The Era -- Day By Day

[Farace]

Are we missing Terry, or am I way behind on my ophthalmologist visit?

 

[Fading Fast]

Are we missing Terry, or am I way behind on my ophthalmologist visit?

This sounds made up, but I noticed that too and then forgot to ask – so I'm really glad you did.

 

[Harp]

Since I've been away some, did Pat and Dragon Gal hook up in Hong Kong?
And anything Burms n' Terry? A purely platonic curiosity please understand compels my asking.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Well," sighs Joe, exiting the impressive Art Deco facade of the 18th Avenue branch of the South Brooklyn Savings Bank. "T'at's t'at." "Easy come," shrugs Sally, "easy go." "We still gawt a few bonds lef'," notes Joe. "T'at's sump'n at least." They walk homeward in a silence punctuated only by Sally's attempts to clear her throat. "Hey," heys Joe, pausing as a grimy coal truck rumbles thru the intersection at 64th Street. "You awright? You don' soun' so good. You been coughin' like'at f'two days now." "Ahhh," dismisses Sally. "S'nut'n. T'is col' aieh." "Y'look a funny coleh," adds Joe. "It'sis powdeh I got awn," insists Sally. "S'posta be t'same kin' Ava Gawrdneh weahs, but I got my doubts." "No," argues Joe, as they cross 64th. "T'at ain' it." They reach the other side of the intersection, and Joe peels off his glove. He presses the back of his hand to his wife's forehead. "You got," he declares, "a feveh." "Ahhh, leemee 'lone," mutters Sally, pushing his hand away. "I jus' gotta bug. It ain' nut'n. Prob'ly picked it up innat hospit'l." "T' flu's goin' aroun'," frowns Joe. "When we get home ya betteh lay down." "I'm s'prised," grumbles Sally, "t'ey didn' chawrge us fawr it onna bill...")

("So," sos Bink, leaning against the counter at Sergeant Solly's Surplus, "you lookin' fawrward f'dinneh t'marra?" "Eh," ehs Solly, chewing his lip as he ponders a tightly-spaced government auction list. "What's t' look fawrward? Chop suey's chop suey." "What?" erupts Bink. "Ain'cha comin' up f' --" "Eh," repeats Solly. "Frank was sayin' sump'n 'bout t'at, but I tol' 'im t' include me out. I got too much woik t'do. I'll go oveh t' Dragon's Den when I get hungry." "No," insists Bink. "You ain' gonna do no such t'ing. Lissen, flap-eehs, I ain' goin' t'wallis trouble..." "Huh?" huhs Solly. "Yaaaaara BUM," erupts Bink. "Jus' like awla rest'v'm! NO C'NSIDEHRATION..." "What time," sighs Solly. "T'ree t'oity," declares Bink with a triumphant smirk...)

("Hey Ma," queries Willie. "What's SNAFU?" "It's -- um -- a woid," shrugs Alice, as she tosses another handful of tinsel on a skimpy tabletop tree. "Siddy, tell t'boy.." "Yeh," nods Krause, looking up from his copy of Popular Mechanics. "Sammy tol' me," continues Willie, "t'at it's a 'breviation inna Awrmy. He says Solly Pincus tol' 'im it means...' "I KNOW," interrupts Alice, "what Solly Pincus said it means. But we don' tawk like'at innis house." "Huh," huhs Willie. "But I hoid YOU say..." "I neveh said no such t'ing," denies Alice. "Did I, Siddy? Huh?" "Neh," agrees Krause, turning the page. "Ya did too," insists Willie. "Y'tol' me jus'sis mawrnin' t'at t' milkman fouled up again!" "Oh," ohhhhs Alice. "Well, um, see t'at it don' happn' again." "Paaaaaaap!" pleads Willie. "Yeh," nods Krause....)

(Wartime habits will die hard...)

("Every year," observes Mr. Parrott, "I can't help but notice." "You are an observant young man at that," affirms Mr. Rickey. "Every year," continues Mr. Parrott, "you do the same thing. You string Leo along about his contract, and all the while you know you're going to rehire him. And you get lots of publicity in the papers." "The press," smiles Mr. Rickey, "is an old fiddle upon which one might play any old tune..." "Leo knows something about music too," warns Mr. Parrott. "He says Fred Allen wouldn't string along his contract..." "You may go," frowns Mr. Rickey. "Merry Christmas, sir," sighs Mr. Parrott...)

(See, even bank managers read movie magazines!)

($60??? Adopt Don't Shop!)

(Fortunately, her fancy fellow has no teeth to lose...)

