The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

("Yeaaaaah, soives'm right," fumes Sally. "Arways said'at Roulston's was a buncha crooks. Why'a t'ink I go awlaway oveh t'Bohacks? T'ey ain' got no meat, but at leas'ey don' rook ya awna sugeh." "I can't b'lieve'at new supehviseh," grumbles Alice. "You see how 'ee tawrked'ta me? I been woikin'eh f't'ree yeehs, an'ee cawls me 'little lady.' C'n ya BEAT t'at?" "He awta get some glasses," snickers Sally. "Ya haffa head taweleh'rn'ee is." "Don'ee know it," mutters Alice. "Bad enough t'ey bust me downa t'benches an' cut me pay, t'ey ain' gotta gimme some runt witta mout' biggeh'rn'a rest'v'm f'ra bawss." "Napoleon complex," shrugs Sally. "It's one'a yeh neuroses. I was read'n'is book Docteh Levine gimme. It's what'ey cawl one'a t'ese lit'l guys t'at's whatchacawl ovehcawmpensatin' f'bein' lit'l. Lookit Durocheh. Same t'ing." "I'm biggehr'n Siddy," puzzles Alice. "He ain' nut'n like'at. Well, he's bawlheaded like Durocheh, but I t'ink t'at's weh'ya similarities ends." "Lucky f'you," chuckles Sally. "Yeh," nods Alice, a grin creeping across her face...)

("I woonder," sighs Uncle Frank, "if I c'n get th' boys t'set up th' still again..." "Th' Sarrrploos King 'a East Flatboosh," chuckles Ma, "is gett'n ready t' abdicate?" "Ahhhh," frowns Uncle Frank. "This ain' waaarkin' oot loike Oi planned." "I thot'chee was dooin' a good business in th' stoor thar," shrugs Ma. "Penny ante stoof," dismisses Uncle Frank. "Little kids coomin' in t'boy thim souvenir han' grenades 'n Aaaaarmy patches 'n sooch as that. We still ain't gaaat noona th' big mooney stoof in yet." "Loike what?" scoffs Ma. "Jeeps," declares Uncle Frank. "It was me oondarstandin' tharr'd be Jeeps packed in crates faaar fifty dollars apiece. Oi ain't seen noona that yet. Maybe Solly c'n roon oopta Toledo whin'ee's out west tharr, check in at th' fact'ry." "Have ye haaard froom 'im?" queries Ma. "Him an' Lowrey sint me a wire," mumbles Uncle Frank in a decidedly sour tone. "'Soom Foon, Wish Ye Waaar Here.' That Lowrey is a drinkin' man, ye knoo. Him an' Solly's prob'ly makin' th' roondsa thim **** traps, spindin' ahhl th' praffits aaahn liquor an' cheap woomen." "Solly Pincus???" scoffs Ma. "Well," continues Uncle Frank, "Lowrey, anyway." "Well, we gaaaht enoof trooble on sooch accounts," growls Ma, "withoot any moor'vit. Ye knoo Barbara's gaaaht'arr oye aaahn'im." "Lowrey?" gapes Uncle Frank. "She nivver met'im, an'ee's oold enoof t'be arr --stipfatharr arr soomthin'." "Ye knoo who Oi mean," frowns Ma, flicking at her ears. "It'd saaalve two problems at woonce," argues Uncle Frank. "Annnymooora THAT," glowers Ma, "an' Oi'll saaaalve ME OON prooblem!" "Ahhhh..." sighs Uncle Frank....)

(He's learning plenty every day.)

(There's a new Mungo? Guess the old one finally came back from the laundry.)

(Tommy Brown will live to be 97, so maybe Leo was doing him a favor.)

(ALWAYS READ THE FINE PRINT.)

("Is that so? Hand me that golf trophy again.")

("I don' even KNOW t'ese people!" -- Bink.)

(Faker. No agent ever wore a jacket that plain.)

("You spent how much a word for Bold Face? For that mutt???"")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Hollywood was full of dark tragedies, and Mayo Methot's was one of the darkest.

Yep, the war's over.

"Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast!"

And that's how the gossip starts.

Dr. Frankenstein, I presume....

Not too practical for crawling around caves...

"DON'T YOU KNOW THERE'S A POSTWAR ON??"

Coming Events...

Honestly, it's a wonder Min didn't knock him off twenty years ago.

You're gonna need to fumigate that coat.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Aboard an eastbound Pullman, a rangy man in a featureless gray suit and a broad-shouldered dark-skinned man sit side by side, talking intently, as the train charges onward thru the long night....

