The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

It ran into the mid-eighties, right up until Caniff died, and I guess it had a following, especially in the fifties and sixties. But the seventies was death to military-themed strips: Terry itself, under its second artist George Wunder, folded in 1973, and I think Canyon was the last strip with a straight-up military setting going by the time it ended. Unless you count "Beetle Bailey," which I don't think anybody does.

Moral of the story is, sometimes you get it right the first time, and it's a real tragedy when you don't own your best work.

 

[Harp]

But the seventies was death to military-themed strips: Terry itself, under its second artist George Wunder, folded in 1973, and I think Canyon was the last strip with a straight-up military setting going by the time it ended.

I remember Terry's second incarnation. He was still in the Orient and a full USAF colonel. Lesser Steve Canyon
recall, though I occasionally caught it. Different time, another rhyme.

 

[LizzieMaine]

I used to see Wunder's "Terry" when we got the Sunday News. They actually dropped it before the strip was officially cancelled, which must've stung old-time fans.

As we will see, Wunder's art style tried to ape Caniff, but he just didn't have the knack. He knew the words but not the melody.

 

[Farace]

I vaguely remember Steve Canyon running in the New Haven Register, but I don’t recall really following the story. It was better than Henry at least, which itself was still better than Marmaduke. So many ignorable strips.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Sal????" gapes Alice, opening the basement apartment door to reveal her friend, hair unkempt, clothes rumpled, and eyes fogged, standing outside. "Yeh," sighs Sally, shuffling unsteadily in. "Sal," repeats Alice, sniffing the air. "Have you been -- drinkin'?" "No," Sally exhales, slumping in a chair. "I spen' awl las' night at Loew's Met." "You ain' dressed f' downtown," marvels Alice. "I jus' hadda go somewhez," continues Sally, her head falling back against the chair. "I hadda t'ink." "T'ezza lot betteh places t' t'ink t'en Loew's Met," observes Alice. "Well, I spo'se it's bettehr'n'a Paramount. Lissen, you know Joe was goin' nuts worryin'?" "Yeh," repeats Sally. "I din' mean -- look, I jus' hadda get away f'ra while. Afteh'r I got done tawkin' t' Docteh Levine I got awna subway an' rode awlaway upta t' Bronx. An' awlaway back. I got awff downtown, an' wandehed aroun' an' when it stawrted gett'n dawrk. So I wen' inna Met, sat way up inna backa t' balcony so I din' hafta see nobody. An' I set t'ru two lousy pitchehs, a newsreel, a cawrtoon, a Pete Smit' Specialty, an'na comin' attractions. TWO WHOLE SHOWS. An' -- I fell asleep. I guess when'ney clean up t'ey don' go up t' backa t' balcony. T'ey locked me inneh. An' lemme tell ya, you do'wanna be in no t'eahteh in t' dawrk awl by yaself. Ev'ry ghos' t'at lives inside ya's gonna come out an' go BLAAAAH right in ya face." "Oh," ohs Alice, because what else could she say? "An' whenney op'nt up again," continues Sally, "I din' wanna get in trouble, so I set t'ru two moeh shows till I figyehed t' coas' was cleeh." "Why?" exhales Alice. "I din' wanna sit t'ru t'em pitchehs AGAIN," snaps Sally. "No," replies Alice. "Why ya doin' awlis?" Sally takes a deep breath and digs in her handbag. "Causa' t'is," she murmurs, handing Alice the folded slip. "I foun'it on my kitchen flooeh. Somebody in my house is sneakin' aroun' gamblin', an' it ain't me, awr Leonoreh, an' gawd knows it ain' Ma." "Oh," stammers Alice, unfolding the slip. "Um -- um -- no -- uh -- it's --- ahhhhhh -- it's mine, t'at's it. It's mine. R'membeh? I come up t' borreh t'at milk cause I run out, an' -- um -- I drop't it. Yeh. I been playin'a numbehs. It's a weakness. I din' wan' nobody t'know. Prawmise me y'won' tell Siddy, I'll be a disgrace. I'm so ashamed a'meself...." "You?" gawps Sally. Alice's head blurs from the nodding. "Really?" "Uh-huh." "Oh," sighs Sally, regarding her friend with a careful gaze. "No," she nods. "I won' tell." "Yawr'a pal, Sal," trembles Alice. "My pal, Sal." "Yeh," exhales Sally.......)

