The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Well, whattaya expect when you invite Lawrence Tierney to a party?

It's good to see women have other opportunities in 1946 than marrying Tommy Manville.

"Who's that weird old man in the corner with the sketch pad?" "Ew, ignore him and he'll go away."

Let's see what the FCC says about this.

Punjab could rule the world -- if he wanted to.

Pretty good. Now fight Graziano.

Two city guys in the desert on a horse. That'll get to the bottom of things. And in that suit, Rex is all set for his new career as a racetrack tout.

Who's this little gink in the check suit and glasses? WATCH OUT SHADOW YOU'RE BEING REPLACED

Try blending into the -- oh, never mind.

"No, that was mustard."

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

I honesty had no idea insurance salesmen had a union, but I bet nobody tries to mess with them.

 

[Fading Fast]

And could have been the inspiration for the Barbara Stanwyck character in "Christmas in Connecticut."

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Oh, when you see her, ask her if she's heard anything from Denny and Sunny lately?

Do you really blame her for staying away?

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Well, whattaya expect when you invite Lawrence Tierney to a party?

"Flynn was not involved." Perfect.

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The postwar baby boom gets up and running.

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Who's this little gink in the check suit and glasses? WATCH OUT SHADOW YOU'RE BEING REPLACED

Everybody in comicstrip land is dressing to be a racetrack tout today.

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Try blending into the -- oh, never mind.

Good one.

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I honesty had no idea insurance salesmen had a union, but I bet nobody tries to mess with them.

That is one group that does not need a union as they could talk paint off a wall one on one.

 

[scotrace]

And in the Worker...

View attachment 763823
I honesty had no idea insurance salesmen had a union, but I bet nobody tries to mess with them.

Well the leather union's goals are met in a way. The "60 families" are now maybe four.

 

[LizzieMaine]

(Sensing a chill in the room, Sally gr opes for the alarm clock on the nightstand, and notes the luminous hands indicating quarter to four. She yanks the blankets in search of warmth, and only when they pull away without resistance does she realize she is alone in the bed. "Joe?" she whispers. "Whed'ja go?" Receiving no reply, she pads quietly into the living room, careful not to interrupt Leonora sleeping in her fold-out bed, and into the kitchen, where she sees her husband silhouetted against the window. "Joe," she repeats, approaching from behind. "You ain' gonna go out onna fieh 'scape, not t'night. It's too col'." "Col'," mutters Joe, firing a stream of tobacco juice into the garbage pail. "Y'dunno col''. I been col'. Nut'n like t'is. I eveh tell y' t'at? Bout t' fraws'bite? Awrmos' laws' a toe. An' awlawhile I'm t'inkin', 'why dincha sen' Mozelewski oveh'reeh, he's gawt six toes.'" "Y'neveh tol' me t'at," nods Sally, gazing thru the frost on the glass into 63rd Street. "It was a yeeh'rago t'day, y'know," continues Joe, his eyes fixed. "Jan'yary twenny-fois'. T'at pooeh dumb cawrp'rl. T"at poeeh dumb kid." "I know," nods Sally. "An'neh ain' been a day since," Joe continues, "I ain' t'ought about it, about what 'e done. 'Bout why'ee done it. An' would I'a done t'same t'ing? An' I jus' don' know. An' I don' t'ink I eveh will." "C'mon back t'bed, Joe," murmurs Sally. "Y'don' hafta be cold." "No," exhales Joe, taking her hand. "I don' hafta be cold....")

("What's kale?" wonders Bink Scanlan. "Ain'at money?" "It's loike lettuce," explains Ma, "boot it's bittar." "Hmph," hmphs Bink. "Include me outta t'at. I'm bitteh'ra'nough as it is." "It wooldn' harrt'chee," frowns Ma, "t' eat maaar greens. You, livin' aaahn hambaargers an' frankfaaarters, an' -- whoot was that thing ye was eat'n farr ye loonch?" "Cheese knish," shrugs Bink. "I tol' Flappy I was cravin', an'ee brung me some fr'm Bensonhoist when'ee come t'woik t'day. On'y nice t'ing'ee's done fawr me in a week, t' big bum." "Flappy, ye caaall 'im," scowls Ma. "It's noo woondar'ee doon't treat'chee roit. Ye doon't taarn a man's head with..." "Who says I wanna toin'at man's head?" snorts Bink. "Don' be stupid. B'sides. y' COULDN' toin'is head, t'ez too much wind resist'nce!" "Hmph," hmps Ma....)

(The Age of Specialization.)