 

[Fading Fast]

Arways said'at Roulston's was a buncha crooks.

A whole one-day suspension: toothless regulator.

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"It'd saaalve two problems at woonce," argues Uncle Frank. "Annnymooora THAT," glowers Ma, "an' Oi'll saaaalve ME OON prooblem!" "Ahhhh..." sighs Uncle Frank....

Sorry, Frank, if he was stupid enough to marry her (which I don't think he is), he'd still keep right on working if I know that boy.

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"...no reflection on the Bums...

That is an editor who wants to keep the number of angry letters down.

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Not too practical for crawling around caves...

She looks like a curly-haired Snow White.

 

[LizzieMaine]

(On the stoop of 1762 63rd Street, Joe and Sally gaze out into the afternoon sunshine as Leonora and Lottie Schreibstien argue vigorously over a fine point in the rules of potsy. "Ya makin'at up!" bellows Leonora, flinging her flattened tin can to the pavement. "Ain' gonna playwitcha!" "Ya loony," scoffs Lottie, turning her back on her younger opponent. "Jus' likeya ma an' ya pa bot'!" "Heh," hehs Joe. "T'at's us, jus' a coupla loons." "Eight yeehs t'day," sighs Sally. "Y'evva t'ink we'd come t' t'is?" "Ahhhh, weeh doin' awright," dismisses Joe. "Like I was sayin'a Docteh Levine, if ya ain' looney innis woil' y'ain' pay'nattention." "Guess ya right," nods Sally. "Eight yeehs. Coupl'a kids din'know nut'n. You makin' foehteen bucks a week at t' pickle woiks, me pullin' down seven 'na quawteh at Woolwoit's. No ideeh wheh we was gonna live. Ma yellin' 'you bettehnawt marry no dancin' bohunk.' An' whassat ya sisteh cawlt me? 'T'at Irish kishke.' 'Nah," chuckles Joe. "Kishke's one'a t'em Jewish sawsage t'ings wit' t' chicken fat innit. Jeez, Sal, y'know, I could go f'one a' t'em f'suppeh t'night. We otta wawk up t' Moskowitz's 'n see'f'ee got any in. No, Lina said you was a, a 'Irish keske,' which ain't, um, too nice.." "We ain' been out t' see 'eh since you come home," shrugs Sally. "Little a' Lina," sighs Joe, "goes a lawnng way." "Awright t'en," yells Lottie. "We'll play it yawr way!" "I do'wanna play witcha no moeh," retorts Leonora, crouching at the curb absorbed in the movement of a column of ants. "Oh hey,' resumes Joe. "I gawtcha presen'. T'ey say numbeh eight is ya brawnze annehvoisehry, so I gawtcha t'is." He fishes in his shirt pocket for a small box. "A penny," observes Sally. "Awna chain." "Yeh," nods Joe. "See, a penny ain't plain coppeh, it's brawnze. I read'at somewhez, an' it gimme t'ideeh. See, t'at's a 1937 penny awneh. I went downa bank, an' ast'm t'look inna drawr f't nices' one 'ey had, an'nen I had Krause drill'at lit'l hole inneh. An'nen I wen'na jewleh an' had'm put t'at chain inneh. Um, it ain' no brawnze chain, I do'wancha neck should toin green. 'Nat's gol', real 10 karet gol'. I figyeh, t' las coupla yeehs is seemed like fifty, so why not, y'know, make it a gold'n annehvoisehry too? Heeh, lemme put it awnya t'eh." "T'at's real swell, Joe," nods Sally, a hitch in her voice. "Yeh," Joe nods. "Y'know, I t'ink we'eh doin' okay, you'n me. "Yeh," agrees Sally, leaning her head on her husband's shoulder. "Pretty good f'ra coupla loons....")

("Awlat buildin' gonna be goin' awn," marvels Alice. "Awlem roads." "Yeh," nods Krause, paging thru the latest Popular Mechanics. "Who'needs'm t'ough?" shrugs Alice. "Who's gawtta cawr? Awlem people awn Lawng Islan', sueh, but who wawnts awla t'em comin' in'eeh, takin' up space. Ain'nowheh f'people t'live'eeh now." "If we hadda cawr," argues Willie. "We'c'd got t'wa drive in movie." "A which now?" puzzles Alice. "A drive in movie," repeats Willie. "Sammy was tellin' me. It's a movie but it's outdooehs an' ya sit in ya cawr an' wawtch it." "Whass Sammy know about it?" scoffs Alice. "He's tellin' ya a wrawng stawry's what he's doin'." "No, he hoid about it," protests Willie. "He's in high school, y'know, goes t' New Utirck! He knows awl kin'sa stuff. He says ya sit in ya cawr an', I dunno, eat hawt dawgs 'n stuff." "You don' need t'be lissenin' t'no kid goes t'New Utrick," commands Alice. "T'ey prob'ly does a lawtta t'ings innem cawrs y'don't need t'know about." "Oh," snickers Willie, "I know awlabout'at stuff." "Siddy..." pleads Alice. Krause squints over the top of his magazine. "Jeez, Pap," protests Willie. "Awl I was gonna say is I know t'ey eat pawpcawrn too...")