(HEY SMART GUY REMEMBER WHO OWNS THE FIRM.)

(Nothing says Christmas like the smell of wet dog in the kitchen...)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And before we present today's Daily News, here's yesterday's "Terry." I'll be seeing *my* opthalmologist again on Monday...

Sometimes he just likes to show off...

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

I lived in a shared-bathroom building once, but we never had anything like this.

Is that so, Mr. Todd? Would you repeat that again, please, for Mr. Calloway's lawyers?

Now that's confidence.

Comes the reckoning...

"Well, at least it's not those awful two-tone cordurouy pants."

Desert getting to you, Trish?

"I don't suppose there's some luggage under the tree for me?" -- Chief Brandon.

"Sure, kid. When do we eat?"

"As long as they didn't break the bottle of Scotch..."

Ahh, it's good for his circulation.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

It's always kind of bothered me that the Bushwicks don't actually play in Bushwick, but if it doesn't bother Mr. Rosner, well, it shouldn't bother me...

 

[Harp]

DA Selzer should file a simple tort of misadventure per Mr Giordano; whom has valid self defense claim
against the deceased Steinkaemper.

Cab Calloway committed a criminal assault and battery against Mr Todd, who has valid defense claim
against Calloway despite ****** whipping him. Cab stepped into the actor's shoes and assumed concomitant responsibility for his actions against Mr Todd.

 

[Fading Fast]

"What time," sighs Solly.

We've all been there when it just ain't worth the fight.

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

Comes the reckoning...

A bull*t through the head would be to good for him.

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

"Well, at least it's not those awful two-tone cordurouy pants."

Carl Ed has never met a storyline or joke that he won't reuse almost indefinitely.

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

"I don't suppose there's some luggage under the tree for me?" -- Chief Brandon.

He's never gonna let that go, is he?

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

IIt's always kind of bothered me that the Bushwicks don't actually play in Bushwick, but if it doesn't bother Mr. Rosner, well, it shouldn't bother me...

I still hate that the Giants and Jets play in NJ, but that ship has sailed as we are now on NJ stadium number two for them in my lifetime.

 

[LizzieMaine]

The Eagle doesn't publish today for the holiday, but for our friends in Brooklyn 1945, life goes on...

("T'at'sa bes' lookin' boid I eveh seen," declares Bink, observing the well-stuffed and well-browned specimen, at rest after hours of preparation, atop the Capiello kitchen range. "It oughta be," exhales Rosa, her eyes bleary. "Took half t' night jus' t' t'awr it out. Figyehs it'd get froze out t'eh onna fieh 'scape." "I can't wait t'see t'look on 'is face -- um, t'eh faces," sighs Bink, "when I bring it out." "How," ventures Rosa, wiping the sweat from her forehead with her apron, "you gonna get it oveh t'eh?" "Huh?" huhs Bink. "Well," continues Rosa with a not-so-patient eye-roll, "it ain' gonna FLY oveh t'eh." "Don' be stupid," sniffs Bink. "I'll carry it oveh." "Ah," ahs Rosa. "You, six mont's gawn wit' a baby, yawr gonna carry a hot twenny poun' toikey down' two flights'a staiehs heeh, haffa block down Nostran', 'rouna corneh awnteh Midwood, awlaway aroun'a block awnteh Rogehs, an'nen up anot'eh flighta staiehs. Ya gonna do t'at, awr ya?" "Um," ums Bink. "An'nen come back," Rosa exclaims, "f't' p'tatehs an'na vegehtables an'na gravy an'na pie? An'nen take awLAT down t'ree flights'a staiehs, roun'a block, an' up t' staiehs again. Ya gonna do t'at." "Uhhhhh..." stammers Bink. "HecKIEEEE!" bellows Rosa. "AnGEEEE! JerREEEEE! Getcha coats awnnnnn.......!")

And meanwhile, over on 63rd Street...

(Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," groans Sally, staggering into the kitchen, her face a color bearing no resemblance to that of Ava Gardner. "G'backta bed," directs Joe. "I"m fixin' ya some soup." "I do'wanno soup," she moans. "I jus'wanna glassa wawteh." "Lemme get it," sighs Joe. "You siddown." "I'm awright," protests Sally. "B'sides, you oughta be goin' oveh t' Ma's. T'eh gonna be wait'n fawr ya." "Neh," refuses Joe, reaching into the icebox. "I'm oveh t'eh ten houehs a day ev'ry day, I c'n skip t'day." "Weh's Leonoreh?" blinks Sally, seeing nothing without her glasses. "Downstaiehs wit' t' Ginsboigs," replies Joe. "She's read'nm outa one'a t'em books t'ey give 'eh. She slep' awl mawrnin' an' was feelin' a lit'l betteh when she gawt up. Heeh, drink t'is." "I said I wawned wawteh," protests Sally. "Whassis?" "Glassa beeh," replies Joe. "Wit' honey an' lemon juice in it. My sisteh uset'a give it t'me when I was sick." "You gotta," glares Sally, "be kid'n." She regards her husband as thoroughly as her condition and her compromised eyesight permits. "Ahh," she sighs. "What't'hell." She sips the drink and makes a face. "Some Chris'mas," she gags. "Betteh," notes Joe, "t'n las' yeeh...")

And in the Daily News...

I guess if you're a Bon Vivant and you live to be 101, that's something...

"Wait till Next Year..."

The real Santa.


"Hmmm. Nobody got earmuffs."

Wait'll you meet the big lizards.

I wonder how Wilmer's spending the holiday.

"And look, a belt in the back! Only ONE MAN would wear something as corny as that!"

"Service weight???? You rattle-brained hepcat!"

The most realisitic kid in the funnies.

All right, that did it.

 

[Fading Fast]

"it ain' gonna FLY oveh t'eh."

Rosa tosses out an Alice-like line. You can see it: Sally (like Bink here) going on about all her high-level plans and Alice (like Rosa here) notes a very simple but relevant detail that could gum up the whole works.

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

"Betteh," notes Joe, "t'n las' yeeh..."

Good for him.

Is the honey and lemon juice in beer as a "medicinal" a 1940s thing? I never heard of that one.

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

I guess if you're a Bon Vivant and you live to be 101, that's something...

"It's all about clean living." — Keith Richards

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

"Wait till Next Year..."

E. C. Stuller didn't read the question carefully, which is rule number one of test taking.

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

"Hmmm. Nobody got earmuffs."

Nice, Lizzie, nice.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Wait'll they get out in the street with the dinner and find that it's pouring rain with 40 mph winds. Merry Chris'mas, kids!

Beer with such additives is more of a turn-of-the-century Eastern/Central European thing. Honey was an especially revered ingredient in Slavic folk medicine, so no doubt young Joe had plenty of experience with it thru his older sister, who had memories of the old country that he, born in America, did not. But I think he put in the lemon just to make it taste better.

(Joe's Russian mother, were she still with us, would have used vodka instead of beer as the base for the remedy, which I imagine Sal would have liked even less.)

 

[Harp]

(Joe's Russian mother, were she still with us, would have used vodka instead of beer as the base for the remedy, which I imagine Sal would have liked even less.)

...add orange juice for a Screwdriver.

Merry Christmas all.
Still sipping morning coffee. We're not having turkey but chicken this afternoon, though Gasoline Alley brings back memories of my grandmother's bird with ginger ale or Seven*Up ham packed brown sugar.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Awr you suehr'about'is, Sal?" queries Alice, at the sight of her friend staggering down the stairs to the foyer. "You know t' rule," coughs Sally. "If ya wanna claim sick leave, y'gotta repoeht t't' plant noice so she can tell if ya really been sick." "Dinchoo get a note fr'm Docteh Katzman?" argues Alice. "I'll take it in wit'me, an' you go back t' bed." "I ain' givin'em," hacks Sally, "no 'scuse t'get ridda me. We jus' spen' most'veh savin's on Leonoreh's hawspit'l bill. B'tween'at snow stawrm an' Chris'mas, Joe ain' had no money comin' in' fr'm san'wiches t'is week. I had awlese days absenteein'. An'nez a strike comin' nex' week. It's eit'eh go back t'woik now awr getta jawb sellin' papehs. C'mon, less go." "Um," ums Alice. "What?" snaps Sally. "What now?" "Um," repeats Alice, glancing downward. "Y'fg'ot sump'n." "Oh," wheezes Sally, padding back up the stairs to put on her shoes...)

