The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

I mean, he does have a point, but the Literary Digest line is just mean.

And in the Worker...

Whatever else you can say, it's never been boring.

 

[Trenchfriend]

"Cheerioats"?? I would try them!

 

[Fading Fast]

"She's gawt a livin' outa t'at dopey stoeh f 'twenny-five yeehs, I guess she must have sump'n awna bawl."

So close.

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"Barbara again?" frowns Ma. "Whoo ilse?"

Eventually the law will solve this one. You can't pickpocket all the time and never get caught.

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I couldn't find the exact match, but still, clearly from the same shoot.

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And if you've ever wondered what GI lingerie looks like...

"Smilin' Jack" had stayed away from cheesecake for a surprisingly long time for a strip that used to all but traffic in it.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Cheerioats"?? I would try them!

Assuming they sell them in Germany, you can, as I think they are now just called Cheerios

 

[Trenchfriend]

Assuming they sell them in Germany, you can, as I think they are now just called Cheerios

View attachment 706655

The big supermarkets probably got them, in the small market I never seen them.

 

[Trenchfriend]

Aah, Nestlé only produces the Cheerios Multi(grain), here!

 

[2 Days Dubai]

I saw but didn't read the column about a GI beating a German PW; later returned duty.

Sometime in 1945 a contingent of returned 101st Airborne transits temporarily at Ft Sheridan, Illinois outside Chicago had a real mess hall brawl with a group of Waffen SS pws serving kitchen police mess duty. Six or seven German PWs were killed. Case closed.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Y'otta get one'a t'em books," suggests Sally, as Joe gives the Eagle a desultory review while picking, for the third night in a row, at his plate of Kraft Dinner. "T'ezza lotta t'ings t'eh doin' f' vet'rans, an'..." She trails off, aware of the sore point. "I wish t'eh was sump'n t'eat b'sides'is stuff," sighs Joe. "Lookit me, me skin is toinin' awrange." "I'll eat if you do'wannit," offers Leonora, and Joe obligingly slides his plate across the table. "I remembeh b'foeh t'wawr," ventures Sally, "you was goin' t' night school oveh t' New Utrick. You c'n still do t'at, y'know. Getcha high school d'ploma." Joe looks up, expecting the reference to "of coehse, it ain' Erasmus," but such a remark does not follow. "Yeh," he nods. "Maybe." "T'ezza lawta t'ings gonna be openin' up," Sally continues. "Lotta chances t'do sump'n." "Steada mixin' egg creams?" mutters Joe. "I din' say t'at," protests Sally. "No," frowns Joe, "butcha t'inkin' it." "Y'r'a smawrt guy, Joe," Sally insists. "Lookit how quick ya caught awn t't'ings at Sperry's., an'..." She trails off again, as Joe shoves back his chair and rises from the table. "Look, Sal," he mumbles, "'sawlta same t'you I t'ink I'm gonna go oveh t' Schreibstein's, maybe I c'n get a san'wich a'sump'n oveh t'eh. A cheese san'wich, t'at don' come out''va box." "Sueh, Joe," sighs Sally, her voice heavy as she carries ta her own plate to the sink. "Whateveh ya wawnt...")

("Thim Charrch Avenarr poirates gaaaaht what woos comin' t'wm," glowers Ma. "An' noo it's th' tarrn o' these Rogaaars Avenarr sliveens." "An' ye woondar," snickers Uncle Frank, "wharr Sally gets it frooom...."

("Lemme by," whispers Bink Scanlan, slapping Jimmy Leary's meaty thigh out of the way as Rita Hayworth and Lee Bowman cavort in Technicolor on the Patio's screen. "T'at'sa fit' time you gawt up since t'pitcheh stawrted," protests Jimmy. "You said you wasn't gonna woik t'night." "I ain' woikin," vows Bink. "I'm goin' t't ladies retirin' lounge." "Hah?" hahs Jimmy. "I gotta go t't'a can, ya fathead, snaps Bink, pushing thru the row and into the aisle. She fluffs her hair as she steps into the lobby and turns to ascend the stairway to the balcony. Pushing thru the door into the smoky auditorium, she steps carefully down the aisle until she spots an empty seat and sidles into the row. "Bout time you gawt back," whispers Danny Leary. "Whatta you doin' inneh, anyways?" "Lady stuff," dismisses Bink, settling into the seat and allowing Danny to slip his arm into position...)


("Yoo hoo, reconversion!")

(Very clever. Trying to make us think its supposed to be Gehrig with the "Columbia" reference when we all know full well it's Camilli. NEVER GOT HIS DAY DID HE?)