(At his Forest Hills home Mr. Rickey closes the door behind a Western Union boy retreating miffed with a ten cent tip. "A wire, on Sunday morning?" inquires Mrs. Rickey. "It is from Mr. Sukeforth," nods Mr. Rickey, scanning the yellow sheet. "All," he continues, folding the telegram into his pocket, "is in readiness. The conference will take place on Tuesday. You will excuse me, my dear. I must prepare." "Mr. Sukeforth is a very nice man," observes Mrs. Rickey as her husband steps into his study. "But I do wish he wouldn't send you any more fish.")

(I mean, it isn't like Modell's has a branch in Lost Basin...)

(Comic Strip Bugs is Sally in a rabbit suit.)

("Ya ya yah, the butcher boy for me...")

(On the short list of actors I've never seen give a poor perofrmance, Edward Arnold ranks high. He was also one of the few screen stars who did equally well on radio.)

("You can take the girl out of Pigtown...")

(Seems like a good congressman ought to know how to punt.)

("What about the blood test?" "Hold still.")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Auchinclosses? Auchinclossi?

Oh, and no trolleys.

Have that other finger ready, hon.

There's Something In The Air...

I'm sure you and Mr. Truman will get along just fine.

Moon is awfully well-built, isn't he? And you poor gals don't know when you're well-off.


Pop a G-Man? Well, THAT's a plot. And is that Cindy The Incendiary Blonde, back again to do whatever it is that she does?

Corky the Gawky Adolescent should be worth at least, oh, four or five years of material.

And whatever you do, don't sneeze.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Y'know, I t'ink we'eh doin' okay, you'n me. "Yeh," agrees Sally, leaning her head on her husband's shoulder. "Pretty good f'ra coupla loons...."

Aw.

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On the short list of actors I've never seen give a poor performance, Edward Arnold ranks high. He was also one of the few screen stars who did equally well on radio.

Agreed, and relevant to today's point, he played a blind detective in "Eyes in the Night" (1942) — probably not a coincidence.

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"[A] charge account at every store in town."

"I noticed none of those charge accounts said 'Sandy,' I'm just sayin'."

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And whatever you do, don't sneeze.

Hotshot would have his finest moment when the war is already over.

 

[EngProf]

If Caniff could quickly get in a revised plot considering where things are now with respect to the War, I'd like to see Pyzon hijack the plane all the way to Japan and then get out to see a battalion of US GI's occupying the airport.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("We gawt Misses Nucci's apawrtmen' cleaned out finally," sighs Alice, "an'na paint's dryin'. But I'm scaiet t' put t' 'Fawr Rent' sign out afteh t'at mawb t'ot'eh day." "I neveh t'ought I'd see people," marvels Sally, "kickin' an' screamin' t'live in Bensonhoist." "I s'pose you'n Joe'll be movin' out nex'," exhales Alice. "Huh?" huhs Sally. "Who says?" "Well," shrugs Alice, "dinchoo awrways say afteh t' wawr you was gonna buy one'a t'em houses in Eas' Flatbush t'eh, awn Midwood Street a' sump'n, so y'c'n have a back yawrd t'at ain' awl fulla broken glass, an' tin cans an' busted radios an' junk." "I neveh said'at," denies Sally. "Maybe a lawng time ago, maybe I t'ought we oughta move. But -- well, I do'wanna move. I mean, if me'n Joe wasn'aroun, how'd you'n Krause anna Ginsboigs get alawng wit'out us? An'nit'sa good neighbehood f'Leonoreh. Yestehday she was putt'nat mout'y Lottie Schreibstein right inneh place. An' Lottie's six an' she's on'y foeh! She ain' scaiet'a nut'n! It's a great neighbehood t'teach a kid what she needs t'know t'get alawng." "Huh," huhs Alice. "I neveh t'ought'v'it t'at way." She ponders as they enter the 18th Avenue BMT station. "Hey Sal," Alice resumes, clicking her nickel into the turnstile. "You ain' gonna teach 'eh t' t'row no bricks, awr ya...?" "Neh," dismisses Sally, dropping in her own fare. "She won' need none'a t'at anyways, she's awready loinin' t' direct approach." "Didja apawlagize t' Misses Schreibstein f' Leonora kickin' Lottie inna behin' like t'at?" "Heh," hehs Sally as the train pulls up to the platform. "She says 'tell'eh t'do it again!'")

