The Era -- Day By Day

[Fading Fast]

"Sawry, Frank. Guess I'm a little d'stracted. I dunno, I guess I jus' gawt sump'n undeh my skin." "Carbaaalic sooap'll fix thaaat," declares Uncle Frank. "No," exhales Solly. "I don't t'ink it will..."

Dear God, man, no!

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

Is the movie page really the best place for this ad?

Seriously, I had just finished reading Jane Corby's review of "Mildred Pierce," in which Jane gave too much of the plot away for some reason (still, great movie), and was jarred out of my happy movie-thinking place. Then again, where wouldn't that ad jar you?

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

Unintentionally, Frank Beck comes pretty close to explaining the pricing strategy for many luxury brands and upscale services.

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

Woo hoo, let's go buy some chairs!

Combined, Walt gave them about $700 in today's terms. Quite nice of him.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("T'is Truman," frowns Sally, cinching her sweater a bit tighter against the crisp fall air as she gazes out Leonora, Willie, and Lottie Schriebstien standing in a tight cluster in the middle of 63rd Street, bickering over the rules of a game that didn't exist five minutes ago. "I don' get why he don' crack down awn awlis. Gen'rals runnin' b'soik, havin' Germany's WWII-era leaderships t' dinneh -- an'nen y'read about T'IS. I ask ya!" "It's awrf'l," agrees Alice, leaning back against the rough stone of the stoop and using it to scratch an itch. "I mean -- y'know, t' Ginsboigs is fr'm Goimany. Didja know t'at? I mean, t'ey come 'eeh lawng time ago, way befoeh -- well, you know. But t'ey had relatives still oveh t'eh -- an'ney still don' know f'sueh." "Solly Pincus too," nods Sally, her gaze falling on the Beth Israel synagogue directly across the street. "I r'membeh when'ee signed up, he sez t'Joe, he din' caeh nut'n'about t' ****, he jus' wawned a piece a t'at lit'l basted in Behlin. He ain' got no relatives alive heeh, y'know, but he awrways t'ought maybe oveh t'eh..." "Whyza woil' gotta be like t'is, anyways," laments Alice. "Awlis' hatin'. Awlis killin'." Her eyes wander out to the children, who have completely forgotten the previous argument and are now occupied with the creation of an entirely new game involving a rusty lug nut and a tuna can. "I wondeh," she sighs. "Y't'ink t'kids is gonna r'membeh any'a t'is? 'Bout t' kin'a woil' t'ey was growin' up in?" "Neh," shrugs Sally. "T'ey ain' gonna r'membeh nut'n but t'at t'ey was kids, an' when'neh oueh age, t'eh gonna sit onneh'rown stoop, an' worry 'bout t'eh'rown kids. An'ney'll say, hey, how come it ain' like it was when WE was kids." "You'n me, t'ough,' observes Alice. "We don' say t'at." "No," acknowledges Sally. "I guess we don't. Y'know, I couldn' stan' bein' a kid, couldn' wait f'r'it t'be oveh." "I wisht I coulda *been* a kid," adds Alice...)