(A WALK IS AS GOOD AS A HIT)

(Believe me kid, it's for your own good.)

(C'mon, go for the buy-one-get-one coupon deals!)

(Go see that friendly pharmacist again, he'll be glad to help.)

("At'sa OK, I joost-a go out for the-a Hoongaaaaarian food.")

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG returns tomorrow to help his best friend file for unemployment.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"The father is blind and unable to work." Well then he needs to find a different hobby.

Now that's a full service store.

An experienced commando is ready for anything.

KIDS TODAY

"Give it back, I don't want to miss 'Our Gal Sunday.'"

Pop doesnt go in for that modern stuff on his jukebox.

Adapting to the shifting market.

He used to work a milk route, and knew every stop.

Ever notice that Punj and the Asp are the only ones in this strip whose eyes have pupils? Is that the true secret of their power??

He'd never have made the cut in the Junior Commandos...

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

ED HEAD! ED HEAD! ED HEAD!

 

[Fading Fast]

"I don' hafta be cold...."

Heartbreaking.

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"Don' be stupid. B'sides. y' COULDN' toin'is head, t'ez too much wind resist'nce!"

She's relentless.

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I wonder how serious this project ever was.

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"The father is blind and unable to work." Well then he needs to find a different hobby.

That was a real WTF at the end. All along, I'm thinking, who can support this many kids, only to learn the answer is you and me and everyone like us who pays taxes.

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Now that's a full service store.

I assume Joe is all over this, or is his rooftop freezer full?

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Six, t' carry out," requests the customer, a wiry man in a scuffed flyer's jacket. "Limit two t'wa customeh," shrugs Joe, pointing to a sign hanging from the cigarette display beside the cash register. "Sawry, it's t' meat shawrtage." "Y'mean y'ain' gonna sell me six?" frowns the man. "Whachacawllat? Whassadiff'n'ce if I buy six or t'ree ot'eh guys buy two apiece?" "I'm jus' try'na be faieh," explains Joe. "T'em t'ree guys is jus' as hungry as you." "Ahhhh," growls the man. "Ya woise'na OPA. Heeh, how'bout t'is. Six of'm, an' I give ya six bits. T'at's fifteen cents extra fawr ya right'eh." "Ceilin' prices is right t'eh," sighs Joe, pointing to another sign. "Y'want t' two, a' what?" "Ahhhhh," exhales the customer, tossing a quarter on the counter. "I dunno wheh t'ey fin' guys like you." Joe quickly prepares the sandwiches, and slides them to Bink, who, with the deft movements of one whose hands are accustomed to quick motion, wraps and bags them. She rings up the sale and hands the sullen gentleman his food and his nickel. He grunts thanks, and withdraws, as Joe scrapes his grill and lays out the meat in expectation of the next customer. Bink regards him with curiosity. "Hey," she heys. "What IS witchoo, anyways? Huh?" "What?" whats Joe, wincing as a bead of spattering fat strikes his chin. "What's yawr deal?" continues Bink. "You know. Ya angle. Ya hustle. Ya racket? Whattaya tryn'a pull wit' awlis straight-arreh stuff? Ain' nobody inna woil' ain' gotta hustle goin'. Wha's youehs?" Joe looks over, hitches his apron, and shrugs. "I guess," he confesses, "I don' know no betteh." "Huh," marvels Bink. "Huh.")

("How'cn'ey get twelve nine'y five f't'at jacket?" scoffs Solly Pincus. "Awlem downtown suckehs. We got awlese fiel' jackets 'eeh. Now, t'ey gimme one'a t'ese in It'ly wint'eh'ra Foehty-T'ree, an' lemme tell ya, it beat any'a t'ese downtown jawbs fr'm hell'ta breakfas'." "It's th' coolar," sighs Uncle Frank. "Noobody waants t'see noo moor'a that green." "T"en I tellya what," declares Solly. "We'eh gonna dye 'em diff'nt colehs. Heeh's what'cha do. Ya buddy t'eh runs t' dress shawp -- Moznofsky. He'll know 'bout how t'do t'at. Have 'im tell ya what t'do, an'nen ---" "We gaaaht two groos'a thim jackets in th' warehoose," protests Uncle Frank. "Use'at big coppeh kettle y'got'teh," continues Solly. "Get that weasley guy wit' t' trick moustache t'at's awrways hangin' aroun'eeh -- get him t'help ya." "Um," ums Uncle Frank. "Um what?" glowers Solly. "Um," stammers Uncle Frank, "Oi'll -- ah -- get roit aaahn it....")

