The Era -- Day By Day

[Harp]

Streptomycin shortage and that young lady's imperiled state with her fiance helpless....

The Abraham Lincoln Getttysburg Address passage and time's flight recalls an incident that happened to me shortly after the war. A topkick sergeant recounted that in youth, he had shaken the hand of a man whom had shook the hand of a Revolutionary War veteran.
Time's distance, like the moon reflected upon a bowl of water, is relative attendant circumstance.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Frank..." whispers Solly Pincus, jerking at the blanket. "Whattayou t'ink ya doin'?" "Oh," mumbles Uncle Frank. "Oi was coold. Ye keep grabbin' th' blanket. Joost loike Nora. An' whin she doos that, Oi goot noo othar way t'keep waaarm thin koinda -- coodlin' oop against..." "WELL I AIN'T NORA!" snaps Solly, giving the blanket another tug. "Soo Oi foond oot," grumbles Uncle Frank, jerking the blanket back. "An' anooothar thing," he continues. "Th' blooody bed's foola croombs! Ye sit thaaaar till half past twilve, read'n thim saaaarplooos listin's an' eat'n thim' caaarn flakes oota th' box! Who eats DRY caaarn flakes oota th' box! In BED!" "Ahhhh, shaaadup n' go t'sleep," retorts Solly, reclaiming the blanket. The argument is interrupted by a loud thump from below, as a broom handle strikes the ceiling of the apartment downstairs. "Now see wot'chee doon," sputters Uncle Frank. "Ye wook oop Nora!" "Ahhhh," scoffs Solly. "She'll go back t'sleep." "Oh," disdains Uncle Frank, "boot Oi'll hearrrr aboot it in th' maaarnin'!" "SHOOOT OOP AN' GOO T'BED!" replies a muffled voice from below. "You hoid'eh," snickers Solly. "Ahhhhhhh," snarls Uncle Frank as he wrenches back the blanket. "Goo eat yarrr caaarn flakes!")

("Hey you," inquires Bink Scanlan, gazing into the ornate wire cage at Zippy the parakeet. "Hey," she repeats. "Boid. Y'gonna tawk t'me?" The bird tilts his head and regards her with a bright black eye. "Zippy will talk," observes Mrs. Ginsburg, "when the mood is striking." "I ast'im a question," sighs Bink. "I hoid once if ya gonna have a baby, an' ya meet a tawkin' boid, an' ya ask'im ya gonna have a boy 'ra goil, he'll tell ya. But t'is boid ain' tellin' me nut'n." "Perhaps he IS telling," shrugs Mrs. Ginsburg. "'It should matter?' That is what he is telling you." "But what if ya do'wanna have no boy," sighs Bink. "What if ya don' wan'no boy in case 'e ends up like -- well, anyways, I do'wanno boy." "Some will say" chuckles Mrs. Ginsburg, "that is the way to be soiten you get one." "But I do'wanno goil neit'eh," laments Bink. "It's lousy bein' a goil inna woil'. I wouln' wish t'at on no kid. Evr'y time ya meet a man, he acks like 'e on'y wawnts one t'ing. An' when ya meet one 'at DON'T ack like t'at, he don' wan' nut'na do wit'CHOO." "One or the other," sighs Mrs. Ginsburg, "you will get." "That's right!" affirms Zippy. "That's right!" "Maybe," reflects Bink, "id'a been betteh'rawff gettin' a boid...")

(Well, you weren't complaining when they rolled out the pork barrel.)

(Oh, I can think of a catcher. What was his name? Campanolli? Campenolo? Something like that..)

(Where's the Amen Office when you need it?)

(HA HA FUNNY MAN)

(I don't know why they even have police at all when they have JANE ARDEN FURRED REPORTER.)

("Meanwhile, I'll be back here at the office reading the paper in case something happens.")

("I told you we shoulda got a parakeet!")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

All right, as you were...

