The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick....

"A convertible coupe and lots of excitement...."

"Pretty young." You were younger than that when you met Burma and you still remember her...

Oh, Min...

Tennesee Williams is a regular reader.

Straw hat with a black suit? Either he's a code inspector or he's Connie Mack.

J. P. Medbury is a popular humorist in the slick magazines, and another of Frank Willard's many drinking buddies.

What gets me every time is the way the rug slowly wizzles down like that...

Ahhh, I always like to sleep on a long bus ride.

"And they don't even bring their ration books."

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...


"Fug you." -- Norman Mailer.

Sally looks over at Joe, absently tapping his foot in time to the music from the radio, and wonders if maybe they aren't so old after all...

And in the Daily Worker...

You ain't seen nothing yet.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Air Fleets Rip **** After Record Blitz: Raiders Leave Four Cities, Oil Depot in Flames."

Why are they not surrendering?

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

"t'ezza P. S. 'Pap says yeh.'"

Perfect.

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

t'wawkin' mout' t'eh.

Never gets old.

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

Ahhh, I always like to sleep on a long bus ride.

It can't be too pleasant for anyone on that bus right now. It can make your eyes water.

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

"Your Savings Earn Interest from Day of Deposit."

Prove it! Can you imagine how squishy that type of calculation was back then? The incentive to "squeeze" a few pennies from every account is so great as no account holder would know or be able to prove it, but for the bank, it can add up nicely.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Noo, they didn't caaal yestarrday an' they didn't call yet t'day," frowns Ma. "An' b'soides, what's it to ye?" "I dunno," shrugs Bink Scanlan, cracking her gum. "Jus' wondrin'. T'ought maybe Eeehs woulda caaahlt." "Eaaaaars?" puzzles Ma, before catching on. "Hmph," she hmphs. "Maybe his earrrs took oop all th' space f'ris brains. Oi thaaat'ee was spoosta be a smarrt woon, but gooin' aaaf with Francis ta PHILADELPHIAAAR oov ALL places, and in that ****** fool TROOCK throos THAT oidear int'wa caaacked hat." "Well, ifee cawls," sighs Bink, reaching for her broom, "tell 'im I foun' 'is wallet." "Oi betchoo did," eyerolls Ma...)

("Yeh," snickers Sally, turning onto 63rd Street, "t'ey said he was cawlin' 'imself 'Prince Ali Suddu." "Didn'ee useta be awn 'Amos 'n Andy?' wonders Alice. "Nah, t'at was Prince Ali Bendo," recalls Sally. "Howcome awlese fakehs is princes?" continues Alice as they climb the stoop at number 1762. "Y'd t'ink bein' a prince 'd take up mosta yeh time, woul'n have no time lef' t' run pawlicy games." "Hey," notes Sally, as they enter the foyer. "Lookit'at. Missis Nucci still ain' brung in 'eh mail. Huh, looks like you gawt a letteh too. "Oh," ohs Alice, the color draining from her face as she unlocks the box and extracts an official envelope. "Huh," repeats Sally, noting the return address. "Afteh five days retoin to office of Magistrate Chas. Solomon, Borreh Hawll..." "Ahh, I probly gawt jury duty," jitters Alice. "Well, g'night," she hastens, as she makes for the stairs leading below. "Huh," huhs Sally yet again, as she heads upstairs....)

(Do you get the sense that Mary Haworth and Doc Brady meet for coffee every morning?)

(Say hello to Miss Rheingold 1946!)

(Yes, Larry will gladly go along with anything Mr. Rickey suggests, HO! HO!)

(I dunno, next time maybe try a bar of soap in a sock.)

(If Hu Shee is going to do this strip, she should demand a bigger part.)

("Sooooo, Miss Angel Jones...IF THAT'S YOUR REAL NAME!")

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG HAS A VOICE RECOGNIZABLE FROM MILES AWAY)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Reap the whirlwind...

It's nice to know that somewhere, J. Hartford Oakdale is still out there...

Time to fumigate the bus.

I hope nobody lives above this place.