(Coming Events...)

(Wait, Head's got a bad arm too? JUST WHAT IS GOING ON IN THE ARMY?)

("Hey Alice," greets Sally, barging uncermoniously into the Krause apartment. "C'mon, less go see a movie. T'ey got some Hedy Lamawr t'ing playin' downa Colony." "At 8 inna mawrnin'?" gapes Alice, her forearms begrimed with soot. "We gotta fin' sump'n t'do," shrugs Sally. "We ain' onna picket t'day, Leonoreh's at t' clinic, Joe's oveht'a Flatbush awl day makin' san'wiches. Whatta YOU got t'do?" "I'm helpin' Siddy wit' t' berleh," explains Alice, indicating the black smudges. "He was up awl night keepin'a steam up, he's inneh sleepin' now. I tol' 'im I'd keep t' fieh goin' till 'e woke up." "Well," sighs Sally. "We c'n got't'a movie t'en." "I guess," concedes Alice. "Look, I gotta go in an' shake t' grates. Siddown'eh, lissen'a radio an' when I'm done I'll make some cawfee." Alice turns on the radio, and heads into the boiler room, as Sally sinks petulantly into a chair. "Good morning, darling!" perks a precise cheerful voice, against a background of chirping canaries. "Good morning, dear," agrees a resonant baritone. Sally responds with a gagging expression, and closes her eyes as the happy couple continues to twitter. "WHASSIS MESS ON"EEH?" she shouts thru the open boiler room door. "OH," comes the response. "AIN' YOU NEVEH HOID"AT SHOW? IT'S DOROT'Y AN' D I CK!" Sally's pupils dilate to full open. "Ohhhh,' gasps Alice, racing thru the door and grabbing for the tuning knob. "T' t'ink," accuses Sally, "my BES' FRIEN', lissens t' -- Kilgallen!" "Um," stammers Alice, "on'y once'a twice. By acciden'. Hones' -- um -- hey, les' you'n me go'tw'a movie!")

(Hey kid, aren't you a little young to have a pinup of Fritzi Ritz on your wall?)

(You can smell the quality.)

("Who iss thiss Miiiiiszzz Aaaaarden oov whoom you shpeeek?")

(Ahhhh, but the beeg-a-steetch, she come-a right out!)

(If it wasn't for crusading eight year olds, there would be no justice.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

"Improvidence?" The national pastime.

"Ahem." -- Canada.

Jon sees too many cowboy movies.

It'll be interesting and instructive to see how they put this down in their books.

"Bookmaking? In MY shop? What's my cut?"

Well, looks like your only move here is to put him away. Knife or garrotte?

"Hmmm, yes. I remember these cars. Hmmm."

Punj carries a full selection of fine sporting goods for all occasions.

Hey, do my driveway next.

That dough won't last long, especially if you insist on riding Pullman.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

DON'T mess with Mike Quill.

 

[Fading Fast]

Bink, who, with the deft movements of one whose hands are accustomed to quick motion



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Ya buddy t'eh runs t' dress shawp -- Moznofsky.

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"T' t'ink," accuses Sally, "my BES' FRIEN', lissens t' -- Kilgallen!" "Um," stammers Alice, "on'y once'a twice. By acciden'. Hones' -- um -- hey, les' you'n me go'tw'a movie!"

Oy, poor Alice. BTW, not a great Hedy Lamarr pic they'll be seeing.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Ye should be thankful, Joseph," reflects Ma. "Ye nivvar seen sooch business. That looncheon roosh wint aaahn farr cloose'ta three hoors." "I jus' wen' up'n looked inna freezeh," sighs Joe. "I dunno what we'eh gonna do 'bout t'marreh. Did Uncle Frank have any luck t'is mawrnin'?" "Francis lit oot this maaaarnin' befaaar Oi was even oota bed," frowns Ma. "Said'ee had t'goo out t' Booshwick an' do soom errand farr th' Sergeant at th' warehoose. An' thin whin Oi coom down t'oopen oop an' bring in th' papaars, who do Oi foint skoolkin' aroond but that fool Ignatius Quinlan. Said Francis was s''poosta pick'im oop an' nivvar did." "Oh," ohs Joe, not caring for the sound of it. "Whinivvar that Quinlan's aboot," glowers Ma, "Ye can get even mooney on soom koinda moonkey business." "I hope he ain' goin' inna meat business," sighs Joe. "At leas' Shaughnessy puts a lit'l ack'sh'l meat in wit' HIS sawrdus'....")