Once again, if it was Butch who was responsible for this, the News would be screaming for his neck.

That's what you get for bringing them to "Getting Gertie's Garter."

"Hmph. The star of the strip never takes the upper!"

Well, back to show business...

Oh boy, day-old cake!

Point of order: Remember when Pop and Mrs. Smart were dating, and they almost got married? I don't think THEY do.

That's also where she kept her benzedrine. Every performer needs a little edge.

It's nice to have relatives who care about you.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Or as Robert Riskin yelled at Frank Capra after throwing a pile of blank paper at him, "Let's see you give THAT the 'Capra Touch!'"

 

[Fading Fast]

"Frank..." whispers Solly Pincus, jerking at the blanket. "Whattayou t'ink ya doin'?" "Oh," mumbles Uncle Frank. "Oi was coold. Ye keep grabbin' th' blanket. Joost loike Nora. An' whin she doos that, Oi goot noo othar way t'keep waaarm thin koinda -- coodlin' oop against..." "WELL I AIN'T NORA!" snaps Solly, giving the blanket another tug. "Soo Oi foond oot," grumbles Uncle Frank, jerking the blanket back. "An' anooothar thing," he continues. "Th' blooody bed's foola croombs! Ye sit thaaaar till half past twilve, read'n thim saaaarplooos listin's an' eat'n thim' caaarn flakes oota th' box! Who eats DRY caaarn flakes oota th' box! In BED!" "Ahhhh, shaaadup n' go t'sleep," retorts Solly, reclaiming the blanket. The argument is interrupted by a loud thump from below, as a broom handle strikes the ceiling of the apartment downstairs. "Now see wot'chee doon," sputters Uncle Frank. "Ye wook oop Nora!" "Ahhhh," scoffs Solly. "She'll go back t'sleep." "Oh," disdains Uncle Frank, "boot Oi'll hearrrr aboot it in th' maaarnin'!" "SHOOOT OOP AN' GOO T'BED!" replies a muffled voice from below. "You hoid'eh," snickers Solly. "Ahhhhhhh," snarls Uncle Frank as he wrenches back the blanket. "Goo eat yarrr caaarn flakes!"

Wonderful, absolutely wonderful. Funny because, if you know these characters, it could all happen.

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

Oh, I can think of a catcher. What was his name? Campanolli? Campenolo? Something like that..

Sadly, close but not quite there yet.

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

I don't know why they even have police at all when they have JANE ARDEN FURRED REPORTER.

Can't let it go, can ya?

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

Or as Robert Riskin yelled at Frank Capra after throwing a pile of blank paper at him, "Let's see you give THAT the 'Capra Touch!'"

That one is a classic for a reason.

 

[Harp]

The jilted war brides story is heartbreaking. And the trans Atlantic legal divorce conundrum rather formidable. However, servicemen cannot marry without commanding officer approval; so marital proctor federal genesis serves more than provenance, and federal appellate courts within the United States should serve appropriate class action venue for British plaintiffs. This is all the more sordid with children borne such wartime wedlock where fiscal obligations incurred.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("So anyway," sighs Danny Leary, "I got mosta t'at junk outta t' boineh, but t'eh was nut'n I could do wit' t' nozzle." "Mggggffff," mumbles Uncle Frank, sagging over his cluttered rolltop desk. "Hey," frowns Danny. "Pop? You awright?" "Ehh?" blinks Uncle Frank. "Noo, Oi'm foine -- far a man bin roolin' aahna bed 'a caaarn flake croombs ahhl night." "Yeh," nods Danny without the slightest flicker of comprehension. "Anyways, I wen' t'ru ev'ry nozzle we got inna back t'eh, an'neh ain' a one 'at'll fit. T'at'sa damn'est boineh I eveh seen, 'neh ain'a standehd pawrt awn it. Toins out t' comp'ny wen' outta business in Nineteen-T'oity. Whe'd'joo ev'n GET t'at t'ing?" "Mggggrrrrrffffff...." collapses Uncle Frank, flopping down again on the desk." "But lissen," exhales Danny. "I know a guy downa supply house, an'ee tells me t'guy t'at run'at comp'ny useta live up in Tuckahoe. An'ee run awff wit' 'is secke'tary a' sump'n, but his wife, she still lives up t'eh, an' maybe she's got some pawrts out'na g'rage a'sump'n. Unless maybe Pincus c'n get some pawrts...?" "Doon't mention," groans Uncle Frank, "thaaat flake-eataaaar's name." "Well'en," shrugs Danny, "I t'ought what I'd do is get Jimmy t' take t' truck an' drive up t'eh an'see what'ee can come up wit'. 'Nless y'can get a new boineh, it's ya bes' bet." "Thaaaar's a reason," murmurs Uncle Frank, "why Oi ain' a bett'n man.....")