There's cartoony violence, like you get all the time in "Moon Mullins," but when Frank King does it, it is deeply, deeply unsettling.

That's a Marine for you.

"How 'bout you, Gov? Want to give it a try?"

Incidentally, how long's it been since we had a good old-fashioned Page Four nightclub brawl?

Ready for television!

 

[Fading Fast]

"Mines Halt Shipping at All Jap Harbors: Tokyo Area Hit Again by 100 American Planes."

Why are they not surrendering?

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

"Y'd t'ink bein' a prince 'd take up mosta yeh time, woul'n have no time lef' t' run pawlicy games."

I love her.


"Waiting at Crossing, Car Bumped by Train."

Why is this news in a New York City paper (or any paper)?


"Afteh five days retoin to office of Magistrate Chas. Solomon, Borreh Hawll..." "Ahh, I probly gawt jury duty," jitters Alice. "Well, g'night," she hastens, as she makes for the stairs leading below. "Huh," huhs Sally yet again, as she heads upstairs....

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

If Hu Shee is going to do this strip, she should demand a bigger part.

Especially in the state the strip is in now. Back in the Leona days, it was a bit closer to Caniff in quality, but this is a real comedown for Hu Shee. It's like when a true movie star did TV in the 1950s.

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

It's nice to know that somewhere, J. Hartford Oakdale is still out there...

Indeed. He's also another of those conmen who could easily make a very good honest living – this guy could sell anything (I see insurance annuities flying off the shelf) – but for whatever reason, they prefer the dishonest path.

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

I hope nobody lives above this place.

Dear Carl, just a reminder,

Plot: the main events of a play, novel, movie, or similar work, devised and presented by the writer as an interrelated sequence.

— your Editor

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Ravoli?" marvels Joe, as Sally places a plate before him. "Whe'dja fine'a meat t'put innit?" "S'from a can," sighs Sally. "Chef Boy Awr Dee, like makes'at spaghetti dinnehr'inna bawx." "We haddat stuff inna Awrmy," frowns Joe. "I wisht we had some real meat, I'd make kehdunnies. Yeah, I was tellin' Ma, if we put in food oveh'ta stoeh, I'll make kehdunnies, awlat kin'a stuff." "T'em people in Eas' Flatbush dunno nut'n from kehdunnies," notes Sally. "Ravioli t'ey know, an' kreplach t'ey know, but..." "I'll cawl it 'Lit'uanian kreplach," declares Joe. "Hey, how come t'Irish don' have nut'n like t'at?" "I dunno," shrugs Sally. "Who needs it when y'can get ravioli an' kreplach?" "T'is meat tastes funny," frowns Leonora. "You ain' had meat so lawng," rebuts Sally, "you f'got what it tastes like." "Pierogies is good too," adds Joe. "I knew t'is jernt in Williamsboig..." But the restaurant review is interrupted by a knock at the door. Sally steps over to find Alice in the hallway. "Hey," she greets. "I was wondrin', can I borreh ya cat f' t' night? I t'ink we gawt mice awr rats a'sump'n. I was oveh by t'dumbwaiteh an' I smelt sump'n funny." "I s'pose," shrugs Sally. "But she don' like'at dawg a'yez." "Ahhh, Butch ain' so bad," declares Alice. "He's mopin' aroun' since Siddy an' Willie been..." "Missis K!" comes a shout echoing up the stairs, followed closely by the gangling form of Sammy Schriebstein. "Ya gawt a cawl oveh't stoeh," he puffs, catching his breath from his run. "Pop says t'tell ya it's lawng distance." "I been wait'n f' tis," yelps Alice, shoving Sammy aside as she thunders down the stairs. "Mus' be impoeht'n," observes Sammy. "She din' even tip. You know what's goin' awn?" "Who knows," exhales Sally, handing the youth a quarter. "Nobody tells me nut'n....")