("Yeh," nods Joe, "It's comin' alawng pretty good. Y'see t'grill heeh, we gawtt'at awl set up, an' I t'ink I got a meat supplieh lined up, an' a place t'get t'rolls, y'know, 'nawla rest'v'it. T' healt' inspecteh's s'posta come t'ru nex' week, look t'ings oveh, an'nen we'll be ready t'go." "Pretty good job t' boys done cawrvin' up t'at grill Frank found," nods Solly. "I t'ink ya gonna make a go of it, I really do." "I hope so," acknowledges Joe. "It ain' much but it's -- I mean, it's sum'pn." "Lookit us," chuckles Solly. "Big businessmen. Come a lawwwng way from Lennid Street, huh?" "Yeh," agrees Joe. "Hey," injects Solly. "Speakin'a good ol' Williamsboig, lemme ask ya sump'n. Maybe, I dunno, foehteen, fifteen yeehs ago, you ev'eh heeh'ranyt'ing 'bout a guy by t'name a' Eddie Scanlan?" "Scanlan?" frowns Joe. "Any r'lation t' --" "Maybe," nods Solly. "I'm jus' checkin' awn sump'n I hoid. T'is guy s'posta woiked in a fact'ry in Williamsboig, an'..." "Lawtta factries in Williamsboig," reminds Joe. "An' a lawt moeh people." "Yeh," sighs Solly. "It ain' t'at it's impoeht'n a' nut'n, I'm jus' curious 'bout..." "Hey," heys Joe. "Y'know who MIGHT know sump'n? R'membeh at t' pickle woiks, t'at ol' guy inna awffice?" Izzy Klein? If he's still aroun', I mean, he's one'a t'em guys knows ev'rybody." "Oh yeh," nods Solly. "Good ol' Izzy Klein. Wondeh how he's doin'......")

(HA HA THE CARDINALS DIDN'T WIN HA HA)

(Hey look, they had B-girls in the Wild West.)

(Blue Collar Bunny)

(I was gonna say I didn't realize Fritzi had investment income, but I guess she doesn't anymore...)

(Who needs Errol Flynn when you've got Handsome Mary Read!)

("But I just paid two dollars to go blonde!")

(Yeah, he saves the tanks for the unemployed. SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!)

(Next time, aim for the mouth.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

That's 51st and 5th in Manhattan, not Brooklyn. In Brooklyn they'd be more organized about it.

Bing ought to give them a break, and buy into a baseball team or something.

I don't think I'd ever want to be alone in a room with Chester Gould.

"Oh, well, then, you got nothin' to worry about with me, no sir! Isn't that right, Sandy? Uhhhh, Sandy...?"

Halloween sneaks right up on us, doesn't it?

"Yes, we never speak of him. 'Scowlin' Jim.'"

You know, you could have gone into a different line of work.

The next few years are gonna be tough, kid...

And so is all sense of perspective.

For some reason, the back page of today's comic section is missing, so a fast trip to the Out of Town Newsstand brings us...

Party's over!

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Sunday Worker...

Milton Caniff, Jr.

 

[Fading Fast]

I couldn' stan' bein' a kid, couldn' wait f'r'it t'be oveh

Amen.

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

"I wisht I coulda *been* a kid," adds Alice

Kudos to her; she's come a long way.

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

HA HA THE CARDINALS DIDN'T WIN HA HA

And we know who didn't win the World Series even though I have no memory of 1945's World Series, I do remember the "not since 1908" that held for a looooooooong time.

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

Hey look, they had B-girls in the Wild West.

And while not set in the Wild West, yes, Hollywood did make a movie about B girls, "Cafe Hostess" (1940) starring the wonderful Ann Dvorak.

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

Who needs Errol Flynn when you've got Handsome Mary Read!

Anything more specific you want to tell us, Lizzie?

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

That's 51st and 5th in Manhattan, not Brooklyn. In Brooklyn they'd be more organized about it.

Apparently, Fred Snite can come out of his tube at least for short periods of time and he's done it at least three times. That or his wife has some splainin' to do.

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

"Oh, well, then, you got nothin' to worry about with me, no sir! Isn't that right, Sandy? Uhhhh, Sandy...?"

"Your ratings are slipping you say? You need to bring in a new character, perhaps a famous dog with a large following, Scarlet...Scarlet? Where'd you go, Scarlet?"