(STOP SLUMPING!!!!)

(For those who came in late...)

(Answering the door in your scanties with a cigarette hanging out of your mouth is the most 1945 thing you can possibly do.)

("I'll dump the body in the grease pit and they'll forget all about it.")

(So often we are the architects of our own demise...)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

These are heady times to be a divorce lawyer. Hey, whatever became of Tommy Manville?

Hey, maybe Jimmy Walker wants the job.

And after, we can go to Schrafft's for lunch!

Until this moment I never would have considered Bela Lugosi to play Bim in a Gumps movie.

"That's a packing crate." "Yeah, but they took the jeep out. More room that way."

Is it too much to hope that this looming shadow is cast by -- Big Stoop?

"****** crook!" -- Uncle Frank.

All your machinations are about to crumble down upon you.

I misspoke the other day. Kayo is still the Grand Panjandrum of all trolls.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

When people tell you you can't do something, do it anyway.

And in the Daily Worker...

1940s Superman and Pinky would have gotten along just fine.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Look, Sal," he mumbles, "'sawlta same t'you I t'ink I'm gonna go oveh t' Schreibstein's, maybe I c'n get a san'wich a'sump'n oveh t'eh. A cheese san'wich, t'at don' come out''va box." "Sueh, Joe," sighs Sally, her voice heavy as she carries ta her own plate to the sink. "Whateveh ya wawnt..."

I forget how Sally has the money to pay Dr. Levine, but they either need to get Joe to her too, or for Sally to stop going and let Joe go to those sessions instead.

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"...Pushing thru the door into the smoky auditorium, she steps carefully down the aisle until she spots an empty seat and sidles into the row. "Bout time you gawt back," whispers Danny Leary. "Whatta you doin' inneh, anyways?" "Lady stuff," dismisses Bink, settling into the seat and allowing Danny to slip his arm into position..."

Frank and Ma should ship the three of them out west to join Marie Belasco and Hops Gaffney.

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Answering the door in your scanties with a cigarette hanging out of your mouth is the most 1945 thing you can possibly do.

Heck, I thought it was Bink for a second.

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"I'll dump the body in the grease pit and they'll forget all about it."

Works in the real world.

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"That's a packing crate." "Yeah, but they took the jeep out. More room that way."

Yup, as a veteran of apartment renting in NYC, in a hot rental market, there are no deals, only tradeoffs.

 

[2 Days Dubai]

Anne Baxter's lovely pix caught my eye, looked down and glanced another favorite,
Rosalind Russell whose beautiful elegance always hit like lightning.

And seeing the Tarzan ad brought back memories of my late grandmother.
She grew up with Johnny Weissmueller in St James parish Chicago neighborhood,
and in the 1960s ran into him at a Los Angeles restaurant. Gram was quite the raconteur
and stated he made an evident deliberate effort to look young.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Oi'm gonna kill thim two boys'a moine," vows Uncle Frank, peeling the foil from a fresh roll of Tums, tossing three into his mouth, and chasing them with a deep draught of two-cents-plain. "Danny was s'posed t' pick up a looda coppar pipe in Woodsoide this marrnin', boot'ee nevarr shooed oop. Taaarned oot 'e spent th' noit with Bink Scanlan an' decoided t'sleep in." "Hmph," hmps Ma. "An' Jimmy foond oot aboot it," continues Uncle Frank. "He was tharr in th' shop this marrnin' tellin' me what 'e was goin' t'do, an' joost then Danny cooms saaaantarrin' in big as billy-be-damned. An' befaaaar Oi coould do anythin' Jimmy takes a swing at'im, sends 'im floyin' into a stack a' choina taaaarlet tanks, smashes'm t' smitharreens. Well, thin it tarrns int'wa roit daaahnybrook, Jimmy grabs a baaalcock rod an' starrts jabbin' it loike a swarrrrd like 'ee's Errool ****** Flynn, an' Danny cooms back att'im with a hoonk a' chroomium poipe like HE"s Basil ****** Raathboon." "Oi can't stand thim koinda pitcharrs," frowns Ma. 'Stoof an' naaahnsense." "Well, Oi poot a stop t'booth'v'm." declares Uncle Frank. "Clipped'm booth with a woon'an'a'quartaaar cast oiron." "A good ploomar," eyerolls Ma, "aaaaahlways has th' roit poipe farr th' job." "We gaaaht t'do soomthin'," exhales Uncle Frank. "Oothar than creasin' tharr skools with a cast oiron pipe," clarifies Ma. "Temporary repaaaairs," sighs Uncle Frank, "nivarr hoold.")