("...yeh, I know, I know," says Joe, leaning into the telephone. "It's awright, Sal, it's jus'-- I mean, y'scaeh'd me, t'at's awl. Yeh. Look, I'll see ya t'night, we'll jus' f'get awlabout it. Hey, whatcha say we go roun'ta Maneh Cafehteria f' dinneh. Yeh, you'n me'n Lenoreh. Yeh. We'll get t'at pawt roas' t'ey got downeh. Yeh. Awright. Yeh. I do too. Seeya t'en. Bye." He gently hangs up the phone and sighs. "Ma," he asks. "Was she awrways..." "Thaaaar's things, Joseph," Ma nods, "Oi nivvar toold'jee...")

("Oh them. They're the chorus line for the Policemen's Revue.")

("Are you sure he's going to stick around?" ventures Mr. Parrott. "Those scouts from the Mexican League..." "Nonsense, boy," scoffs Mr. Rickey. "I shouldn't be surprised if Mr. Walker considers a journey south of the border, or even that impudent puppy Hermanski. But Reese? Never." "I don't know, sir," speculates Mr. Parrott. "He's from Kentucky you know, just over from Cincinnati. And I hear they eat a lot of chili there...")

(Oh, it's going to be like that, is it?)

(Hey kids, catch the square!)

(Isn't that suit a little loud for a medical examiner?)

(Um, you do have to get out of the chair first...)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG's reputation precedes him...)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Georgia? At least it's closer to Detroit than it is to Veracruz.

So there!

"But you wouldn't know anything about exploiting the work of creatives, would you, Mr. Smith?"

"Just let's look around a little longer for those hot dogs."

Don't throw away your icebox pan just yet...

"They bother my father too. He wants to know when you're gonna pay up!!"

"Well, it's not like we use those rooms for anything else..."

Well aren't we Jonah J. Judgemental all of a sudden...

Just because he can't talk doesn't mean he can't think...

I'd love to see an x-ray of Moon's hip joints.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

"T'at you, Lowrey?" snaps Solly Pincus into the phone. "Lissen, who'dya know in St. Looey...?"

Reiser may not be able to throw anymore, Hermanski's just a kid, and Walker is going on 36 years old and can barely run. What could you POSSIBLY be thinking, Mr. Rickey???

 

[Fading Fast]

"...it's mine, t'at's it. It's mine.

And the carefully constructed wall has its recent crack spackled. I repeat my long-standing view: Alice is the best.

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

Gypsy Rose Lee reads the paper and with a bemused smile mildly shakes her head.

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

Isn't that suit a little loud for a medical examiner?

"I can have a life outside of work, can't I?"
"Hey, boss, it's your wife on the phone, she said to bring home some extra milk for the baby."
"Theoretically, my point is still valid."

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

Georgia? At least it's closer to Detroit than it is to Veracruz.

So it can happen in real life and not just comicstrips where late great uncles leave you millions.

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

Stanley the Barracuda AKA Greta Thunberg's great grandfather.

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

"Just let's look around a little longer for those hot dogs."

What they really need to grab is that suitcase full of money.

 

[Harp]

Terry slugs through another day. Reminded me of an incident near my discharge, when I absent-mindedly
passed a captain by without saluting while exiting the battalion mess hall. That got my almost civilian gluteus maximus chewed up one side and down the other. Didn't I know what an officer is, soldier? Sorry sir, missed your rank. Smart salute thrown. He was with two enlisted men, quite unusual. And my eyes had done a fast traverse of the trio but missed this clown's silver railroad tracks. Next morning at formation, a note slipped to
moi said the Sergeant-Major over at battalion headquarters wanted to talk. A summons from God. Thought
I was a dead duck, but when I reported in at HQ, the battalion adjutant, a captain, was all smiles. The Sarntmager had been called over to division headquarters but the colonel would talk to me. I only had two weeks left in the Army, war over, and now this. Saw college on the GI Bill slipping down the drain.
Walked inside the colonel's office, saluted, and reported correctly. Told to sit down in the chair in front of his
desk, and was asked if I'd ever thought of making the Army my career? No sir, I've never ever ever never nada zip zero ever thought such a horrific terrible thing, so I thought to myself before making some sort of answer.
I mentioned college. Yes sir, I've been admitted. Nail in the balloon punctured, he took it well, wished me luck.
Today's Terry brought it all back over morning coffee....