("Oi doon't knoo what gives Francis th' oidear," fumes Ma, "that he can make any mooney sillin' aaarmy saaarploos, when aal these sooljars is joost bringin' it hoom f'thimselves. Oi tell ye, me gaaarl, th' divvil finds waaark farr oidle haands." "Yeh," agrees Bink Scanlan, pretending to dust the cardboard figure of the Philip Morris bellhop. "Which remoinds me," continues Ma. "Oi'll naaaht have ye hangin' oop yarr oonderhings to droy in th' back room. Oi run a bettin' parlarr, noot -- soom oothaar koind." "Yes'm," sighs Bink, hearing nothing of what is being said. She swings her broom just enough to knock over the metal rack of sun-faded paper-back books and with a weary huff, bends down to pick them up. Her attention is captured by a copy of "How To WIn Friends and Influence People," and she gazes thoughtfully at Dale Carnegie's smirking omnisicence on the cover. She riffles thru the pages, glances at Ma, narrows her eyes, and defly slips the volume into her apron pocket...)

(Coming Events...)

("The Brown Dodgers aren't drawing very well," observes Mr. Parrott. "And they hardly get any publicity." "Trifling matters," dismisses Mr. Rickey, shuffling a stack of papers on his cluttered desk. "I am expecting certain confidential reports from Mr. Sisler and Mr. Greenwade, please see that I receive them at once. And has Mr. Sukeforth reported in?" "No sir," shrugs Mr. Parrott, "but he sent you a package from Maine. Jane Ann has it out in the front office. I think you'd better take care of it right away sir, it -- um -- has a fish in it." "Have a care, boy," frowns Mr. Rickey. "Your duties do not include opening my personal mail." "I didn't have to open it, sir," chokes Mr. Parrott. "Judas Priest," sighs Mr. Rickey. "I do wish he wouldn't do that.")

9"I dowanna go t'no pitcheh show," states Bink, leaning over the counter, absorbed in her book. "I'm Danny," sighs Danny. "Oh," shrugs Bink. "Neveh mind.")

("Oh, so that's how it is. Yeah, you look the type. OK, slick, you got a date with the vice squad.")

(Volleyball builds muscles.)

(Well, duh!)

(EW EW EW)

(EW EW EW)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

It's 1945. Counts and dukes just don't cut it anymore.

The "No Deal Party." Gawdluvya, Butch.

Under the bus with you, Mr. Hutch...

Skeezix is no blood relation to Uncle Walt, but you'd never know it.

Whatever you do, don't open the trunk.

On the other hand, it's wise to plan for your post-athletic career.

"Now stop this nonsense and put 50 cents on 0-8-4 to combinate."

"Wow, I could really use this when the Legislature reconvenes!" -- the Governor.

Well, that's what you get for trying to cook corn flakes.

Good thing she didn't use the kind that causes massive internal hemorrhaging.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Die.

This might be the most cogent explanation of cricket I've ever come across.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Invasion Command Goes to MacArthur."

Why are they not surrendering?

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

"Nobody tells me nut'n...."

I hear ya kid, as I myself was just wondering, WHAT WAS IN YESTERDAY'S ENVELOPE FROM MAGISTRATE SOLOMON!!!!"

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

Why are they not surrendering?

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

...states Bink, leaning over the counter, absorbed in her book.

New and improved Bink is gonna be something to behold.

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

This might be the most cogent explanation of cricket I've ever come across.