 

[LizzieMaine]

("...an'nen t' monkey said," insinuates Solly, 'so T'AT's what my' tail is fawr!" "HAW HAW HAW!" roars Izzy Klein, pushing back his green eyeshade and leaning back in his swivel chair in the accounting department at the Crown Pickle Works. "I tell ya, Solly," laughs Izzy, "t'is jernt ain' benna same since you lef'! Hey, r'membeh t'at time y' shoved Joe Petrauskas inna Numbeh T'ree brine tank?" "Oh yeh," guffaws Solly. "Pooeh Joe, whatta chump. But anyways, Izzy, t' reason why I come by heeh -- " "No need t' ask," grins Izzy. "You wantcha ol' jawb back, I'll put in a good woid fawr ya wit' poissonell. Ol' Doris Getz is still runnin' t'ings downeh, she'll remembeh yeh. Be great t' have ya back!" "No, no," dismisses Solly, "I mean, t'anks, but I gawt some ot'eh t'ings goin' awn. My own business, in fack -- I'm inna soiplus business. Heeh, have one'a my cawrds." "Oh, mot'eh!" snickers Izzy, looking over the caricature on the card. "T'em eehs!" "Yeh, yeh," chuckles Solly. "But lissen, t' reason I come by is -- ah -- t'ezzis gal I'm t'inkin'a hirin' as -- a secketary, an' I wanna check up onneh backgroun', y'know. So I wan'ned t' ask ya -- an'nis goes back about fifteeh yeehs, I guess -- didjoo eveh hee'rova guy woikin' 'rounna neighbehood heeh name a' Scanlan? Eddie Scanlan?" Izzy's grin immediately vanishes. "Eddie Scanlan," he exhales. "Say, I ain' hoid'at name in -- oh, t'at was a sad stawry, t'at one. I knew t' guy, when I was at Weidemann's. You know, t' barrel fact'ry. He woiked'eh f'yeehs till 'ey laid awf half t' plant 'cause'a t' Depression. An'nen'a pooeh guy -- " Izzy raises an index finger to his temple and shrugs. "Damn shame, 'at was. Had a wife an' kid, an' y'know t' woise pawrt'v'it was, t' lit'l goil wazza one'at foun' 'im." Solly's face goes white. "Yeh," nods Izzy. "A damn shame...")

("Awright, I gawt t' tool bawx," sighs Joe, resting the repurposed Sheffield Farms crate on a stool. "Hey Bink, y'wanna gimme a' han' get'na screen dooeh down? I'll undo t' hinges an'na spring, an' you..." "Yeh," shrugs Bink, returning her copy of Screen Romances to its place on the rack. "Whateveh." "Saaaaaaartainly naaaht!" injects Ma, rushing from around the counter. "Ye'll naaaht be mookin' aboot with that heavy door in yarr condition!" "Huh?" huhs Joe. "Ah..." sighs Ma. "Whateveh," eyerolls Bink. "Ya might as well tell 'im." Joe blinks and looks hard at Bink as comprehension dawns. "Oh," he ohs....')

("An'nits fulla pickpockets too!" -- Miss Kaplan.)

(Coming Events...)

(They gave Parrott a full share, and only cut in Sukey for half? Mr. Rickey will hear of this!!!!)

("It's called 'The Story of the Tax Lien!'")

(RAGING SEPSIS! RAGING SEPSIS! RAGING SEPSIS!)

(Jane knows who *REALLY* knows what's going on in any hotel.)

(What's the point of being invisible if you can't have a little fun?)

(OH NO YOU DON'T! -- Mayor Butch.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News....

Of course they were polite. The St. Regis is a very swanky joint.

"I'd come home to my mommy right now." Private Oedipus, I presume.

"I'm here too, you know. Ahhh, the hell with it." -- Phyllis.

The Army faces many postwar challenges.

Well, at least she's not pushing any more of those creepy old men.

"You think YOUR husband is dumb? Oh, honey...."

"They paid me more for making tanks!"

There now, look what you've done! Not only have you fallen in with *****tic criminals, you've OFFENDED **** TRACY!


Charon doesn't stick around after he drops you off at Hades.

Coming soon: The Bold Look.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily Worker --

All the reason you need to root for the Tigers: Hank Greenberg.

 

[Fading Fast]

Shouldn't he be staying at a more pedestrian hotel?

