The Era -- Day By Day

[Fading Fast]

"I neveh hoid 'im say five minutes woit'a tawk, let alone a whole night."



"We'eh teachin' 'im good mannehs. Ya don' get fawr in life ya ack like a bum." "Well, yeh," nods Sally



"I mean -- ain' 'is name Sweeney? Awr Belasco? I mean, ain'cha gotta go by what it says onna boit' cetificate?"

"Funny you should mention that."

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

"Speakin' a' juvenile d'linquents," scowls Ma, as the screen door skeens open to admit Bink Scanlan.



"If ye had a better plan," eyerolls Uncle Frank, "ye shooda spook oop.



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

And ahoy there, Seaman Third Class Owen, you'll enjoy the Navy. Maybe they'll let you drop anchor...

That's just mean – well, funny, but mean.

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

And introducing as Melody, Miss Ann Blyth.

Best on-screen moment of Miss Blyth's career - b*tch-slapping Joan Crawford right off her feet (with the torn check going up in the air as confetti):

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Not Eddie DeLange! He had a great band in the 30s, and now he's reduced to -- um -- taking payments from -- uh ------

What was really going on there with her and these payments?

I believe Madeline Webb and her crew are all dead or in prison, but this would get them off anyway as they'd never pass that up.

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

I hope Iris takes the SOB for every shilling he's got.

Agreed – he's entitled to his day in court and all that – but we get what was going on here.

And how Page Four is it to open a brutal spousal-abuse story with this:

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If the Boss turns out to be, oh, Captain Blaze, I'll scream.

Agreed, could also be the DL, but her soldiers are usual better trained and disciplined.

Is April a deep undercover agent working for the Japanese, as that was insanely stupid of her.

 

[2 Days Dubai]

The first college sweetheart I completely fell for was Ann Blyth's double.

Last seen Captain Blase had bought a Springfield .30-06 round in what seemed the stomach gastroepiploic artery; also had a 9mm Lugar aimed him by Burma. Blase verbally confirmed his wounding with a panic trace indicative cognizance of mortal distress. Five minutes tops.
A sure bet.

Speaking of bets... After an exacting analysis a tie accrued Baeza and Journalism with Sovereignty; although I edged the last horse to place, I covered my gluteus maximus. 6,7/2. I also bet #2 to win, however no Derby winner Preakness skip has ever won the Third Leg.
This field was brief with depth, leaving brain calloused doubts.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Ye bettar coom acraaaahs," warns Uncle Frank. "Thaaat's aaaahl Oi'm goin' t'say." "Ahhh, pool in ye neck," scoffs Shaughnessy the butcher. "Oi tol'jee I was goin' t'getchee a paaaht roost an' Oi'm goin' t'do it." "We gaaaht t'have it farrst thing Soonday marrnin'," continues Uncle Frank. "We're throoin' a hooley for Mickey at th' Friendly Soons hall, an' Oi figyarr if waaard gets oot we gaaaht meat, thar'll be a crowwwd aahl roit." "Ye'd be ootharwoise haaaard pressed t'foind anyone in this neighbarhood," snorts Shaughnessy, "who'd coom oot farr a do farr Mickey Sweeney. A wake, paaaarhaps. Maaaar loikely, even." "Hence," sighs Uncle Frank, "th' paaaht roost. Ye gaaaht a family. Ye knoo how it is. Tharr's things that's expected." "Oi s'poose," frowns Shaughnessy, "soon's th' boy's oota th' Army he'll goo back t'wis oold ways." "Oi gaaaht plans farr Mickey," declares Uncle Frank. "Nora doon't know yet what they arrr, an' Oi saaaartainly ain't goin' to lay thim befaarr th' loikes a'you. Boot Oi gaaaht plans." "Joost remembarrr," nods Shaughnessy, "b'farr ye poot any plans inta mootion, ye oow me far th' paaaht roost. An' noona that Inky Quinlan slaaap, Oi wan'chee good stoof. Prewar staaaack." "Ye'll get what's coomin' ta ye," sighs Uncle Frank. "In good toime....")

(There, let's see the Daily News scoop THAT.)