("I wondeh if t'ez anywheh'z innis city," ponders Sally, "I c'n get a pineapple. T'at's Joe's favr'it fruit, y'know. He'd eat them slices come inna can, an'nen'eed drink t'at syrup like it was soda. When we was goin' t'get'eh, be'foeh we got married, I give 'im a whole pineapple f'r'is boit'day, you know, wit'ta leaves ann'nem *****les an' awlat awn it. An' I drew a face awn it wit' lipstick, right? An' I put a hat awn it, t'is ol' hat a' mine, an' I put a cawrd awn it, an' I wrote 'I love you as much as you love pineapple.'" "Awww," aws Alice. "T'at's romantic, is what t'at is. I'd do t'at f'Siddy, but y'know what his fav'rite fruit is? Prunes. Ain' much room t'drawr a face awn a prune." "Anyways," continues Sally, "y'know, Joe's boitday is comin' up nex' week, so I t'ought I'd do t'at again, on'y put 'still.'" "Wait," jitters Alice. "What's Joe got t'do wit'ta still?" "No, ya dope," snaps Sally, "I mean 'I still love you as much as you love pineapple.' See, I was tawkin' t'Docteh Levine 'bout Joe, an' she says 'e needs t'know t'at right now. S'w I t'ought if I could fine' a pineapple..." "Y'll get a pineapple," declares Alice. "You leave'at t'me. Ya gonna have a pineapple." "How you gonna..." queries Sally. "I know a guy," insists Alice. They ride on in silence for an interval. "Hey Sal," resumes Alice. "You know is ya Uncle Frank gonna be innis shawp t'night?")

(Mr. Lichty can go terribly dark when he wants to.)

(America's Biggest Small Town remembers.)

(IS BILL TERRY STILL IN THE LEAGUE????)

("You're doing fine with the top part...")

(Hey look! Irwin Higgs finally got a job!!!)

(Some have heroism thrust upon them...)

(A cute little chair to sit in? Those Sinclair stations have everything!)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG ALREADY HAS A DRAWER FULL OF MEDALS.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

You might recall that FDR once suggested that John O'Donnell ought to receive a medal -- the Iron Cross. Judging from Mr. O'Donnell's denialism here, that suggestion was not unwarranted.

"So that I could appear to be a poor person." I dunno, toots. Maybe lose the mink, and, I dunno, try a dialect?

"Arf," says Sandy...

Joe looks around his own kitchen and feels some small comfort in the fact that he at least has a gas stove.

I mean, what do you wear to an inquest?

"Oh there's no one with endurance, like the man who sells insurance! He's ev'rybody's best frieeeeend..."

Bim's having the time of his afterlife.


Seriously, this twerp had to survive???

Shouldn't you be on the way to Tokyo?

Children Learn What They Live.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

"Hm," hms Walter F. O'Malley, noticing a tabloid paper in Mr. Rickey's wastebasket. While waiting for his partner to return to the office, he plucks out the paper and begins to read. "Hm," he hms...

 

[Fading Fast]

"...resumes Alice. "You know is ya Uncle Frank gonna be innis shawp t'night?"

Oh, good, I love when those two get together. I don't quite know what provides the glue – grudging respect / history / or something – but there's a real relationship there. (Separately, Ma was firing off the one-liners this morning.)

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Hey look! Irwin Higgs finally got a job!!!

And the irony is forget about him finding out what she had for lunch ten years ago, Irwin couldn't even remember what he had for lunch yesterday.

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Riffing on Lizzie from yesterday, spotting a guy named Sammy Weiss who held up your furrier business - and locked you and your partner in the safe (from where you set off the burglar alarm by cutting its wires) – weeks later when he stands up at a Dodgers game for the seventh inning stretch could be the most 1945 Brooklyn thing ever – and I don't even think I'm exaggerating.

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"So that I could appear to be a poor person." I dunno, toots. Maybe lose the mink, and, I dunno, try a dialect?

And pay you damn attorney, it certainly appears he earned his fee.

 

[2 Days Dubai]

Justice Robert H Jackson held a certificate from Albany Law School and not a LLB degreee since he had largely read law as professional 19th Century standard preparation. A most capable orator, he was however a weak court prosecutor, and at Nuremberg stumbled over his emotions against Goering during cross.

Marthia Devine had given a promissory note to her lawyer secured by jewelry supposedly held in a trust. As tenancy by the entirety is only afforded married, said instrument presumably would have assigned beneficiary with trustee notary public seal consequent actual hold.
Absence of legal prerequisite leads reasonable prurient speculation
that her attorney may be in a tenuous pruitus position with Ms Devine having committed perjury.