Agreed. I finally feel I have a competent high-level understanding of the game.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Yeh, sighs Alice, walking up 18th Avenue with Butch the Dog sniffing aimlessly at the end of his leash, "I gotta absentee awffa woik on Tuesday, gawtta --um --apperntmen' downtown." "Ah," ahs Sally, with a suspicious frown. "Have anyt'ing t'do wit'tat phone cawl y'gawt las' night, go tearin' out t'dooh like ya was awn fieh? Ya owe me two bits, by t'way, y' f'gawt t'tip Sammy." "It's --fam'ly stuff," hesitates Alice. "But'cho ain' gonna tell me nut'n," exhales Sally. "Like nobody ELSE tells me nut'n." They walk on in silence, past Ebinger's Bakery and the United Cigar Store and Scalzo's Real Estate and Lillian's Beauty Shop and the Manor Cafeteria. "How'd Stella make out las' night?" queries Sally, acknowledging defeat. "She cawt t'is lit'l mouse," replies Alice. "I felt sawry f't' pooeh t'ing, let 'im out inna coehtyawrd. But it's funny, you musta noticed t'at smell's woise. Butchie heeh was runnin' aroun' awl night whinin'." "T'em gawrbagemen neveh pick up awla stuff," grumbles Sally as they turn the corner onto 63rd Street -- and freeze at the sight ahead of them. Parked at the curb of number 1762 stands a hulking ambulance, its rear doors open, as two men in white carry a covered stretcher down the stoop. Joe, his face gaunt, stands in the doorway talking to a policeman and struggling to block Leonora's view, while Mrs. Ginsburg, her features ashen, clings to his arm. With gasps of horror, Sally and Alice break into a run....)

("They aaahta nominate me daughtarr," snickers Ma. "All she ivvar doon is foit. Dunno why she ain't coom ovar yet, she's usual' bringin' Leonora in soo she c'n goot'war apparntment with that Doctar Levitsky." "T'at is very intehrestin'," recites Bink. "Please tell me moeh about t'at, I am very innehrested in whatcheh gawt t'say." "Moind'jee business," snaps Ma. "An' stop starin' in me oyes loike that, ye givin' me th' heebie-jeebies." Bink frowns, pulls a small book out of her apron pocket, and quickly scans a page. "We should get t'get'eh some time," she continues. "I awrways enjoy tawkin' to yeh about t'ese t'ings." "Taaalk t'ye broom," frowns Ma...)

(Where is Frankie Germano now that we need him?)

("Pink Cloud????")

(OUR PORK CHOPS AND STEWING RABBITS ARE STRICTLY FRESH)

(Ernie saw "Sunrise" in 1927 and never forgot it.)

(Bette Davis is on the phone to her agent right now wanting to know if there's any chance they're working on a 'Catherine de Medici' picture, and if so they better not cast Joan Crawford.)

(Wait'll you get our fee!)

(Beaters? Well, I suppose there must've been a lot of rugs.)

(Mary does not approve of boxing. Rasslin' on the other hand...)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Doris Day, Action Hero.

Awwww, nice ******.

Looks like a couple of nice wholesome kids who'd never try anything funny.

Good thing they weren't using that dam for anything, huh?

Yeah, you've got a hard life.

He's the Vital Type.

Never mind that, where'd you get steaks???

Too bad you missed it, kid.

Can you stand the suspense???

Got nothing else to do here, might as well think...

 

[Trenchfriend]

1939, forgotten projects

 

[Fading Fast]

"Third 'Death List' Warning Handed 12 Jap Cities...Fleets of Superfortresses scattered 'evacuate or die' warnings into 12 cities spread the entire length of Japan..."

Why are they not surrendering?

And how freakin' scary must it have been to pick up one of those leaflets?

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

"You'll Be Able To Buy Radios for Xmas Gifts.

Sally eyes the radio she's been restrained with these past five years, thinks to herself, 'maybe for old times' sake,' then shakes her head and goes on with her day.

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

"...ye givin' me th' heebie-jeebies."

Stay with it, Bink, it takes time to find the right balance.

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

Doris Day, Action Hero.

Yes, that's pretty cool.

I'd like to know how the 13-year-old really fooled the draft board or was that a "let's just look the other way" moment? And now that the news is public, why is the Army not discharging him? There's more to that story. But fortunately it explains – what was sounding creepy at first – his 15-year-old girlfriend.

The stove ******* is Gould-level gruesome.

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

Good thing they weren't using that dam for anything, huh?

Seriously, I had the same thought, like what the hey, they just blew it up?