("Oi doon't knoo, daughter," fusses Ma, "how ye c'n live loike this. Joseph waaarkin', you go aaahf t' maaarch aroond with a picket soin, ye send Leonora aaahf t'soom fool clinic whar they pook at'aar loike she was a trained moonkey, an' noobody t'take care a' ye hoose but a daaaartry cat." Stella looks up from her position under the stove to glare reproachfully at this comment, but Sally merely closes her eyes and grits her teeth. "Ye oonly gaaat three rooms in th' place," continues Ma, "so ye'd think ye could keep oop with th' hoosewarrk, but..." "Ma," exhales Sally, forcing a smile. "T'ezza great movie playin' downa Colony. Y'otta go. Y'neveh got a chance t'get out." "Oi got too much t'do," dismisses Ma. "Leonora's gooin' t'be hoom in a few minutes, an' ye ain't even got 'arr soopar ready." "She an' Misteh Ginsboig go t' Hawrn 'n Hawrdart's onna way home," shrugs Sally. "Look, can you jus' sidddown f'five minutes an' stawp..." She is interrupted by a knock at the door, which Ma races to open. "Hey," smirks Heckie Capiello. "Some dump y'gawt'eeh." He tosses Ma the canvas bag, which she quickly opens, examines, and tucks into her sweater. "Be aaahf with'ye," commands Ma, and Heckie snickers down the stairs. "Whassat?" queries Sally. "Joost th' mail," demurs Ma. "Hmph," hmphs Sally. "Special d'livery ain' what it useta be.")

(Coming Events...)

(Winter is a brutal, bleak, soul-crushing time of year, but there is no joy like the joy of the first page full of baseball...)

("Hey, you in the press box! Throw me down one of those doughnuts!")

(A traveling production of "Tobacco Road?")

("You interest me. Who writes your dialogue?")

("And it better be good, it cost me a good pair of shoes!")

(Batagonia's lovely this time of year...)

("Oh yes, a warrant. Haw haw.")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Our new Mayor poses for his official portrait.

"Desk Pilot." Isn't that one step up from buying your medals at Davega?

Hey Diet, have you ever tried diced turnips and as much water as will cling to the tines of a fork?

Funny meeting you here....

"As Gawd is my witness, I have no idea what to do!"

*snif.*

"Oh, Herbert, it'll be CHARMING! Just like 'The Egg and I!"

In a chaotic postwar world, we turn increasingly to the old familiar routines...

"Look, kid, you've got a grip full of money there. Why can't we go Pullman?"

I always wanted to live in a house with a secret laundry chute, just for such occasions as this.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

You don't say.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Hey," smirks Heckie Capiello. "Some dump y'gawt'eeh."

That's very funny. What a wise*ss kid.

Ma has got to find a way to flow some money Joe and Sally's way as I know neither would just take it, but my God, Ma's not a poor women — she's got to help her daughter, son-in-law, and granddaughter.

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

Winter is a brutal, bleak, soul-crushing time of year, but there is no joy like the joy of the first page full of baseball...