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

"An'nits fulla pickpockets too!" -- Miss Kaplan.

Bink looks down and pretends to intensely study a spot on her dress.

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

They gave Parrott a full share, and only cut in Sukey for half? Mr. Rickey will hear of this!!!!

I lost the thread on this story; the Dodgers didn't win the World Series, so what pot of money are they cutting up here? Or is there a bonus pool each year regardless of how the team did?

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

"It's called 'The Story of the Tax Lien!'"

Just tell your grandson/daughter to sell the building before 2020 Covid-inspired work-from-home takes off and kills the value of office buildings.

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

"I'd come home to my mommy right now." Private Oedipus, I presume.

Cathy Frei's ideas of adulthood and marriage are in for a rude awakening.

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

"They paid me more for making tanks!"

It really does make a difference if your work seems to matter.

 

[LizzieMaine]

As long as Zhukov can get a Coca-Cola at the bar, he doesn't care where he stays.

The first four finishers in each league get a share of the World Series pot, with each step down in the standings getting less. The idea is that it'll make even a race for fourth place exciting and motivated for the players, for whom even a few hundred dollars extra will be welcome.

I imagine Sukey won't complain about his half-share, and will probably spend it on a fishing trip. And I bet Mr. Rickey gets another fish in the mail.

And what did Hig do to get a half share? He's been in the Navy for two years!

 

[LizzieMaine]

("It's jus' t'principle'a t' t'ing," fumes Sally. "I figyehd," nods Alice. "I mean," continues Sally, "I woik awl day, ride home awnis stinkin' train, get home, change my clo'es, eat a san'wich, get awnna subway, go t' school, an' what happn's? No classes, instead Gideonse is gonna give us a speech. Izzat what I signed up fawr? Is it?" "Dincha say," injects Alice, "y'fell asleep?" "Well, yeh," agrees Sally, "but like I said, it'sa principle'a t' t'ing. I mean, lookin'at t' papeh heeh, I mean, it was awrmos' a *good* speech. I din' t'ink t'fathead had it in 'im." "You agree wit' Gideonse?" snickers Alice. "Since when?" "No," corrects Sally. "He agrees wit' ME." "Oh," ohs Alice. "What'sa diff'ence?" "It's a BIG diff'ence," frowns Sally. "Ah," ahs Alice, as the train rolls on toward home....)

("Look, Bink," whispers Joe. "I'm sawr'y 'bout t'ot'eh day, wit' t' dooeh t'eh. I mean, I din' know..." "Ahhh," dismisses Bink. "Skip it. It ain' nut'n. In fack..." Her statement, however, is interrupted by the door jingling open to admit a stern-visaged woman in a tailored suit. "Mr. Petrauskas?" queries the visitor. "Yeh," nods Joe. "What c'n I..." "Muriel McGlasnahan," she announces, holding up an identification card. "Bureau of Inspections, Department of Health." She glances at Bink. "You," the inspector frowns, "would be Nora K. Leary?" Nawt if I can help it," snickers Bink, "Um, I'm Bink -- ah -- Bawrbra Scanlan. I guess I woik heeh..." "Ah," Miss McGlasnahan nods as she returns her attention to Joe. "You have an application pending," she resumes, "for a license to operate a restaurant on these premises, amending the existing license for the operation of a confectionery with fountain service presently held by Nora K. Leary. I am here to inspect your premises." She steps behind the counter. "Um," jitters Bink, "I t'ink y'otta stawrt oveh heeh." "Is that so?" glares Miss McGlasnahan. "And why would that be?" "Cause I drawpped a ****a syrup back t'eh," shrugs Bink, "an' I ain' cleaned it up yet." "Hmm," hmms Miss McGlasnahan, attempting to free her shoe from the oozing brown puddle...)

(And WAIT TILL NEXT YEAR!)

("Really? I thought he ran a mimeograph!")

("But there is a sop****re or naive turn.." Oh, Tommy.)