("Whassis??" frowns Leonora, poking at the round, thick slices steaming on her lunch plate. "It's kishke," explains Joe. "S' good. It's like a sawsage, but it ain' got no meat innit." "Wha's IN it?" glowers Leonora, suspiciously poking a mealy chunk with her fork. "I ast Misteh Moskowitz 'bout t'at," explains Joe. "An' y'know what he says? It's crackeh crumbs inneh, like t'em big crackehs Misses Ginsboig gives ya, an' some p'tatehs, an' some carrots n' celehry, an' some ot'eh stuff awl mixed up wit' chicken fat." "Why?" interrogates Leonora, eyeing her father with deepening suspicion. "Because who's gawt meat?" shrugs Joe. "But if ya close ya eyes ya awrmos' t'ink it IS meat. G'wan. Look'eeh, I'm eat'n it. S'awful good. Mmm." "I dunno," sighs Leonora. "If I do, an' I like it, c'n we still have meat again someday?" "Mmmm," ponders Joe. "I dunno, breadcrumbs an' chicken fat is preeeeeeeeeetty good..." "Mmm," nods Leonora, chewing on a sample. "Needs moeh chicken fat...")

(Coming Events...)

(Sometimes Mr. Lichty is deeper than he seems.)

("Please clear my schedule for tomorrow, Miss Jones," requests Mr. Rickey as he arrives at his fourth-floor sanctum in the Mechanic's Bank Building. "Tomorrow at precisely 10 AM sharp, Mr. Sukeforth shall appear before you with a guest. Alert me upon their arrival and see that we are not disturbed. I shall accept no telephone calls, and I shall accept no visitors. Advise no one of the nature of my meeting." "I don't even know," admits Jane Ann Jones, "what the nature of your meeting will be." "In the fullness of time" exhales Mr. Rickey, "that shall become apparent...")

("Can't we have just ONE QUIET EVENING AT HOME without PLOT DEVELOPMENTS getting in the way????")

("...1905. FOOLED YA DIDN'T I?")

("Sealed with a Kiss?" A bit forward for a blackmail payment, but we live in sophisticated times.)

(She had a hair appointment. You didn't think that jet black velvet jazz was natural did you?)

(He is, in fact Highly Intelligent. He'd HAVE TO BE.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Admit it, you're going to miss Butch when he's gone.

Half of them? May we assume that someone never misses an issue of "Sheena, Queen of the Jungle?"

At least roll down a window!

Yes, but unless we see the body....

At least Gus isn't giving us atomic bomb jokes.

"Blue Sunoco, Orange American, Shell Green Streak, Atlantic White Flash --isn't there anything out there in a nice restful beige?"

Let the gossip fly!

"They don't call me 'Warbucks' for nothing! Ho! Ho!"

And coincidentally, it's the gate she's giving you!

Honestly, though, Plushie could use a good purgative.

 

[Fading Fast]

an' busted radios

"You ain' gonna teach 'eh t' t'row no bricks, awr ya...?" "Neh," dismisses Sally, dropping in her own fare. "She won' need none'a t'at anyways, she's awready loinin' t' direct approach." "Didja apawlagize t' Misses Schreibstein f' Leonora kickin' Lottie inna behin' like t'at?" "Heh," hehs Sally as the train pulls up to the platform. "She says 'tell'eh t'do it again!'"



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"Needs moeh chicken fat..."

Real multiculturalism, back when we were still allowed to like that term and concept.

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Coming Events...

Amazingly so.

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Sometimes Mr. Lichty is deeper than he seems.

Indeed, and for all the atrocities committed by the Japanese in WWII – and they've been well documented – from a PR perspective they didn't have those horrifying films of bodies stuffed in ovens to live down.

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"...without PLOT DEVELOPMENTS getting in the way????"

"What are those?" — Carl Ed

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So was it even raining in Bristol?

And, yes, there is a good movie tangentially about war brides, "Until They Sail" (1957), New Zealand in this case. Comments on the movie here: #31,467

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Well, at least we've solved that problem. Kidding aside, as Lizzie shows regularly with her "Kids today!" comment, very little is new.

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Yes, but unless we see the body....