("I wanna go t' real school." declares Leonora. "Like Willie goes." "Ya ma t'inks t'at clinic y'go to is pretty good," contends Joe. "Docteh Minkoff says t'at clinic is pretty good," corrects Sally. "I gawt my doubts. But t'ey won' take yeh in public school till ya five. You gawt anot'eh yeeh." "Age," intones Leonora, twisting her features into a pout, "is a state 'a mine." "I see whatcha mean," sighs Joe....)

(So, what, five years?)

("And at night on the air he is quippy!" Oh, and Magerkurth is a lot bigger than that. Ask Frankie Germano.)

(Yep, Ike is known all over the ETO for his reet dance moves...)

(The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.)

(I warned ya, Janie. Don't mess with the Transit Workers Union.)

(No, it isn't Benchley. Maybe Paul Whiteman? The Great Gildersleeve??)

(Junior has been spending too much time around Trix.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

A chorus boy???

Jeezuz.

You should have expected something like this when you named her "Breathless."


"Ah. You of course have your extradition papers in order." "Oh."


Unfortunately, when he saw it done, it was being done by Curly, Larry, and Moe.

Women In Prison.

There's a time and a place, April.

"You put me on THIS page? I do a family cartoon!" -- Geo. Clark.

For a roughhouse character, Moon certainly does enjoy his creature comforts.

"And everything will be exactly like it used to be. Sigh."

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

The fourth "R."

 

[Fading Fast]

There, let's see the Daily News scoop THAT.

Daughter: "I'm getting an annulment, Daddy."
Winchell: "Does that mean you two never, umm..."
Daughter: [Cutting in.] "The lawyer says it means the marriage will never have existed in the eyes of the law."
Winchell: "What about in the eyes of God?"
Daughter: "Daddy!"

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A chorus boy???

This story got much, much more complicated today. I did not anticipate an Indian chief playing into this one in any manner.

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

"Ah. You of course have your extradition papers in order."

"Oh. Nobody ever asks **** Tracy that."

"You're no **** Tracy."

 

[LizzieMaine]

"An adventurer living on the fringes of society." An Indian chief, a baroness, an Army officer, a chorus boy, an opera singer, a Latin lover, and a second-echelon bandleader, and I imagine a jewel thief and a phony count will pop up any day. You know, after four years of war, I never really realized how much I missed this kind of stuff till now.

 

[Fading Fast]

"An adventurer living on the fringes of society." An Indian chief, a baroness, an Army officer, a chorus boy, an opera singer, a Latin lover, and a second-echelon bandleader, and I imagine a jewel thief and a phony count will pop up any day. You know, after four years of war, I never really realized how much I missed this kind of stuff till now.

And she kept her marriage of over two years a secret from her father.

You tossed in jewel thief just for me, didn't you? You know the jewel thief is one of my favorite 1940s-era archetypes.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And I didn't even bring up Germany's WWII-era leadership spies. Imagine her dinner parties.

 

[2 Days Dubai]

The decedent's marriage was arranged by an Austrian baroness,
whom might have arranged the hit; however, all too much this post Belmont Sunday morning.