(Good thing he didn't buy it. Everyone knows the future is in tunnels.)

(Better practice first. Try the neck.)

(Ew, every time you kiss money you're kissing everyone else who kissed that money.)

(Look, leave ventriloquism to the ventriloquists!)

(Worst Dad Ever wouldn't last five minutes in the back of a candy store.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Sorry kid, there goes your chances of being elected Miss Rheingold 1946.

The secret: mustard powder and white pepper. I used to make this all the time when I was thirty pounds heavier.

Ever notice how, in moments of extreme stress, time seems to sloooooooow doooooooown?

Hark! A plot development!

Don't you hate the first day back from a vacation?

Y'know, Lil, they need nurses in Europe...

Quiet! We're showing you your future!

Y'know, Flip, you could get a nice job back home with an airline.

Trolls are made, not born...

If only all professional athletes were this smart with their money.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily Worker...

"Is that who was in there with you and Sukey that day???" marvels Mr. Parrott. "Play not the fool with me, young man!" thunders Mr. Rickey, his remarkable brows beetling. "You dare defy the confidence of this office by providing such information to your cronies in the radical press??" "I never said a word," insists Mr. Parrott. "Not a single word." "Balderdash!" bellows Mr. Rickey, his great freckled fist slamming down upon the desk." "I have already questioned Miss Jones, and have satisfied myself of her integrity. But if YOU didn't leak this information, who, pray tell, would do so? Who in this organization would BENEFIT from the dissemination of these facts???" "Look in the mirror," mutters Mr. Parrott. "What?" "Mr. Racine calling," crackles the intercom. "From Montreal." "Thank you, Miss Jones," smiles Mr. Rickey, dismissing his factotum with a sweep of the hand....

 

[Fading Fast]

"...No classes, instead Gideonse is gonna give us a speech. Izzat what I signed up fawr? Is it?"

So, if I'm following Sally, she doesn't like to have her day and schedule disrupted by someone who believes it is so important that his or her principles be heard that they should be able to disrupt other people's days. Hmm.

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

And WAIT TILL NEXT YEAR!

Really off point, but have to say, been watching playoff baseball and the speed of the games is a pleasure. Those rule changes from a few years back (other than the hateful ghost runner, which fortunately isn't used in playoff games) are the best thing MLB has done in a long time. It makes the game, even playoff games, watchable and you don't lose half your day (and be annoyed as heck with all the downtime while watching).

So, it looks like the department stores have filled all their open positions as we haven't seen, the past few days, the usual ads for jobs they had been running.

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

Ew, every time you kiss money you're kissing everyone else who kissed that money.

And let's not forget what Ms. Paltrow told us about all that "kissing" of someone else:

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

Sorry kid, there goes your chances of being elected Miss Rheingold 1946.

Really? Is Rheingold that picky?

Also, did we know that divorce trails had juries? I thought judges or "referees" (that's the word, right?) heard them back then.

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

The secret: mustard powder and white pepper. I used to make this all the time when I was thirty pounds heavier.

"Special shelf-ripened cheese"

Very ahead-of-its-time "foodie-" like for a pedestrian restaurant like H&H – and in 1945 no less.

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

Don't you hate the first day back from a vacation?

It can discourage you from even taking one.

 

[Farace]