Good on you, Lizzie, you remember what the rulebook says:

The Fedora Lounge Rulebook for Killing a TV, Movie or Comic-Strip Enemy states: "Always kill your enemy as fast as you can and, then, check carefully to make sure he or she is dead."

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Whatcha lookin' at?" queries Joe, looking up from the Eagle across the table, where Sally picks at her meatless dinner while reading a pamphlet. "It's a brochueh," replies Sally. "Fr'm Brooklyn Collitch. 'Bout night classes. R'membeh when you said why don' I go? So I figyehed, well, why not look int'wit. Can't hoit nut'n t' ask some questions." "Ah," ahs Joe. "I got somep'n f'you too," continues Sally. She slides a folded sheaf of papers across the table. "Sign-up papehs f' New Utrick night school. T'ell be stawrt'n up f't'fawl pretty soon. Y'can finish up, getcha d'ploma, 'n'nen we c'n BOT' go t' collitch." "Oh," ohs Joe. "What about Leonoreh?" "She'll get'eh degree befoeh'rus," snorts Sally. "No," nos Joe, "I mean, who's gonna stay wit'eh if wee'h goin' t' school at night?" "Awready tawked t' t' Ginsboigs," declares Sally. "She loves t'go downeh anyways, tawks t' t' boid, looks at Misteh Ginsboig's books, sometimes Misses GInsboig reads 'eh stawries. Lot bett'eh'n sitt'n up 'eeh lissen'in t' dumb junk onna radio." "I guess," shrugs Joe, "y'gawt it awl woiked out." "I do," asserts Sally. "It's a new woil', y'know? An' doncha wawna be a pawrt'v'it? Lookit Solly. Comes home fr'm -- you know -- an' awluvva sud'nn he's runnin' arou'na country makin' deals." "T'at's Solly," demurs Joe. "T'at ain't me." "Yeh," agrees Sally. "But maybe t'ez sump'n t'at IS you, jus' like maybe t'ez sump'nat is ME. Jus' like Docteh Levine was sayin'. Whatcha say we fin' out?" Joe gives Sally a long look, and picks up the papers....)

("Whassat, Ma?" snickers Willie. "Whya gawtta donut awn ya head?" "It ain' a donut," fumes Alice, jabbing another bobby pin into the frizzling red mass. "It's a tawp knawt. I'm try'na do like t'is dame 'eeh, see? Inna ad. But it don' woik." "It looks like a donut onnat lady too," scoffs Willie. "Hey Pap! Don'at look like a donut awn Ma's head?" "Neh," declares Krause, in a tone ringing of the force of law. "Y'like it, Siddy?" queries Alice, her eyes hopeful. "Yeh," concludes Krause, shooting his son a stern glare. "Yeh," agrees Willie, a lesson learned...)


("I'm tellin' ya," insists Bink Scanlan, "y'put a juke bawx in'eeh, y'make moeh nickels'n'ya eveh seen in ya life." "Do ye knooo," frowns Ma, "who roons juke boxes in this toon? Joe Adaaaanis, that's who. Ye think I want th' loikes a' Joe Adaaaaanis pookin' 'is bill in me business? Use ye head, gaarl." "Oh," shrugs Bink, cracking her gum. "You know a lawtta stuff, don'cha?" "I do," agrees Ma. "Oi knoo enoof naat t'doo noothin' stupid that'll get me in trooble." "Ain'cha too old f't'at? queries Bink. "What??" "Nut'n...")

("I think you're missing the point." -- A. Einstein.)

("I heard Sukey is back," notes Mr. Parrott. "Leo wanted to ask him about some pitching..." "Shhh," whispers Jane Ann Jones, tossing a glance at the closed door, from behind which a muffled Rickeyan monologue drifts out. "Huh," huhs Mr. Parrott. "What's that all about?" "No idea," dismisses Miss Jones, returning to her typewriter. Mr. Parrott ponders the closed door, as the rumbling blur of voice suddenly barks to a harsh crescendo in the form of one unmistakably ugly two-syllable word. "Did he just say..." blanches Mr. Parrott. "No idea," repeats Miss Jones, not looking up...)

(You really should look into an unlisted number.)

(Better get your eyes checked, Maw.)

(Remember that time Errol Flynn was "missing in Spain?" Same thing.)

(SOME FRIEND YOU ARE)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Giddyap.

KIDS TODAY!

In case you missed it the first time.

Meow.

You two don't know when you're well off.

"She's dead?? But she owes me two weeks pay!"

Mr. King is such a good artist that you can see the color in that dress, even in black and white.