 

[LizzieMaine]

(The streetlights and the pre-dawn murk battle for control of the early morning, as Joe and Sally sit side by side on the fire escape, gazing out into 63rd Street. "T'ey said she'd prawbly been dead t'ree, maybe foeh days," sighs Joe, his cheek swollen with a cud of tobacco. "An' we awl seen'a mail pilin' up, an' we din'do nut'nabout it. It took t'smell of'eh bein dead, Sal. Wasn' f't'at, she coulda laid up t'eh f'reveh. I hadda kick t'doeh'rin, y'know? Alice hadda on'y passkey an' she was out wawkin'eh dawg, an'na Ginsboigs come an' got me an' says I betteh go look, an' what'cn I do?" He goes silent, composing himself as Sally kneads his arm. "She was layin'eh, t'pooeh woman. Inneh bed, wit'a pitchehs of 'eh husban' an'neh boy t'eh onna stan', an'....an'....Jeezuz Chris', Sal..." He pauses again, long enough to fire a jet of black juice over the rail. "T'at docteh Misteh Ginsboig brung oveh, he couldn't tell what hap'nt. T'eh was a bot'la pills'eh onna stan', but he said maybe she jus' died inneh sleep. Natcherel causes, y'know." "She wasn' even as ol' as Ma," Sally sighs. "But she looked ten yeehs oldeh. Foist'eh husban hazzat heart attack', 'nen 'eh son jerns'a Navy an' gets kilt. T'at'd be too much f'ranybody." "Bat'la Midway," nods Joe. "An'nat kid wasn' no twenny yeehs ol' when'nee signed up. Could'na been a day oveh sixteen, seventeen." He pauses again, his jaw working the tobacco. "Twenny's bad enough, y'know, t'die. But seventeen..." "We shoulda tried hawrdeh," murmurs Sally. "Tried t'help 'eh. But she gawt so mean an' cold an' wouldn' let nobody..." "It'sis wawr," exhales Joe. "T'is gawdam doity wawr. Wrecks ev'ryt'ing an' ev'rybody it touches." Again a long silence, as a milk wagon clatters off 18th Avenue, unloads a large can in front of Schreibstien's, and resumes its route along 63rd. "Sun's comin' up," shrugs Sallyy as the sky brightens toward the east. "Guess'at means one day closeh..." Joe fires another stream into the street below. "Gawdam wawr," he murmurs. "Gawdam doity wawr....")


("C'mon, shake a leg," jostles Sally, bleary from a sleepless night and flicking an eye at her watch as Alice leans into the telephone. "We'eh gonna miss'a train." "Look," Alice insists into the mouthpiece, "I know ya s'posta be up t'eh'ranot'eh week, butcha gotta come home NOW. It's jus' -- I mean -- um -- WHAT?" Sally ***** her head at this exclamation, as does half the early-morning Schreibstien's clientele. "You did WHAT?" demands Alice. "Ya FELL OUT OF A TREE AN' BROKE YA AWRM? -- well, who DID t'en? -- ya PAP???? Put 'im on! -- What?? He's still inna infoimary???" "Wha's goin' awn?" demands Sally. "Shh," snaps Alice. "Hmph," hmphs Sally. "Nobody eveh tells me nut'n...")

("You are lookin' slick t'is mawrnin," proclaims Bink as Ma thuds down the back stairs. "Whot?" frowns Ma. "Um, I mean," stumbles Bink, "Sleek. Ya lookin' sleek. I'd love if y'd tell me some'a ya weight lawss secrets." "Haaaaaaaaaard waaaark," glares Ma. "Oh," sighs Bink...")

(Off a dreary New Jersey highway, a rump-sprung 1924 Chevrolet panel truck, sagging under a heavy load, spews steam from its radiator, as its bickering riders wonder how long a walk it is to the nearest telephone...)

(Come now, the correct headline is "BRAVES KIPPER HERRING." I shouldn't have to tell you this.)

(If you aren't going to commit to the bit, it's best not to start.)

("A spot of smoochin'." Hey look, it's a college B-picture from 1937, and he's Jack Oakie.)

(Really thought this thru, dincha?)