 

[LizzieMaine]

("OWWWWW!" bellows Joe, as Heckie Capiello and Ma carry him into the store. "OWWWWWWWWWW"! "Blooody hell, Joseph," exclaims Ma. "Whot'jee do t'ye'self?? Poot'im down, Hector, aaahn th' stool, aaahn th' stool." "Quitcha kickin'" muttters Heckie as he wrangles Joe onto the seat. "OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!" screams Joe, jerking back to his feet. "I can't sit! I can't sit! It hoits ev'n woise!" "Hector!" snaps Ma. "Whot happn't?" "I dunno," shrugs Heckie, reaching for a Baby Ruth bar. "Poot that down," growls Ma, slapping the candy out of his hand. "Ansaaar me question!" "I was jus' comin' alawng Midwood t'eh," insists Heckie, "comin' t' woik, an' I come aroun'a cawrneh, an' I seen Joe shov'lin' snow...." "OOOOOWWWWWWWW," wails Joe, clutching at his back. "Which is YAAAAR job," reminds Ma. "It's a lawng wawk inna snow," retorts Heckie. "Yaaaar coomin' fr'm Nostraaaand Avenarr," scowls Ma, "naaaht th' Naaarth Pool." "Anyways," resumes Heckie, "I seen Joe shov'lin, an'ee toins aroun' t't'row it outn'a street, an'ee drawps t' shov'l an'ee fawls down inna snow screamin'. T"at's awl I know!" "Get soom oice oot'a th' bin tharr," commands Ma, "an' wrap it oop inna towel." "Gaaaawdam," winces Joe. "I dunno what I done," he continues as Ma applies the ice pack to the small of his back. "But I really done it....")

("Well," sighs Sally, punching the time clock in the basement of Abraham & Straus, "I'm back." "Was you away?" queries Joy. "Somehow I t'ink," Sally mutters, tossing her coat into her locker, "I'll neveh get away....")

("If I hafta eat anot'eh bite a' hamboigeh," complains Bink Scanlan, "I'm gonna scream." "S'good fawr ya," shrugs Rosa, leaning against the meat counter. "'Special in yawr c'ndition. Keeps ya fr'm gett'n anemia." "Whassat?" frowns Bink. "Tieh'd blood," explains Rosa. "Ya get it when ya 'spectin'." "Whatta YOU know about it," challenges Bink. "You neveh had one'a ya own." "Couese nawt," scoffs Rosa. "Ya t'ink I'm stu --- um, no, I ain' had none. But my ma had foeh, an'na moeh she had t'tied'eh she got. An'neh blood got tieh'd too." "An'neh'ra betteh way'n eat'n hamboigeh," demands Bink, "t'wake it up?" "Well," exhales Rosa. "I got t'is liveh..." "Oh," sighs Bink. "Gimme a pound'a hamboigeh...")

(KIDS TODAY)

(Hey Goody, they don't have any Canadians in the Mexican League, but somebody's gotta be the first!)

(So it's that kind of neighborhood...)

(HOLD LOCAL ACCOUNTANT AS REEFER PEDDLER)

(Alfred Hitchcock doesn't just cameo in his own films.)

("And I love how you click your heels when you leave. Do that again!")

(Worst Dad Ever gets picked up for speeding.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Sometimes the remake far surpasses the original.

Even the microfilm operator got all teary.

Unfortunately, what's happened here is that the microfilm camera is out of adjustment on one side, so every even-numbered page is out of focus. Either that or that bump on the head was more serious than she thinks.

(Mmmm, fried butter!)

You know what else contains lithium? Sal Hepatica. You do look a little constipated, at that.