Maybe you should take up a new hobby.

Thing is, Mamie is genuinely good at this.

"Well, you still can't get the tires!"

 

[Fading Fast]

"Neh," declares Krause, in a tone ringing of the force of law. "Y'like it, Siddy?" queries Alice, her eyes hopeful. "Yeh," concludes Krause, shooting his son a stern glare. "Yeh," agrees Willie, a lesson learned...

Now do weight. (Hint, use the same strategy. Learned early – hair and weight always look good, 100% of the time. The day, your relationship, and your life all go much better that way.)

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Giddyap.

NYC rent control / stabilization programs today are, effectively, a continuation of WWII rent control. Those landlords who waited renewing leases have been waiting a long time. A current issue in the always contestable topic is that many rent controlled/stabilized apartments are not being rented at all because the landlords say the rents are so low that it doesn't cover their costs; conversely, renter advocates say the landlords are "warehousing" the apartments hoping for a change in the law (good luck with that strategy when avowed socialist Zohran Mamdani gets elected mayor this fall).

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Meow.

Catty and un-Terry-like.

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"She's dead?? But she owes me two weeks pay!"

I kinda want to see Breathless get out of this one and take Tracy on another leg of the chase. She's psychotic, but man does she have gumption.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I doon't loike th' way things is gooin'," rumbles Uncle Frank. "I known ya a lawng time," chuckles Sergeant Doyle, with a dunk of his Toomey's donut. "You ain't liked t' way t'ings is goin' since Repeal." "Oi'm serious, Tommy," Uncle Frank continues. "Ahhhl me plans is croomblin' doon aroond me. Faaarst Oi take Solly Pincus in as a paaartner in th' sarrploos business, a business that was ME OON IDEEEAR, an' he's tarrrned me int'wa glaaarifoyed sales claaaark, whoile he gallivants aroond Chicagaa with me oothar partnarr! An' noo tharr troyin' t'get anoothar crackdoon on gamblin', joost b'cause it's an election yaarr! Oi wish Oi had me final papaars, soo Oi could NAAAHT VOOOT far anyooov'm." "Crackdown," snickers Doyle. "T'at's rich. Y'c'n tella ol' lady she gawt nut'n'ta worry'bout lawngs she's paid up." "Yarrr a coomfart, Thomas," frowns Uncle Frank in a sour tone. "Oh hey," continues Doyle. "I was gonna ask ya. Whatabout'is guy Mozelewski a' Brooklyn, sellin' ladies' dresses oveh by t' Patio. Mavis come home las' night awl excited 'bout stuff t'ey had inneh. An' she says she hoid you was mixed up innit." "Oh, ahhh," demurs Uncle Frank. "Oi moit have a smalll -- ah -- interest, boot..." "Mavis wants I should tell ya t'set up a chawrge account fawr'eh," requests Doyle thru a slurp of coffee. "Oh, an' wholesale'd be nice. Howeveh t'at woiks. You know t'routine." "Oi do indeed," sighs Uncle Frank." "T'anks pal," sharks Doyle. "Hey, you an'na ol' lady oughta c'moveh f'dinneh some night. Mavis been gett'n some pretty swell steaks." "I'm surrrre she has," dissembles Uncle Frank....)

("See, Ma, t'is is how I gottit awl woiked out," explains Joe, unrolling a sheet of drawing paper across the counter. See, we put t' grill heeh, an'na coffee oin heeh, an' we make up hamboigehs inna mawrnin' an' stick 'em inna ice cream freezeh innis pawrt heeh, we stack'm up wit' wax papeh in b'tween an'nen just whip 'em out when we need'm." "Oi doon't know, Joseph," shrugs Ma. "What aboot th' mess? We gat joost that little sink tharr, its hardly enoof farr washin' ahhhl th' extra dishes, an' greasy woons at that." "Papeh plates," declares Joe. "We don' use no dishes. Jus' papeh plates like t'ey had at t'Woil's Faieh. Anya don'need no fawrks awr knives -- y'eat'a hamboigeh witcha fingehs, right? Simple'sat!" "Well, ye can't get noo meat now," protests Ma. "No," admits Joe. "But maybe Uncle Frank c'n get us a grill, n'na rest'v it. If t'ez one t'ing t'Awrmy hadda soiplus of, it's kitchen junk. So when'na meat comes back, we'll be ready." "It's gooin' t'be a lotta waaaark," sighs Ma. "We'll make a tonna money," promises Joe. "Kids'll buy a hamboigeh f'ra dime. People gett'n lunch f'woik. People go by heeh awla time awna way t'bawlgames - why not get a real lunch 'steada t'em smelly hawt dawgs. It can't miss." Ma looks at the plans, and then at her son in law. "If it was Francis coom in herre with sooch'an oidear," she exhales, "Oi'd knoo thar was soomthin' wraaaang with it. But you, Joseph, you Oi troost. Ye do as ye see fit." "It ain' gonna happ'n t'marra," declares Joe, "butcha won' be sawry when it does!")