The first thing I was taught in law school was to know the facts of the case. And these era divorce cases are chock full of innuendo, complicity, and supposition topped alley cat testimony.

 

[LizzieMaine]

(The Eagle does not publish today in observance of Memorial Day, and Sally and Alice, like thousands of other war workers, remain on the job. But in Grand Army Plaza, many thousands gather to watch Brooklyn's Memorial Day Parade pass under the Solldiers and Sailors Memorial Arch and listen to the speeches. "Uset' cawlit 'Dec'ration Day," observes Leonora, seated atop her father's shoulders. "Shh," shooshes Joe, clasping his daughter's ankles to keep her secured. "Lissen t'what t'eh sayin'." A minister prays, an American Legion chaplain and a rabbi speak. A wizened veteran of the Spanish-American War who rode with Teddy Roosevelt dedicates the day's ceremonies to the fallen of all wars -- and to the late President Franklin Delano Roosevelt. A Legion ***** squad raises its ceremonial weapons, and shots crack out across the plaza. "OW!' screams Leonora, tearing at her father's hair as his grip clenches tight around her ankles. "Leggo! It hoits!" "If you can't control your child," sneers a hawkfaced woman in black, "leave her home. SOME of us are here to honor the dead." "Sawry," mutters Joe, lowering Leonora to the pavement. "C'mon, honey," he stammers. "Less get outa heeh...")

And in the Daily News...

"Whatta mess," observes Alice, noting broken fragments of toilet tanks swept into a corner of the office. "It looks like ya had a coupla Congressmen goin' at it." "Oi'll clean it oop in toime," sighs Uncle Frank, his usually-jovial face now a sag of weariness. He hands a small paper-wrapped parcel to Alice. "Oi gaaaht'chee yarr poineapple." "An' Oi gotcha cigawrs," replies Alice, handing over a scuffed box. "T'ey ain't Invincibles, an'na guy sold 'em to me said t'ey was pre-wawr stock." "N-R-A, We Do Arr Paaart," reads Uncle Frank, observing a faded Blue Eagle logo on the label. "T'at's how ya know t'eh pre-wawr," nods Alice. "Aged innna wood, t'guy said. "Does'at count f'cigawrs?" "Oi'd smook a piece a' rope if Oi had woon," sighs Uncle Frank, "soo these'll do." "T'is is a pretty good pineapple," grins Alice. "Sal's gonna love it." She glances back at Uncle Frank, who is slumped back in his swivel chair. "Hey," she continues. "What's eatin' ya?" "We goota radiogram t'day," Uncle Frank sighs. "Mickey's boat lands Friday." "Oh," ohs Alice. "Oh indeed," nods Uncle Frank....

"Hedy La Ma." The News can be an awful rag sometimes, but you know, there are times when I'm really glad it exists...

I bet the other three were real dillies.

Hot AND cold? You're a chump not to grab it!

There are some people who should never own a ***.

"I guess that's why between the two of you I can never find a clean shirt..."

"Not like the old days when we'd just beat out a confession with a rubber hose..."

Yep, how do you think he got a commission?

If there are two people I do not want to hear debate the Civil War, it's these two...

Clearly the child is a genius. Dr. Minkoff needs to sign him up for the NYU clinic right away.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

NO SPOILERS! Frank Engli, when he's not making DUMB mistakes, does the lettering for "Terry." And we now know for sure how far ahead Mr. Caniff works.

And in the Daily Worker...

In his Forest Hills den, Mr. Rickey reviews a large stack of schedules, and notes that the Dodgers will make another trip to Chicago in the middle of July....

 

[Fading Fast]

"Hedy La Ma." The News can be an awful rag sometimes, but you know, there are times when I'm really glad it exists...

A particular good one, for sure.

But of course, the News then can't resist:

Tough story about Mary Martin, her three-year-old, and the dog.

Also, in a busy Page Four day, I had to read it twice to follow that good old Nick Pappas is offering to raise the children from his wife's affair. Still, why was she in the hospital in the first place before she jumped - to have the sailor's babies?

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Hot AND cold? You're a chump not to grab it!

New York City's real estate market would spit Skeezix all the way back to New Jersey.

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NO SPOILERS! Frank Engli, when he's not making DUMB mistakes, does the lettering for "Terry." And we now know for sure how far ahead Mr. Caniff works.

Good catch. It's pretty much the six weeks we thought.