("And a good mornink," nods Mr. Ginsburg, checking his mailbox as Sally, dressed in her seldom-seen best, descends into the foyer. "An occasion you are dressing?" he queries. "I'm -- uh -- goin' downtown," hesitates Sally, self-consciously adjusting her hat. "I'm gonna -- um -- go t' Abraham 'n' Strauss, an' -- an' --um -- get a pitcheh took." "Ahhhh," nods Mr. Ginsburg. "For Yussel perhaps?" "Yeh," jitters Sally. "Um, f' Valentine's. 'At's comin' right up, y'know, Valentine's. An' he's awrways woikin', an' --um -- maybe he oughta have a pitcheh. He had one when'ee was, y'know, inna wawr, but it got kin'a wrinkled. So yeh, I t'ought I'd get awl dressed up an' go down'eh an' tawk to'em 'bout maybe -- an' -- um -- I mean, get a pitcheh took." "Ah," nods Mr. Ginsburg, taking a contemplative puff on his pipe. "Those stores, so many people are woiking," he observes. "Such a hard job it is, with the public dealing. Even in mine shop, a customer comes, he wants to argue, to find fault. But I must smile. Like for a picture took, a big smile, when perhaps I do not wish A hard job, with the public." "Yeh," exhales Sally. "You would know, of course," continues Mr. Ginsburg. "You have done before, and again could do." "Yeh," sighs Sally. "You never forget how," winks Mr. Ginsburg. "To you, mine child, I say zolst zayn matsliek." "Um," replies Sally with a grateful smile. "Uh -- a sheynem dank...")

("Sighted enemy, sank same.")

(Come now, Leo wouldn't be caught dead in a loud check suit. He's much too refined.)

("I don' even wanna see t'is pitcheh," grunts Bink Scanlan, trudging along Midwood Street toward the Patio. "Well," frowns Rosa Capiello, "whyd'ja come?" "I do'wanna sit home lissenin'a radio," retorts Bink. "An'nez nut'n else t'do." "Awrways t' frien'a las' resawrt," snorts Rosa. "Less siddown," sighs Bink, sinking to a concrete footing in front of a rowhouse still showing evidence of where its iron fence was sawn off for the war effort. "T'is wawk is get'na be too much f'me. Wish t' trolley run'nis way. Maybe we c'n hail a cab." "Pawrdon me Gloria Vandehbilt," snickers Rosa, taking a seat beside her. Bink takes a deep breath, steadying herself against the concrete. "Rosa," she continues. "I don' t'ink I can do t'is." "Well," shrugs Rosa, "let's toin back. Hey, I'll come up witcha, an' we c'n play gin rummy a'sump'n." "No," dismisses Bink. "T"at ain' what I mean. I mean, I don't t'ink I can do -- T'IS." She gestures at her bulging middle. "T'IS," she reiterates. "Huh," sighs Rosa. "Kin'a late t' figyeh T'AT out." "Yeh," whispers Bink....)

("Two dice, a deck of cards, and a copy of the Mystic Dream Book?")

(I think Mary did away with Bill and the kids, and will spend the rest of her life on the run.)

(Better ask for separate checks.)

(I don't know who these two guys are, but they're refreshingly ordinary.)

(Relax in the comfort of your own delusions.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Page Four has been unsatisfactory of late, but things are looking up.

"Can you fumigate the room first?"

The Asp is a funny guy once you get to know him.


In this business you have to take your chances.

"No wait, that's the back end of the horse."

Life is really little more than an endless jostling over pennies.

We all put on a few pounds in the winter.

This often happens to people who try to brew their own root beer.

What if Uncle Willie got his nose stuck in the telephone?

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

"What's that?" queries Ma, regarding the odd-looking substance sputtering on the grill. "A 'speriment," sighs Joe. "Ground chicken..."

 

[Fading Fast]

Such a hard job it is, with the public dealing.

Having worked with the public in several jobs through college, if I'm honest with myself, I reverse engineered my career – and put up with a lot of stuff – just to not have to work with the public and would do it the same way again if I had to do it over.

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

"T"at ain' what I mean. I mean, I don't t'ink I can do -- T'IS." She gestures at her bulging middle. "T'IS," she reiterates. "Huh," sighs Rosa. "Kin'a late t' figyeh T'AT out." "Yeh," whispers Bink

I know Ma will never let her do it, but they did have legal adoptions back then. Also, if she's like every TV character ever, she'll want to keep it once it comes.

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I think Mary did away with Bill and the kids, and will spend the rest of her life on the run.