What, are you not enjoying curling?

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

"And it better be good, it cost me a good pair of shoes!"

I'd have made an awful detective as I'd have dismissed that mud as just something he picked up earlier. Even in 1946, it's odd to see "clue" spelled "clew."

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

Our new Mayor poses for his official portrait.

Clearly there was no fuel shortage in the negotiating room.

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

"Desk Pilot." Isn't that one step up from buying your medals at Davega?

Say what you will about him, but the guy seems to be banging anything that moves and even getting them to send him money. God bless.

The mother who shot and killed her pregnant daughter is a gut-wrenching story. Maybe she'll get off on temporary insanity, but she's going to live in her own private h*ll the rest of her life.

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

"Look, kid, you've got a grip full of money there. Why can't we go Pullman?"

Seriously.

 

[Harp]

I sympathize with unrequited suitor ex-GI Annett, who flew back to England on his own dime only to be hand delivered a ''Dear John'' dismissal. Considering his steadfast devotion, courage, and personal initiative shown throughout this ordeal, I feel secure in my case factual analysis to assume Annett served in the 101st Airborne, where the same drive and determination is common currency found throughout its illustrious ranks.

Lt Danaher, joy stick Air Corps jockey, is fairly typical non infantry air crew love 'em n' leave 'em types with a spouse on his sorry ***. Shot down in flames he'll be when hauled before a court martial board.
******* fly boy.

Mrs Maud Summers apparently spoke to police after killing her unwed pregnant daughter, evidencing her lucid thought with inchoate homicide/suicidal intent. Shorn valid trial defense, she should accept legal counsel recommendation for plea exchange life imprisonment.
Horrific tragedy, though inexcusable.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I guess t'at's as clean's it's gonna get," sighs Joe, wincing as he clambers to his feet, his overalls damp with Spi c-and-Span. "T'at soot izza stickin'est stuff I eveh seen. J'eveh fin' out what was IN'NAT erl?" "Haaard tellin'," grumbles Uncle Frank. "Boot th' nixt aaaarl we poot in that tank is goin' to be made fr'm rendaaarin' doon Doyle's fat head. Ye seen Danny yet?" "Huh?" huhs Joe, peeling off his heavy rubber gloves. "No, I ain' seen'im. Ain' cawl'd, neit'eh." "Jimmy took th' troock oopta Toockahoe this marrnin' t'look f'ra baaarnar nozzle," frowns Uncle Frank. "Ye ain't seen HIM, he'v'yee?" "Nope," shrugs Joe, hefting his pail toward the door. As he steps out to empty it into the sidewalk drain, he nearly collides with his stepbrother-in-law. "Ya ol' man's lookin' fawr ya," Joe comments as he sidles past. "You ain't seen Jimmy, have ya?" Danny inquires as he approaches the counter. "Oi was gooin' t'ask YOU," replies Uncle Frank. "Otta been back by now," scowls Danny, glancing at the clock behind the counter. "Maybe t' truck broke down again." "Ye doon't have t'say it loike THAT," mutters Uncle Frank. "'Agaiiin.' Hmph." "Y'gonna have t'get a new one sooneh'ra lateh," reminds Danny. "Oi'll settle," exhales Uncle Frank, "faaaaar a baaarner nozzle...")

("She wawnts me t' clean t' house," grumbles Sally to herself, "I'll clean t' house. Any'ting t'keep t' peace." As she snaps her broom across the kitchen floor with sharp, angry flicks, she spots something under the table. "T'rowin' pieces a' papeh awna flooeh," Sally mutters. "T'at kid needs t' loin t'clean up afteh'ra self." She bends down to retrieve the bit, and is about to toss it into the wastebasket when she notices how neatly it seems to be folded. "Huh," she exhales, her curiosity roused. "Whasisis say?" She nudges her glasses and squints at the notations on the unfolded slip. "Sev'n-six-t'ree," she reads. "Combinate. Fifty cents." She squints again at the slip and her eyes narrow. Gnawing at her lower lip, she refolds the slip and tucks it into her apron pocket....)