I got a fishhook in my arm when I was eleven years old, fishing on Androscoggin Lake when my parents had property in Leeds, Maine. Just a bit of skin holding the barb in, but they insisted in the ER at Augusta General that the proper way to remove it was not to cut the flesh but rather to push the point through, up and out, then clip the shaft of the hook and pull it through. Oh, and I got a tetanus shot that made me unable to use my arm for a month.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("It's aboot ****** toime," fumes Ma, slapping the paper with the back of her hand. "Oi've bin sayin' faaar years this neighbarhood is a disgrace, ahll th' roobish 'n trash blooin' aroon' th' soidewalks." "Speakin' a' cleanin' up," sighs Joe, "we gotta do sump'nabout Bink." "Doooon't get me staaaaaarted," exhales Ma. "In twinty-foive yarrrs, that's th' faaaarst waaaarnin' Oi ivvar gaaaht fr'm th' city. Usually -- ah -- these things is taken caaaaar ooov." "Well, y'can't mess aroun wit' t' healt' d'pawrtment," declares Joe. "An' Bink's gotta do a betteh jawb a' cleanin', awr we'eh gonna hafta get somebody else. I know she's -- you know -- but we gawt a lot ridin' on'nis." "Oi've talked t' th' garrl till Oi'm blue in th' face," erupts Ma. "Soombody ilse is goin' t'have to do it this toime. I'll talk t' Francis. After 'ee gets doon taaalkin' t' that ****** Doyle." "Doyle th' cawp?" queries Joe. "Whasee gawt t' do --- ohhhhhhhh." "Business is foola coomplictions," nods Ma. "I shoulda known," sighs Joe..."

("Well, what d'w Oi PAY ye faarr?" glares Uncle Frank. "Ye toold me ye was goin' t'fix it aaahl oop with th' baaaard'a health t' get Joe 'is loicence, an' 'eer th' inspectarr shoos up yestarday an' naaaht oonly DIDN'T Joe get 'is loicence, Nora gaaaht a waaaarnin' aaahn HERS." "I tol'ja, Frank," insists Sergeant Doyle. "T'ey crawssed me up. T'ey didn' sen' Gruskin, 'ney sent t'is new gal t'ey gawt woikin'neh, some collitch gal try'na make an impression." "Oi paid farr Grooskin," growls Uncle Frank. "An' yarr goin' t'see to it Oi get me money's waaarth, ye get me?" "Look, it ain't my fault," rattles Doyle. "T'is new commissioneh's makin' t'ings hawt. Ano'teh new guy try'na make an impression. I can't make a move wit'out somebody wawnt'na see papehwoik. But don't worry, I gawt ya money safe 'n sound. In escrow." "What koinda escrow," glowers Uncle Frank. "I give it t'Mavis," declares Doyle. "An' you'll be happy t'know she's goin' down right t'day t'pay what she owes Mozelewski." "Let's," rumbles Uncle Frank, "staaaaaart ooooovar.....")

(Hey Harry, pay attention. You should take notes.)

(Ripped From The Headlines.)

(Please don't send Eddie the Fiddler to Philadelphia. He doesn't deserve that, and besides, the Philadelphia Orchestra hasn't been anything since Leopold left.)

("They say the elevators don't go to the top floor!" "Oh, I thought they settled that.")

(Why can't they be on that island Annie's on?)

(SO THEY ALL SAY)

(I enjoy "Scarlet" for what it is, but I really think they ought to bring in that kid that's doing "Pinky Rankin" to show Stamm how to draw fights.)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG knows when he isn't appreciated.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Now just a minute, what about Wife No. 2?

Of course they look good, you never wear them!

You'd starve to death in a week.

****** Gus, Gila Monster, and -- Sticker? Yeah, he collects them. Wanna make something of it?


"And to think two months ago I was a full bird colonel!"

Well, that's that.


Life is hard for a man of conscience.

Some people really need structure in their lives.

The postwar era will bring better trolling for all.

If the DL is going show up and take over this island as her new base, I wish she'd get to it.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

"The vast New York that beats and rumbles like a mighty ocean against the shallow shingle of Times Square..."

 

[Fading Fast]

"In twinty-foive yarrrs, that's th' faaaarst waaaarnin' Oi ivvar gaaaht fr'm th' city..."

She's lucky it was back then, today she'd either have a sign in her window "Grade Pending" (which effectively means you didn't do well on your first try as you're given one "do over" before they issue a rating) or one with a dreaded "B" or lower. Of course, these were pretty strict when they launched them, but they've been watered down over time. Restaurants hate them and they've all reached out to their Doyles or City Hall connections to get the entire effort weakened.