("That was," nods Uncle Frank, dropping a Tums into his two-cents-plain, and swallowing in one gulp, "a very foine dinnar Bink coom oop with." "It wasn' bad," acknowledges Solly Pincus. "But Heckie tol' me his sisteh done mosta t' woik.' "Eh," ehs Uncle Frank. "Taaarkey's taaarkey. B'soides, who d'ye think paid farr it?" "Whatta ya know," queries Solly, leaning back on his stool, "'bout t'is Rosa, anyways?" "Oh, yee'v seen'arr aroond," shrugs Uncle Frank, pausing for a satisfying belch. "Waaarks at th' meat ****tar at Boohack's doon th' street. Oi usetar knoo harr faaatharr, we doon soom business in th' oold days. He roon a little groocery starr on Kingston Avenarr, woona thim places ye goo in an' tharrs salamis hangin' froom th' ceilin. But'chee know, he was woona these fellars -- see, Solly, tharr's two koindsa men in th' waaarld. Th' koind that tells ye everythin' they knoo, an' th' koind doon't tell ye noothin'. He was woona th' farrst koind, an' foinally -- well, ye knoo how soombody threw that brick thru th' windarr? Somethin' got throon thru th' windarr a' that groocery starr -- an' --- well, it wasn' noo brick." "Oh," blinks Solly. He takes a deep breath. "Look, Frank, izza truck ready yet? I gotta see aboutt'at deal I was tellin' ya --" Uncle Frank regards his partner carefully, and with a sigh, slides the key across the counter. "Get it baaack," he shrugs, "in woon piece...")

(And if you'll excuse him now, Doc is late for his bowling.)

(Have you considered parking meters?)

(Ahh, the '41 Dodgers will always be *my* Dodgers. AND WHY DIDN'T LEO PITCH HIG IN GAME ONE???)

(Tsk, Mr. Plumb. You should never introduce a new plot development on a holiday.)

(Every Countess deserves a Count.)

(Never was a comic strip more like a Warner Bros. B picture than this one.)

("Yes, there's someone. Have you ever noticed how her hair glistens in the office light? Ahh, Margie, secretary of my dreams...")

(Catenfreude, continued...)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

I dunno, Clare -- that hat's a bit Buster Keaton...

"Awright, which one'a you jokers is gonna pay this tab?"

The morning after the night before.

At least the word-censoring robot leaves the comics alone.

"There's this little joint in East Flatbush has the best beef sandwich you'll ever eat."

"Or, maybe I'll just put in a still. Still a lot of shortages, you know..."

Yes, by all means make him feel very very guilty.

Wait, you've got molasses? FOOD HOARDER!

Trim your toenails first, kid -- you don't want to get runs.

You know, if there's any kid in the world who should NOT have a clarinet, it's this kid.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Hey Sally, didn't you go to PS 92? "Yeh -- an' it was a DUMP t'en, too!"

 

[Fading Fast]

Ahh, the '41 Dodgers will always be *my* Dodgers. AND WHY DIDN'T LEO PITCH HIG IN GAME ONE???

Boy that "Sally" can carry a grudge.

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

Never was a comic strip more like a Warner Bros. B picture than this one.

What do you think for casting, Fay Emerson and William Gargan?

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

I dunno, Clare -- that hat's a bit Buster Keaton...

And only one movie star; I'd have taken the over on that number.

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

At least the word-censoring robot leaves the comics alone.

That's right. What is that idiotic phrase it uses instead, "The German High Command in WWII" or some insanity like that.

"It's that evil German High Command in WWII."
"What!?"
[Whispering.] "The N*zis"
"Oh, got it."

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

"My house shall be called a house of prayer, but you have made it a den of robbers." — Matthew 21:13

 

[Harp]

Is April Kane that woman?

 

[LizzieMaine]

"Fob" Cobb, a USO entertainer who seemed more interested in putting on a show than in anything Terry has to offer. Unless he can play the straight-man in her act.

 

[Harp]

Lingering over coffee and too lazy to start the day, thought I'd take a look at something, anything legal in the paper today and note the Mansfeldt appeal trial in San Francisco. The defendant killed a Ms Martin, whom she suspected of extramarital relations with her husband; or what the Law calls ''criminal conversation.'' The facts however are not specified; so I assume that she did not find the two together, but rather pursued passion suspicion and acted as executioner. She now claims temporary insanity as defense. However valid passion, which I presume served initially at first trial, is upon immediate discovery of actual fact, in Mrs Mansfeldt's case her deliberate pursuit of Ms Martin tends mitigate passion wrought insanity to a more probable jealousy stirred deliberate intent; consequently invalidating her subsequent claim. A psychiatrist presumably retained defense counsel, quit the case citing neutral disclaim but made prejudicial comment that Mansfeldt, convicted of manslaughter, ''should take her medicine,'' obviously prejudicial public domain utterance. Defense might move for mistrial motion, although either course will likely prove negligible in the end.
From reading this era's trial stories, it's quite evident that the Law-circa 1940s, took a more severe look at deliberate intent homicide.