(Ripped From The Headlines)

("Good morning, Miss Jones," greets Mr. Rickey. "I wish to speak with Mr. Racine in Montreal as soon as a long-distance telephone call may be arranged." "Yes sir," nods Jane Ann. "May I advise him of the reason for the call?" "You may not," declares Mr. Rickey, "for you do not yourself possess such knowledge. And I need not emphasize, I am sure, that there is to be no record of this conversation in the office telephone log." "Mr. O'Malley has been going over the bills with a fine-tooth comb," warns Miss Jones. "No doubt," nods Mr. Rickey. "Mr. O'Malley will be advised of certain matters in due time, but until that time draws nigh, it may prove that certain bills have been -- ah -- incorrectly filed." "Ah," nods Jane Ann. "I don't know how that could have happened." "Very unfortunate," agrees Mr. Rickey, chuckling as he lights a fresh cigar....)

("I dowanna see no Chris'mas movie in Augus'," whines Jimmy Leary. "Suitchaself," dismisses Bink Scanlan. "I know somebody t'at will, um, oncet'ee gets home fr'm -- someplace." Jimmy scowls, flexing his thick fingers into fists before emitting a prodigious sigh. "Whattime?" he resigns. "Oily show," advises Bink. "Famlies wit' kids awrways bring lotsa cash." "Donchoo eveh," exhales Jimmy, "jus' got'wa movie?" ""Don'choo," returns Bink, "eveh fix a terlet?")

("Will you need a wakeup call in the morning?")

(Shoulda hit him twice.)

("No reason, I just like engineers.")

(You gotta go along to get along...)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Phony counts? Forget it, America has no nobility class..."

"And I can't wait till nylons come back!"

"And the worst part was, he wouldn't leave till the last race results came in!"

"Of course, I'll be sure to come back for Lt. Charles' DFC ceremony."

"Of course, I'm sure Bill Slagg did a fine job running those plants, he's great!"

Doncha hate a backseat driver?

Izzy is a dead ringer for a relative of mine. I wonder if she ever ran into Gus Edson?

"Of course you realize..."

At least she didn't call him "pantywaist."

"Holy H. Smoke!" Such language!

 

[Fading Fast]

"I doon't loike th' way things is gooin'," rumbles Uncle Frank.

He should embrace Solly and let the guy make money for him. That is going to work out well if he, Frank, doesn't mess it up. Separately, Doyle is one dirty cop.

Frank should (1) let Solly run the surplus biz, (2) let Mozelewski run the dress biz, and (3) focus himself on running the plumbing biz - there will be a lot of money to be made in wholesale plumbing in the next decade-plus. Frank could be a very rich man in five years and all from honest businesses if his ego doesn't ef it up.

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"It ain' gonna happ'n t'marra," declares Joe, "butcha won' be sawry when it does!"

Joe will do for Lieb's what Michael told Kay he was going to do for the Corleone family: in five years, the biz will be totally legit. And wait till he branches out with a series of clean, no-frills burger joints - then the money will pour in. He'll be a burger king. He could even name his chain some riff on king, or a king's castle — I'm just guessing here.

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

"I dowanna see no Chris'mas movie in Augus',"

Hallmark does an entire month of movies marketed as "Christmas in July." Nothing is new.

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Shoulda hit him twice.

Why do we even bother to print the rulebooks up if nobody is going to read them.

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"Phony counts? Forget it, America has no nobility class..."

Doyle should be a bit concerned about the gaming-cop tie-up exposure. Things like that have a way of spreading as crackdowns on crooked cops can have a vogue like everything else.