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

"I give it t'Mavis," declares Doyle. "An' you'll be happy t'know she's goin' down right t'day t'pay what she owes Mozelewski." "Let's," rumbles Uncle Frank, "staaaaaart ooooovar....."

He really has a crooked "deal-makers" mind – always working an angle.

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

Hey Harry, pay attention. You should take notes.

Indeed.

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

Now just a minute, what about Wife No. 2?

She'd muck-up the plot line.

Separately, Turkus did the right thing for Christinsen, but this is the exact reason why no sane girl should let herself get "picked up" in Times Square.

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

"Bo, old buddy, is that you? Sandy here. You know how we've always wanted to work together, well what do you say to me popping over right now and doing a stretch in your strip. I've always loved the work you do. So, okay? I'll be there shortly, very shortly?"

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Well, it caaaahst me dooble," sighs Uncle Frank, "but thar goona send Grooskin t'do th' next inspection 'steada that yoong wooman. Soo Joe'll get 'is loicense unless Bink draaps anoothar jooga syrup aaahn Grooskin's foot whoile 'e's fillin' in th' paparwark." "We can't goo aaahn loike this," exhales Ma. "Things are coomin' to a head. She's ahhlready foive moonths gaahn an' people are goin' t' start askin' questions. Oi give 'arr a story t' tell 'boot 'arr hoosband gett'n kilt in th' waar, an' she can't even r'mimber 'is ****** name." "What'd name ye pick?" queries Uncle Frank. "Oh, Oi can't remembarr," snaps Ma. "Soomthin' O'Soomthin. Boot the paaarnt is, soombody's gaaaht t' ram soom sense thru 'arr head. Ye've gaaattta talk to'arr. Yarr th' woon brought 'arr in here in th' farrst place, noo straighten'arr oot!" "She woon't lissen t' me," argues Uncle Frank. "Boot -- well, I think Oi moit knoo somebaaady she WILL lissen to....")

("I wish t'eh was moeh f'kids t'do 'roun'eeh t'en run aroun' inna street," declares Alice. "No different it was with my children," notes Mrs. Ginsburg. "Milton and Ruthie, always in the street with their games. And they turned out, I am thinking, fine." "You heeh from y' boy?" queries Alice. "In Germany he is now," replies Mrs. G. "In Germany. There will be trials, big trials, and he will be there. A boy playing in the street with punchball once, but now he will see history." "Willie likes t'play punchbawl," nods Alice, "but I don't t'ink he wawnts t'be a lawyeh." "Eh," ehs Mrs. Ginsburg. "He could be a docteh, even. He has a good mind." The conversation is interrupted by a rap at the door, which, when opened reveals the lanky form of Sammy Schreibstein. "Cawl fawr yeh, Missis K," Sammy declares. "Who's cawlin' 'is time'a night," mutters Alice, as she fishes in her pocketbook for a quarter.....)

("And what would YOU know about what other men's wives do in the morning???")

("Here you go, Mrs. T," declares Mr. Parrott, dropping a bundle on her desk. "All the dailies." "Did you remember --" injects Mrs. T. "Yeh," sighs Mr. Parrott, slipping a folded copy of the Worker from under his coat...)

("We gotta go see t'is," declares Sally. "You eveh see t'is guy Campanella? He's built like a guy comes t' clean ya berleh, butcha put a bat in 'is hands..." "Mrs. Effa Manley?" queries Joe, glancing at the story. "A woman manageh?" "She ain't jus' t' manageh," Sally grins. "She owns t' whole team!" "Y'don't say!" marvels Joe. "Rickey betteh wawtch out," snickers Sally...)

(So much for Dewey fixing the strike.)

(I can't wait till lockjaw sets in.)

(THIS OLD ****???????)

(Yeah, I look forward to reading the police report on this one...)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG NEVER LETS DOWN A FRIEND if he can find him.)