Sovereignty skipped the Preakness and daisy fresh ran past Journalism,
Baeza, and Rodriguez to score impressively. Having covered my gluteus maximus saddled superfectas by spreading out equine equity, a busted flush tripple C wherein my breakdown betting review showed my mistakes playing strict percentage poker. Most surprising besides Sovereignty was the dismal handle. Bettors avoided the Belmont like plague, tossing a $2m purse race aside for field and rain. I've never seen such box office bust.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Th' parrty staarts at foive a'claaack sharp," declares Ma. "At th' Friendly Soons'a St. Patrick's hall. You knoo whar that is?" "Yeh," frowns Sally, making a face. "I can' stan'nat place. Smells like'n ol' ash tray." "Well," continues Ma, "Oi sent Barbara oovar thar this marrnin' t'clean it oop." "Like she cleans up aroun'eeh?" snickers Sally. "Hey, I t'ought Joe was woikin' t'night." "Oi sent'im aaaahf on an -- ah -- errand," dissembles Ma. "Anyhoo, Oi wan'chee t'make saaartain yarr goin' t'be at th' party. Oi know th' two'a ye doon't get alaaang, boot 'ee's yarr oonly broothar, an'ee joost spent two yarrs in a prison camp." "Yeh, I guess," exhales Sally. "I gotta go see Docteh Levine at noon, an'nen Joe'n me was gonna take Leonoreh t'wa movie. T'ezziz t'ing at t' RKO ****h bout a hawrse, 'T'undehead, t' Son'a Flickeh,' sump'n like'at." "Oi tha'chee wasn' spoosta goo in thar," frowns Ma. "T'ey gotta new manageh," shrugs Sally. "He dunno me fr'm Gravel Goitie. Anyways, I was gonna say, dijoo know Leonoreh's real innehrested in hawrses?" "Is thaaat soo?" inhales Ma. "Yeh," nods Sally. "She was lookin'at t'is papeh she picked up blowin'roun'a coehtyawrd. T' Racin' Fawrm, c'n ya beat t'at? She sueh seemed innehrested innem hawrses." "Ahhl little garrls," smiles Ma a bit too insistently, "loove harrses." "I neveh did," disputes Sally....)

("Let me SEE th' paaaht roost," insists Uncle Frank. "Oi gaaaht a roit t'see th' marrchandoise befarr Oi accept d'livery." "Oi doon't want t'oonwrap it," refuses Shaughnessy. "Oi doon't want t'take a chance aaahn any oothar coostoomar seein' it. Oi doon't want a riot, Oi joost gaaaht that plate glass windaar fixed froom th' last toime." "Ye nivver had noo riot," scorns Uncle Frank. "Well Oi doon't knoo what'chee'd caaahl it," spuitters Shaughnessy. "Mavis Doyle throo a halfa ****da suet at me an' it went roit thru the windarr!" "She'd have t'be behoind th' ****tar thar with'yee," squints Uncle Frank, "far a haffa ****da suet t'fallar sooch a trajectarry." "Coom alaaang t'me coold room," blusters Shaughnessy, his face flushing a sudden crimson. "Oi'll shoo ye th' paaaht roost!")

("And who keeps throwing away these Racing Forms???")

("Yes indeed," declares Mr. Rickey. "A fine group of men, my pitchers, under the circumstances." "Reminds me of the Clevelands of '98," chuckles Mr. Cy Young. "Of course, that was after they sent me to St. Louis." "Do you -- ah -- still keep in -- ah -- shape?" ventures Mr. Rickey. "I throw a mite," acknowledges Mr. Young. "When I'm not chopping wood." "Have you -- ah -- considered," wheedles Mr. Rickey, "the advantages of -- ah -- perhaps associating yourself with the Brooklyn club....?")

(It's really starting to feel like 1940 all over again. Hey, where's Jinx?)

(Five grand is a whole lotta kale, y'dig?)

(Fish in a barrel.)

("Hey! I'm missing my watch, my wallet, and my undershirt!!")

(Noowwwwwww I know who it is! It's Walter Connolly!! But wait, isn't he dead?)

(She'd have to be smart, given who she's married to.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News..


"A group of young men known to have been proteges..." "Mostly they were sleek Latin types..." Well, we all have our "type..."

Although the News is trying to make it sound like Sgt. Flynn is a stage manager in a backstage musical, I'm assuming his function here is to be sure no Germany's WWII-era leadership big shots try to slip away in disguise?

HAW HAW. Is Harold Gray our guest writer today?

Meet Cute.

Ah yes, that'll be Decca 2082, "Lullaby To A Little Jitterbug." Early hit for the Andrews Sisters.

So much for the fatal heart attack.

Helen has a way of being "the right person."

Too much water in your paste.

"Or vice versa."

Stealing jokes that even Milton Berle wouldn't steal from Olsen & Johnson?

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Well, OK, now we have Sen. Wagner and the big cheese of GE involved. I bet Harry Truman isn't taking any phone calls...

And in the Daily Worker...

"Mr. O'Malley!" exhales Mr. Parrott. "You -- reading THAT paper??" "Always like to see how different people think, Harold," purrs Mr. O'Malley, a beefy paw clamping on the minion's shoulder. "Have you ever been to the Coast, Harold? I'd love to hear your thoughts..."

