thing you have to say about poor Bummy, he was always good copy...

THAT's Libby Holman???? Jeez, ten years out of show business and you can really let yourself go.

Well, Bim, at least you've got a nice new suit.

In 1945, everybody knows Morse code.

"Now, who gets the corner office?"

Ho-Ho-Ho! Little early, arent'cha?

Someone's lost the plot.

Emphasis on the "transient."

Peace Is Hell.

Ew, no. Caramel, on the other hand...

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Jimmy finally senses the trend, and gets a pretty good column out of it. But Mr. Robinson's name is not "John," it's actually "Jack."

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker --

It's beginning to look a lot like 1937...

There's A New World Coming...

Newspapers, cooking statistics? Who knew??

Poor, poor Bummy.

 

[Fading Fast]

"C'mon, Sammy," nudges Alice. "Eat up." "Sueh," sighs Sammy Schreibstein, poking at his food.

I didn't doubt it, but it's nice to see that Ma came through. Joe and she have a special relationship.

Unfortunately, the real battle for Sammy's justice is just beginning, but with the people he's got behind him – now including Solly – I like his odds.

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

If there's one thing you have to say about poor Bummy, he was always good copy...

The Daily News didn't sugarcoat it, but that story is worse than it even reads. That poor Scanga girl had some real fight in her: I bet you Fonkin will have some deep scratches on him when the police catch up to him, which will be today or tomorrow.

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

"Now, who gets the corner office?"

I hear there's a guy in Brooklyn selling "beef sandwiches" that's starting to take off. Maybe he'd be interesting in branching out?

As to Wilmer's excitement about being his own boss, as any small businessman will tell you, Bob Dylan was right:

“You're gonna have to serve somebody; well, it may be the devil, or it may be the Lord, but you're gonna have to serve somebody...”​

And in the small-business owner's case, it's the customer, the suppliers, and sometimes, the employees.

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

Someone's lost the plot.

Yes, but was there really much of one to lose?

 

[LizzieMaine]

I had one of Joe's "beef sandwiches" for supper last night and it was delicious. Use fresh 85-15 ground beef seasoned with just salt and pepper, make it into a thick loose-packed patty, and cook it to medium-rare. Serve on two slices of toast made from thin-sliced "toasting" bread. Use a napkin because the juices will soak into the bread, obviating any need for condiments. Not only is it good, it's a sure cure for anemia.

I didn't try the Big Joe Special, because I'm still trying to lose weight.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I dunno what I'm gonna do," sighs Sammy Schreibstien, sitting on the stoop of 1762 63rd Street and gazing at his family's shop on the corner, where Lottie and Leonora are caught up in a sidewalk game of arguing-about-potsy. "Ma don' want me goin' out t'carry no messages awr d'liveh no san'wiches awr ice cream 'cause she's afraid Flannehry's gonna be layin' fawr me. An'ney said I'm suspended fr'm school while I'm out on bail." "A dilemma," nods Mr. Ginsburg, packing a load of Half and Half into his pipe. "It heppens thet," he notes, "I have orders for alterations in the shop. I can use a boy, to assist." "I t'oughtcheh shawp was closed." observes Sammy. "Closed, open," shrugs Mr. Ginsburg, puffing a dense cloud. "All a matteh of soicumstance. Yesterday, I'm closed. Today, I'm open. It woiks out even." "Yeh," nods Sammy, picking at the chipped concrete step. "Yeh, t'at'd be swell." Mr. Ginsburg glances over at the youth and takes another puff. "The wicked, Sameleh," he quotes, "shall fall by his own wickedness." "Y't'ink?" sighs Sammy. "Look around," counsels Mr. Ginsburg. "It has been known to heppen...")

("Whassis t'ing do again?" queries Bink, poking at the large cased mechanism set before her on the counter. "I tol'ya," repeats Solly. "It's whatcha cawl a recawrdin' head. See t'at needle onneh, it cuts inta t'is shiny stuff heeh awna blank reckid. An' it takes down whateveh goes inna microphone. Heeh, lemme show ya -- Ma, c'moveh'eeh'r a minute." "Leave me oota this foolishment," declines Ma. "Oi still got all thim bets was in Joseph's box t'reckon with." "Awright," shrugs Solly. "You do it, ashcan. I'll put t' t'ing awn'eeh an' t'oin it awn, an' you jus say int'eh heeh t'fois' t'ing comes inta ya mind." "Solly Pincus," declares Bink, "has gawt eehs like..." "Nawt yet," interrupts Solly. "Lemme get t'is head a'justed." He fiddles with the device. "Awright," he announces. "Now. An' lay awff t' eehs." Bink stares at the microphone, and in a screeching soprano, begins to sing. "CHICKERY CHICK, CHA LA CHA LA, CHECK-A-LA ROMEY IN A BANAN-I-KA...." "Awright," interrupts Solly. "T'at's enough." He lifts the recording head out of the newly-cut groove, swings the lathe out of the way, and swings the tone arm into position. "Now," he proclaims, "I'm gonna play it back..." "Doont'," enjoins Ma, "'chee dare....")

(Reap the whirlwind.)

("I ain't trusted 'em since they give up leeches.")

(Poor, poor, poor Bummy.)

(Marie Dressler -- or Wallace Beery?)

(Whatever became of Lyric Layne?)

(I'm surprised they even bother to have a police force in this city at all.)

(Workmen's comp, kid.)

(False consciousness, Kitty. Look at the bigger picture -- as it must to all kings, fate caught up yesterday with King Turkey...)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

One thing Butch won't miss is the "anonymous complaints."

Hey Sal, if you get bored, here's a new hobby for you!

To earn your First Class Girl Scout rank you had to be able to send at a rate of 16 words per minute.

Skeez would know how to do this stuff, but what will Wilmer do? Bribe the cops?

Why it's a good idea to live far away from your parents.

Pop is married to his work.

"But it's a federal crime to interfere with the US Mail!"

They allow him to have a tie in jail? Are they trying to tell him something?

"Viper" is also jazz musicians' slang for one who indulges heavily in reefers. Which might explain a lot.

No love like family love.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

BEachview 2 is in Bensonhurst. Come around 63rd Street, there's some people who might be able to help you out.