"I was never near there, and I never knew her." -- Bink Scanlan.

Yes, but who'll be the third stooge?

"Do you smell sulphur?"

It's nice to know a guy like that.

Education is a cooperative effort.

 

[Fading Fast]

Tweaked only slightly and this article could be written about the current situation with NYC's new mayor, taxes, and the state. My point is simply how an eighty-year-old headline and lede could almost be used again today.

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

"Gaaaawdam," winces Joe. "I dunno what I done," he continues as Ma applies the ice pack to the small of his back. "But I really done it...."

Who's gonna cooked the hamburgers today? Bink? Heckie? Ma?

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

Even the microfilm operator got all teary.

Cute.

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

It's nice to know a guy like that.

Looks like Terry's out of hot water. Now, how nice would it be if the Army turned around and went after Bruther for making a false accusation.

 

[Harp]

The Daily News is a bit smudged out of focus today, but I liked the happy wedded couple pix of prince
charming and his bride. /// The prince in today's news across pond is in serious legal jeopardy, shell shocked face photo after release indicative his distressed state. Evidential hold and commercial espionage flush
***ual trafficking stack a full deck against acquittal. And Charles will be drawn in, recalling Shakespeare's soliloquy from Hamlet, ''A cease of majesty dies not alone; But, like a Gulf, doth draw what's near it with it.''
He'll be forced abdication as he qualifies as accessory after fact when MI5-6 memoranda are factored equation.

And the Notre Dame law student millionaire story likewise smudged. One of my One-L John Marshall Law study group had graduated Notre Dame, attended Cambridge University in England where he took his Econ MA, and worked six years as a federal accountant with the US Treasury Dept before opting law school. However, his first choice, Notre Dame Law School had turned him down. A ****ed-as-Christmas punch Domer.... I had been wait listed there and at Harvard Law before accepting JMLS admission. Both subsequently rejected me; however, ND sent a sweet rejection letter, quite solicitous expressing hope I'd be admitted somewhere. My study group buddy had gotten a curt standard notice from alma mater, and my recounting my own letter infuriated him even more.... I later met Scott Turow and recounted this law school yarn.

 

[LizzieMaine]

It looks like whoever shot the News for the microfilm was using a Kodak Recordak system camera. As you see here, it used two platens for the pages, with odd numbered pages on the left and even on the right. These platens are independently adjustable and it appears that the right side is tipped just enough downward to throw the page out of focus. There is no viewfinder for this system other than a graduated scale on the camera adjustment shaft, so if you make a mistake you don't see the error until you've shot the whole roll of film. Considering they would usually shoot up to a month's worth of pages in a day, we may be in for this for a while.

I usually feature the four-star-final Brooklyn edition of the News in these posts, since that's the one Joe and Sally would be most likely to pick up, but I'll look them all over for the duration of this problem and try to find the clearest available. Apologies for the technical difficulties. And don't blame the photographer, they barely pay her peanuts as it is.

 

[Harp]

No problemo. I can barely use a laptop.

 

[Fading Fast]

It looks like whoever shot the News for the microfilm was using a Kodak Recordak system camera. As you see here, it used two platens for the pages, with odd numbered pages on the left and even on the right. These platens are independently adjustable and it appears that the right side is tipped just enough downward to throw the page out of focus. There is no viewfinder for this system other than a graduated scale on the camera adjustment shaft, so if you make a mistake you don't see the error until you've shot the whole roll of film. Considering they would usually shoot up to a month's worth of pages in a day, we may be in for this for a while. View attachment 770726
I usually feature the four-star-final Brooklyn edition of the News in these posts, since that's the one Joe and Sally would be most likely to pick up, but I'll look them all over for the duration of this problem and try to find the clearest available. Apologies for the technical difficulties. And don't blame the photographer, they barely pay her peanuts as it is.

Great color - thank you. I hope we don't lose a month to this, but I get it.