 

[Fading Fast]

It's a cool ad.

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It's really starting to feel like 1940 all over again. Hey, where's Jinx?

"Doing my part." – JF

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Although the News is trying to make it sound like Sgt. Flynn is a stage manager in a backstage musical, I'm assuming his function here is to be sure no Germany's WWII-era leadership big shots try to slip away in disguise?

I was thinking he was looking for ***- or bomb-carrying "resistance" fighters, but your thought makes more sense.

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Meet Cute.

It was not definitive as you do see it worn as women's fashion sometimes in the 1940s, but a social worker wearing a sport coat and tie has me thinking he's not her type.

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Well, OK, now we have Sen. Wagner and the big cheese of GE involved. I bet Harry Truman isn't taking any phone calls...

Mrs. Langford should just stop talking.

 

[2 Days Dubai]

Were I Mrs Langford's counsel, her silence would be advised. The amount of evidentiary fact with testimonial account found press is quite remarkable, much of which underscores yesterday's journalism.
The Langford murder clearly indicates conspiracy with a seemingly expansive circumference. Rendering the Model Penal Code objective attempt to simplify more subjective aspects found criminal case law rather comic.
And the Felony Murder Doctrine gets kicked curbside. Talk about a hit-and-run.

Caught the sportsline Derby weather feature. And saw Jinx's lovely oxygen maked harem girl face, cascade hair fall, wrapped around mink stole Irvin bomber jacket. What a beautiful woman.

Terry is armed with a standard .45 automatic sidearm. Originally crafted for close-quarter fights with stopping power that could knock a Philippine Moro tribal warrior with wet tree bark wrapped *******s on his ***, its limited accuracy and 850 feet per second muzzle velocity is best kept close range. And unlike a .38 revolver that a potato affixed barrel spud silencer can be used, the automatic remains unmuzzled lone wolf with bark.
And were I April's lawyer, silence is golden.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Some pawrty," smirks Sergeant Doyle, taking a swig from a bottle of Rheingold. "Ya gonna make a bundle retoinin'na empties." "Keep smoilin', Thomas," grins Uncle Frank thru an unusually dense curtain of false jollity. "Weh's Bink?" injects Jimmy Leary. "I t'ought you said Bink was gonna be heeh." "She's back at th' stoor," dismisses Uncle Frank. "On'y reason I come," mutters Jimmy, "is I t'ought she was gonna be heeh. If she's out wit' Danny again..." "Danny's ovar there, ye plank," snaps Ma. "Now goo ovar tharr an' mingle, arr Oi'l poot another knot on ye head." "Good evening, Mrs. Leary," shimmers Inky Quinlan, gliding effortlessly to the buffet table, and reloading his plate with shreds of pot roast. "You look, as ever, like a summer flower of County Donegal." "We nivver grew noo flowers," scowls Ma. "We raised sheep." "Ah," gleams Inky. "If you'll pardon me, I should like to greet Mrs. Doyle." "It's naaaht soo bad," whispers Uncle Frank, as the hilarity subsides. "Wharr's Michael?" jitters Ma. "If ye gaaaht him droonk again, Francis, Oi'll lay ye oot in lavendar." "He's oovar tharr, taaalkin' t' Sally," indicates Uncle Frank. "...it's jus' nawt right, t'at's awl," Mickey is proclaiming, as Sally glares back, her arms folded and her eyes dark black dots of irritation. "He's me own flesh'n blood, an' he oughta at leas' have my name!" "Y'shoulda t'oughta t'at," snaps Sally, "b'foeh ya run out awn'm." "Aw, come'awffit," retorts Mickey. "You met Marie. I couldn' get alawng wit'teh!" "At leas' once ya did," sneers Sally. "An' even woise," resumes Mickey, swiping angrily with his beer bottle, "whose ideeh was it t'stick 'im with t'at idiot Alice Dooley? An'nat ol' bawlheaded guy she's wit', whas'ee, 'eh parole officeh?" Ma arrives at the edge of the conversation just in time to give her son a discreet kick in the ankle. "Alice an' Krause izza bes' t'ing eveh happened'a t'at kid," explodes Sally. "He was slinkin' aroun' like a stray cat till'ey took'im in, an' lookit'im now!" "T'eh makin' a sissy out'v'im!" roars Mickey, slamming his bottle on the table. "'How d'ya do sarrrr, lah dee dah.' Wha's nex', ya gonna have ya bohunk teach 'im t' DANCE?" Before Ma can intervene, a cracking slap echoes across the hall. All conversation halts as Sally leans toward her brother, her face purple with rage. "You keep ya yap SHUT about Joe," she hisses, her breath coming in short heaves, "or I sweah t'gawd I'll shut it poimanent." "It's awright Sal," dissuades Joe, hurrying to her side. "He didn' mean nut'n, right?" "Yeh," murmurs Mickey, his teeth clenched. "Sommmme pawrty," chuckles Doyle, reaching for the bottle opener...)