Wouldn't you have?

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Page Four has been unsatisfactory of late, but things are looking up.

"...his tasty blonde bride..."

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[LizzieMaine]

("Awr you sueh'rabout'is?" wonders Alice. "I'm sueh we gotta keep some money comin' in," sighs Sally. "Foist'a t' mont's comin' up, an' we might not make t' rent. T'ey wouln' let Joe take t'at meat 'e's got innat freezeh on credit, y'know. Awlem guys now is cash 'n carry. An' what'ee's been makin' he's gotta put right back inta scrapin' up whateveh meat he c'n find. So'f I woik at Abraham 'n Strauss when I ain' onna picket, leas' we'll have SUMP'N comin' in." "You said you wasn'eveh gonna woik in no stoeh again," reminds Alice. "Y'll do a lotta t'ings yo'wouldn' do," laments Sally, "when ya uppa'gainst it." "Don' I know it," agrees Alice. "What?" "Nut'n. Does Joe know?" "Nawt yet," admits Sally. "He won' like it, he din' like it when I was woikin' at Woolwoit's. He said it was makin' me crazy." "Oh," ohs Alice. "What?" "Nut'n.....")

("I'll be damned," grins Solly. "I figyehed y'd -- well, neveh min' what I figyehed. But'cha done a good jawb awnese jackets. Y'd neveh know t'ey useteh be Awrmy coleh. Ya frien' Quinlan does nice woik." "Inky didn' have noothin' t'do with it," sniffs Uncle Frank, as Solly picks thru the garments. "Oi coom oop with it aaahl meself. Oi used a faaaarmula oov me oon devoisin'." "T'ez a smell," observes Uncle Frank. "Musta used some strawng dye. Hey, whatta ya cawlis coleh?" "Ah," ahs Uncle Frank. "Weeeel, Oi s'poose ye could caaahl it -- whiskey broown.")

("I don' t'ink we c'n do it," shrugs Rosa Capiello, behind the meat counter at the Rogers Avenue Bohack. "Y'gotta buy t' whole chicken, I can't take out t' bones. Too much woik, 'specially f'how much ya need." "I t'ought it was woit' a try," sighs Joe. "I tried grindin' up some chicken meat t'ot'eh day, fryin' it up awna grill, an' it wasn' bad." "Yeh," nods Rosa, "Bink tol' me you done'at. She says she could loin t'like it." "Yeh," eyerolls Joe, "but I gotta have payin' customehs." "I tell ya whatcha could do," declares Rosa. "We got'tat canned chicken'neh, it's awl cut up in, y'know, lit'l pieces. Why not get a few cans'a t'at an' see what'cha c'n do wit'it. If it woiks, well..." "Hey," considers Joe. "T'at might be sum'p'n. Jeez, t'anks f't' tip. Y'know, I dunno why Heckie says'em t'ings about'cha." "I do," snorts Rosa...)

(Too late, chubby!)

(I suppose it's as hard to be the second as it is to be the first, but somebody's gotta do it.)

(Tsk. Hallucinogens as the path to business success. It might explain a lot.)

("I thought we agreed on "Amber!")

(Thought this all out, dincha?)

(Well this is certainly inconvenient and creepy.)

(There's a tragedy here, but I'm not quite sure what it is.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Future "Mary Worth" story.

Butch has a sponsor!

In every era, in every generation, there are those who turn your stomach just at the thought that they exist.

The one-man meat shortage.

There's nothing like a romantic winter night in a desert cave.

This is why it pays to get your estimate in writing.

Ha ha very funny.

"Better make sure she isn't already married with four kids."

What's the body count so far? I've lost track.

Ah, the proud clan McAshcan.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Like any politician, Happy's mouth comes equipped with two sides.

 

[Fading Fast]

"T'ez a smell," observes Uncle Frank. "Musta used some strawng dye. Hey, whatta ya cawlis coleh?" "Ah," ahs Uncle Frank. "Weeeel, Oi s'poose ye could caaahl it -- whiskey broown."

Play to your strengths. Good for him, though, as it looks like Frank got one right for a change. He needs a couple of victories.

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Tsk. Hallucinogens as the path to business success. It might explain a lot.

I was hoping it was going to be darts and a stock table to play off that old saw.

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

See the quote below by Lincoln.

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Future "Mary Worth" story.

So is Hicswa going to get a reprieve of some sorts? I think so. They'll reduce the sentence to life or something and then fry him later if they want. Too much pressure on now.

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

Why not - what does one have to do with the other?