As to our photographer, based on the era, clothes, pearls, and hair, I'm thinking Smith, Vassar, or the like (she's no Sally) and a call was made by father to get her this job, which she'll do until a Harvard or Yale boy proposes.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Note the ashtray. I hope she's not shooting nitrate film.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Y'really can't siddown, canya?" observes Sally. "It's like a red hot spike downa backa my leg," winces Joe, standing at the breakfast table. "Use my ol' high chaieh?" offers Leonora, absorbed in reading the essay on "Champs of the USA" off the back of the Wheaties box. "It ain' funny,' frowns Sally. "Don' make funna ya pa." "Sawry," murmurs Leonora, deeply chastened. "Look, Joe," cajoles Sally. "Y'gotta see a docteh. Who knows whatcha done t'yaself?" "Katzman chawrges too much," dismisses Joe. "B'sides, we'eh still payin' awn awlese tests Leonoreh needs, an' yawr awn strike, an' I ain' makin' much, an'..." "Y'could go," points out Sally, "t' -- you know 'weh." "T'is ain' got nut'na do wit' t' Awrmy," snaps Joe. "An' you know what t'at place was like when'ney had me inneh befoeh." "Y'can't woik like t'is!" declares Sally. "I'll be awright," groans Joe, bending to give the last of the milk in his cereal bowl to Stella. "AhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOW!" he bellows, unable to rise. "GO," commands Sally, helping him up, "t't' docteh...."

("Owww," winces Joe, as he slowly picks his way down the stairs. "Owwwwwww...." "Yussel," greets Mr. Ginsburg, offering a hand to help him down the final steps and into the foyer. "I am," he continues, his voice concerned, "hearing the yell, with pain you are yelling...." "Yeh," nods Joe, thru gritted teeth. "Hoits like hell. I done sump'n'ta my back shov'lin' snow." "You are going now to the doctor?" queries Mr. G. "I gotta go t' woik," dismisses Joe. "I'm awright if I ain' gotta move aroun' too -- aaaaaaAHHHHH! Dammit!" He leans against the newel post, his eyes closed. Mr. Ginsburg regards him sympathetically. "I am hearing," he resumes, "something which may interest. Your doctor is Dr. Katzman, am I recalling? Dr. Julius Katzman?" "Yeh," flinches Joe. "But you know how t'ings is, t'ings is real tight right now, an'..." "I am hearing," repeats Mr. Ginsburg. "that Dr. Katzman is to begin soon a new program, a new policy if you will, just for this neighborhood, the people in this neighborhood. Every Thursday, even." "I dowanno..." begins Joe, clutching the railing for support. "And when you can pay," gestures Mr. Ginsburg, "you pay. Leave me to the arrangements, I will go across to Schreibstein's and make a call." He gives Joe another careful look. "And after I am calling," he continues, "I will make another call to Miss Scanlan, Bink, you might say, and I will tell her she should cook the sandwiches today." "Yeh," exhales Joe, a trickle of sweat running down his forehead. "But foist, Yussel," nods Mr. Ginsburg, "back up the stairs I will help...")

(And that's how George Lichty got an FBI file.)

(If I am reading Mr. Holmes's column the way that I think I'm reading it, it appears evident that the sort of people who aren't too keen on playing on the same field as Jackie Robinson are similarly unenthusiastic about athletes of Latin ancestry. Which, of course, should come as no surprise....)

(Admit it, Mr. Rickey. You dictated this whole article.)

(Something similar happened in my town, and it led to years of litigation. Try the direct approach first.)

(Why so drab today, dear? Did Orry-Kelly escape out the cellar window?)

(I hope the Inspector opens his eyes when he's driving...)

(The idea of Erich Von Stroheim as an efficiency expert is straight up the funniest thing I have ever read in a comic strip.)

(There are no atheists in dog pounds.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Honestly, with some stories all you really need is the headline.

Y'know, Jess, the Methodists cut "obey" from the wedding vows in 1864. Get with the times, kid.

(And have you heard that great new song? "Cement Mixer, Putti Putti!")

All set for a career as a film projectionist.

"Can we have a hot dog first?"

Anything to not sign up for college.

Careful what you wish for.

"Shot while trying to escape. All right then, who's ready for lunch."

It's just that easy.

The kid should forget second grade and start right off to law school.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Incidentally, the Mexican League has been fully integrated for years.