(EW EW EW EW EW EW)

(Maybe you could hide behind the, oh, the mountain of skulls...)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"You awright?" asks Sally, as Alice lets out a small sigh. "'S'been too much f'anybody," Sally continues. "T'is lit'l kid," Alice murmurs, indicating the newspaper in her hand. "It's -- y'know, t'at's awl I r'membeh'r about it. I didn' sleep. T'ey foun' me awna train, an' I didn' sleep f'r musta been two days. I guess'at'sa fois' t'ing I remembeh in me life. T'at pooeh kid...

1 -- If Doris Day can do it... 2 -- If anybody would know a three-year-old named "Duke," it's Frank Sinatra.

KIDS TODAY

Yeahhhh, probably not.

Repent at leisure.


"Admissible? Well, you can see to that, can't you, ah, Governor?"

And I bet Mr. Skimp is a big softie too.

There comes a time when every novelty song runs its course...

"Besides, I'm a record collector, and this is a one of a kind piece!"

You know, "stuffy old English lord" would a great theme for a rassler.

 

[Fading Fast]

"U.S. Planes Rip Tokyo Following B-29 Blitz."

Why are they not surrendering?

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

"...Joe fires another stream into the street below. "Gawdam wawr," he murmurs. "Gawdam doity wawr...."

This guy can't catch even a small break.

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

Off a dreary New Jersey highway, a rump-sprung 1924 Chevrolet panel truck, sagging under a heavy load, spews steam from its radiator, as its bickering riders wonder how long a walk it is to the nearest telephone...

Oy.

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

Come now, the correct headline is "BRAVES KIPPER HERRING." I shouldn't have to tell you this.



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

1 -- If Doris Day can do it... 2 -- If anybody would know a three-year-old named "Duke," it's Frank Sinatra.

3 -- Yet still 4-F... 4 -- Was heard coming out of the water mumbling "I've been up and down and...."

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

And I bet Mr. Skimp is a big softie too.

Heck, give Mary Worth a call, she's got to be fed up with the whole lot of that artist crew by now.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Jeezuz Chris'..." whispers Joe. "Whassit, Pa?" wonders Leonora. "Lemme see." Joe gazes upon his four-year-old daughter from beneath the weight of an unknown future. "No," he finally sighs. "Not now...")

("Sit down, Mrs. Krause," beckons Magistrate Solomon. "T'anks," exhales Alice. "I'm -- um -- sawry I din' get awl dressed up much. I din' -- um -- sleep las' night." "The news?" nods the Magistrate. "Ummm," ums Alice, who hasn't listened to the radio or picked up a paper since Sunday, "yeh." "And -- ah -- " continues the Magistrate, "where is Mr. Krause? And young William?" "Um," stumbles Alice, "t'ey wenta camp, summeh camp, Camp Chin-Atch-Gook, y'know? Um, we sen' Willie up t'eh t', y'know, get away fr'm t' polio, an' Siddy -- um -- Misteh Krause -- wen' alawng t'be a counseleh. I ast'm t'come down f't'is meet'n -- but -- um -- well, Siddy fell out'va tree 'n broke 'is awrm. See, he was showin'ese kids howt' climb, anneh was a bee's nest, an' -- well...." "Ah," nods the Magistrate, unfazed by the story. "It's just as well, actually, what I have to say concerns you more than Mr. Krause." He selects a folder from his desk and spreads it before him. "You submitted these documents in support of your case. Now, the primary matter at issue in the case is Mr. Krause's request to adopt the boy. Our investigation of his past and his habits revealed nothing that would give us reason to deny that request. And you have attested in support of this request, thru these documents, that you are the boy's natural mother." "Yesseh," nods Alice, feeling a creeping sweat. The Magistrate picks up the birth certificate, handiwork of Uncle Frank and Inky Quinlan and a corrupt records clerk, and studies it once more. He chews at his lower lip, and returns the document to the folder. He closes the folder, sets it aside, and regards Alice carefully as he weighs his next question. "Mrs. Krause," he queries, his expression unreadable, "please consider that a false statement in such a matter as this constitutes perjury under the law." He pauses, toying with a pen on his desk. "Mrs. Krause," he resumes, looking Alice directly in the eye, "are you William's mother?" Alice returns his gaze and moistens her lips. "Yesseh," she nods, without the slightest waver. "Yes, I am." The Magistrate exhales, and withdraws a document from the folder. He slowly and deliberately uncaps the pen. "I believe you," he declares, affixing his signature to the page...)