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"Production Control Manager"

He will have no trouble finding post-war work as he already has the forward-looking job title.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Well, surrrre me boy," nods Uncle Frank. "Oi could getchee soom kitchen stoof, Oi think. An' ye say Nora's in favarrr oovit?" "I showed 'eh t'plans," shrugs Joe, "an' I 'splaint what I had in min'. I really t'ink we c'n make money wit'***. Toomey's is awrways crowded, Dewes Deli does a good business, but ain' nobody innis pawrta town doin' what I gawt in min'. You eveh been in one'a t'em White Cassle jernts? Oveh t'City? T'ey selleze lit'l bitty hamboigehs f'ra nickel, sell'm by t'bagful. Hamboigehs n' cawfee. T'at's awlya need, but awn toppa t'at we still got sodas n' ice cream 'nat stuff. We sell a little biggeh hamboigeh f'ra dime, an' people carry'm out, eat'm awna trolley, awna subway, while'h wawkin' downa street." "Eatin' aaaahn th' soobway?" marvels Uncle Frank. "Woonchee be afraid a' catchin' a disease?" "Nah," nahs Joe, "we won' buy none'a t'at bad beef, see. Jus'ta good stuff." "Oi moit be able t'help'yee aaahn this," nods Uncle Frank. "None'a t'at Shaughnessy meat," frowns Joe. "Oh, no," declares Uncle Frank. "Ye know, thaaar's boond'ta be saaarploos food coomin' oop whin aaahl these men coom'oota th' saaarvice. Pr'aps we could faaaaarm a paaaartnarship.....")

("A Shipload 'a Bawmbs," snickers Sally. "Don'nem newspapeh guys t'ink befoeh t'ey write a headline?" "Huh?" huhs Alice. "Read it out loud," snorts Sally. "I bet it's a whoooole shipload a' bawmbs awright." "I still don' get..." stumbles Alice. "Oh. OH! Not SHIP load, but SHI..." "Language!" snaps a pinch-faced elderly gentleman across the train. "Sawry," flushes Alice, as Sally stifles a laugh...)

("Yeh," nods Solly, relaxing on a stool as Ma swabs the countertop and Bink pokes with her broom at a cobwebbed corner. "I'm tiehd'a livin' outa me suitcase. I gawt back t'me room afteh gett'n awf t'train las'night, an' I t'rew me grip awna bed, an'nen hadda t'row it awna flooeh so I could go t'sleep. I wondeh if I c'n get in one'a t'ese apawrtments oveh me stoeh nex' doeh heeh." "Doon't ****t aaahn it," warns Ma. "Thim people been here laaaangar th'n Oi have." "Well, I gotta fin' sump'n," sighs Solly. "Sleep inna movie," suggests Bink. "Loews Met is nice, special t'mezzanine. Y'c'n spread right out." "Hmph," hmph Solly, thinking of something he could say but chooses not to. "Oi haaard," offers Ma, "thaaar's a place in Joseph an' Sally's buildin'." "Oh yeh," nods Solly. "I hoid ol' Missus Nucci up t'eh kickt'a bucket. I dunno, t'ough, who wawnts t'live in Bensonhoist. Y'might as well go live inna woods in a tent." "T'at'd be romannic," suggests Bink. "Not if you was inna Hoitgen Fawrest..." snorts Solly....)

(Give it time.)

(Don't leave us hanging, Tommy. What's the dirtiest ballpark in the Major Leagues?)

(1945 is closer in the stream of time to the Old West than 2025 is to 1945.)

("Back to see that justice of the peace. Did you bring that trophy?")

("When I was a kid I was a magician's assistant on the Orpheum time!" -- The Secretary.)

(Whatever became of Ann Sheridan?)

(Worst Dad Ever is also a lousy salesman.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Yeah, Glo, if you can't have Leonard Bernstein you might as well settle for Leopold.

Cabbies meet the most interesting people.

You know, Preston Sturges could make a helluva picture with these two.

Isolationist Globalism.

Hey, I have a stepladder just like that.

Izzy and Mamie Mullins would make an unbeatable tag team.

Careful, Brownie. Snitches get stitches.

Honestly, I don't know why Shadow keeps hanging around here.

"Hey, let's do it again. Just for laughs."

I dunno, he seemed to enjoy it.

 

[Fading Fast]

Pr'aps we could faaaaarm a paaaartnarship.....

He's gonna try to cheat his own wife.

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

Lichty like, and kinda funny.

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

"Back to see that justice of the peace. Did you bring that trophy?"

How hard is it to get an annulment of a marriage not yet one day old?

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

Whatever became of Ann Sheridan?

"Don't judge me. Freelancing is hard in this business, so I take what work comes my way." — AS

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

If these cops are guilty not only should they be stripped of their pensions, they should be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

Doyle should be plenty nervous about now. These things have a way of spreading – they really do.

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

Cabbies meet the most interesting people.

Kelly liked the bunny; you can tell.

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

You know, Preston Sturges could make a helluva picture with these two.

Veronica Lake as Breathless, and Ned Sparks as B. O.

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

Isolationist Globalism.

Or maybe Isolationism globalist.