(If you insist...)

(I'd be interested to know exactly what constitutes "conduct unbecoming to a rider...")

("Two'll getcha sev''n," declares Leonora, sitting on the floor of the Ginsburgs' parlor with the Eagle funnies before her. "What is?" queries Mr. Ginsburg, peering over the top of the sports section. "Red Rydeh's hawrse," indicates Leonora. "Comin' awn inna stretch." "Chas v'chalila," murmurs Mr. G...)

("I've had this speaker sitting around since 1925! Watch me palm it off on this dumb rabbit!")

(And you wonder why Phil goes around with his eyes like that.)

(Hey, leave the cheesecake to Caniff.)

(SWIFT RETRIBUTION. Put Tracy on this case!!!)

(Butch is a lawyer? Things I never knew till now.)

(It's awful when you have a story with no one to root for. BRING BACK LEONA.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Ah, she's a SELF STYLED baroness. That explains everything.

Annnnnd there's Jinx.

You can never have too many custard cups.

"It's a nice trick if you can do it." **** Tracy is on the job.

There's No One With Endurance...

"Just don't hit me." -- Sandy.

"Well, as long as he's here, get him to something about the bathroom."

"Look, just let me finish my sentence and get on with my life." I mean, look at Python here.

She wears that romper to make it easier to do those high kicks.


"Won't you please put Lieutenant Charles down?" Voice of the People.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

"Mabel then was married to Count Henri de Porceri." And there we go.

And...

Miss Lace was originally Burma, in her own spin-off strip, until the News Syndicate put its foot down. A gal just can't make a living.

 

[Fading Fast]

"T'eh makin' a sissy out'v'im!" roars Mickey, slamming his bottle on the table. "'How d'ya do sarrrr, lah dee dah.' Wha's nex', ya gonna have ya bohunk teach 'im t' DANCE?" Before Ma can intervene, a cracking slap echoes across the hall. All conversation halts as Sally leans toward her brother, her face purple with rage. "You keep ya yap SHUT about Joe," she hisses, her breath coming in short heaves, "or I sweah t'gawd I'll shut it poimanent." "It's awright Sal," dissuades Joe, hurrying to her side. "He didn' mean nut'n, right?" "Yeh," murmurs Mickey, his teeth clenched.

Well this is going well. They have got to get rid of him some way, somehow.

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

Hey, leave the cheesecake to Caniff.

Hix really forced that in there and it isn't even good cheesecake.

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

Annnnnd there's Jinx.

Plus it's her one marriage and it lasted fifty-eight years until her husband passed away. Kudos to them.

Page 4 is really trying to get back in the pre-war swing as seen with the story about the labor leader's divorce fight, which includes an "illegitimate" baby with a nightclub dancer, a j'accuse – he's a communist – and deportation threats. Phew!

Actually, if he is "under order of deportation as an alien member of an organization seeking the overthrow of the government," why is he still here? They know where he is.

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

"Mabel then was married to Count Henri de Porceri." And there we go.

It's time for the Daily News to make a chart of all the characters people in this story.

 

[LizzieMaine]

The whole Langford affair reads like a storyline from "The Gumps." I bet Gus Edson is seething.