("Movies?" snorts Solly Pincus. "I dowanna go see no movie, awl I wanna do is sleep f'ra week afteh what we been t'ru." "Of couese," nods Bink Scanlan. "T'at makes poifeck sense. I bet you -- um -- had some innehrestin' a'venchehs t'at would be moeh excitin'nen anyt'ing in any movie. I'd love teh heeh'ra'bout'm." "Huh?" huhs Solly. "Well, I dunno, if ya cawl hitchikin' inta Hightstown New Joisey wit' a chicken fawrmeh t' fin'a can'na radiateh Stawp-Leak an a'vencheh, well'en I'm a reg'leh Errol Flynn." "Oh," gasps Bink. "Nawt T'AT way," snickers Solly...)

(Mr. Lichty found a whole drawer full of election gags he didn't use last year.)

(Aw, we'll miss ya Howie, but you'll love Montreal. A great baseball town, and Schwartz's Deli has the best smoked meat, if they have any meat in Canada...)

(Oh, and don't forget to tip them. Kids' gotta make a livin'.)

(Neanderthal, meet Cro-Magnon.)

(Hey, I saw that movie, but I don't remember any of this stuff...)

(I have run out of EWs.)

("I told you you didn't need to get a dog!" -- Kitty.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Gawdawmighty," murmurs Sally, glancing out the window at the passing scenery, looking the same as it ever did, but knowing that nothing will ever again be as it ever was....


You don't go hunting for ducks with an elephant ***.

Special Guest Star Ned Sparks!

"Come now Oliver, you're making all of this up. YOU must be the wackiest one of all!"

"Hmph, damn conchie!"

Pop is sending out resumes. Maybe he can help out Ma.

"You -- you -- gooseface!"

Wrestling management is poised to be a major growth industry in our new postwar world!

B. O. is his own little ecosystem.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Jap Base Devastated By Atom Bomb Burst."

Why are they not surrendering? My God, just give up. That it took a second bomb to get Japan to surrender is one of the most unbelievable things ever.

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

"Mrs. Krause," he queries, his expression unreadable, "please consider that a false statement in such a matter as this constitutes perjury under the law." He pauses, toying with a pen on his desk. "Mrs. Krause," he resumes, looking Alice directly in the eye, "are you William's mother?" Alice returns his gaze and moistens her lips. "Yesseh," she nods, without the slightest waver. "Yes, I am." The Magistrate exhales, and withdraws a document from the folder. He slowly and deliberately uncaps the pen. "I believe you," he declares, affixing his signature to the page

I didn't have a weak heart when I started reading these day-by-days, but much more of this and I will. Make it official! I don't want to hear that the page Solomon just signed is to move the process to the "next step." I'm not a young man anymore. I want this – right here, now – to be the final step in the adoption – full, complete, done! And BTW, how perfect is it that a man named Solomon became a magistrate?

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

Hey, I saw that movie, but I don't remember any of this stuff...

In either the Ronald Colman or David Niven version.

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"Gawdawmighty," murmurs Sally, glancing out the window at the passing scenery, looking the same as it ever did, but knowing that nothing will ever again be as it ever was....

The most amazing thing – the thing I know 1945 me would have guessed wrong – is that after the the next bomb is dropped on Japan on 8/9, no more atomic/nuclear bombs would be drop to this day, 80 years later. Cold wars, hot wars, proliferation, eyeball-to-eyeball and not one dropped. Absolutely amazing.

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Special Guest Star Ned Sparks!

Good call. Charles Lane could play it too, but Ned Sparks is perfect.

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Pop is sending out resumes. Maybe he can help out Ma.

Same not-funny joke from Ed for how many plotless weeks is it now? They should all be shopping their resumes. Pop does have experience serving food, which could come in handy when Joe gets Ma to agree to him being the cook.