("T'ey gotta lotta noive," frowns Bink Scanlan, exiting the Colony Theatre, "showin' a lousy pitcheh t'at wasn' no good five yeehs'ago. I hate musicals." "Ahhhh," scoffs Rosa Capiello. "It was awright." "T'at cowboy pitcheh stunk too," adds Bink. "T'is ain' a bad neighbehood," continues Rosa as they make their way up 18th Avenue. "Got ev'ryt'ing y'need right'eeh. An'na people ain' awl stuck up like t'ey c'n be in Flatbush. Awlem Irish." Bink shoots her friend a glare. "Eh," chuckles Rosa. "Presn' comp'ny excepted. No, I t'ink t'is'd be a nice neighbehood t'raise a kid in." Bink gives her another glare. "Well, t'ink about it," Rosa. "Din'cha say t'em people you was stayin' wit' was nice?" "Yeh," admits Bink. "T'ey're OK, t'em Ginsboigs. T'ey tawk t'me like I'm a reg'leh poisson, y'know? T'ey don' ack like I'm awrways doin' t'ings wrawng. It's kinda nice." "See?" replies Rosa. "Yeh," repeats Bink. "An'neh boid's nice too. I mean, oncet'ya get t'know 'im...")

(Go for the used washer. You won't be sorry.)

(Sally's preoccupied right now, so I'll say it for her: BILLY HERMAN? THAT OLD MAN??)

(Hey, that's -- a great idea!)

(Do you have Orry-Kelly chained up in the cellar? Is that what's going on here???)

(Honestly, Inspector Murphy is doing a pretty good job here, for a man who never opens his eyes...)

(I wish I could work for a company where you just sit around on the couch all day gabbing.)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG never misses a chance to howl as loud as he can!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Awwww, you shoulda been'eh, Sal," exhales Alice. "I'm stanin'eh eat'na doughnut, an'awluvva sud'n, I heeh t'is cawr skidd'n. An'nen it jus' awl breaks loose, y'know?" "An' I missed it," sighs Sally. "What'dja do?" "I stuck me doughnut in me pawcket," relates Alice. "Heeh, you wanna piece?"

A decent prince? Wonders never cease.

Have you tried welder's goggles?

"T'at's nut'n, pitchehs an' catchehs repawrted yestehday!"

Smell-a-vision? Hmph, that's been "just around the corner" for years.

"CUT! Who told the mutt he gets a closeup???"

Repent at leisure....

Not seeing the tree for the forest...

The definition of "inevitable."

"The Old Dark House" was a great movie.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Admit it, gals -- you miss show business.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Ye doon't have t'say it loike THAT," mutters Uncle Frank. "'Agaiiin.' Hmph." "Y'gonna have t'get a new one sooneh'ra lateh," reminds Danny.

Buy a new truck for Christ's sake already.

Separately, very cool to see penicillin and its offshoots be the life saving wonder drugs for the first time that they still are today.

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

"Sev'n-six-t'ree," she reads. "Combinate. Fifty cents." She squints again at the slip and her eyes narrow. Gnawing at her lower lip, she refolds the slip and tucks it into her apron pocket....

Dam breaks start as small cracks.

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

"T'at's nut'n, pitchehs an' catchehs repawrted yestehday!"

It's like the first bird returning from the south.

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

Smell-a-vision? Hmph, that's been "just around the corner" for years.

A boon to cooking shows and p*rn for sure.

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

"CUT! Who told the mutt he gets a closeup???"

You might have food, but you're going to get awfully thirsty, especially from those hotdogs.

 

[Harp]

Ms Sophie Sapala's streptomycin recovery and expected wedding is wonderful news.

And while promissory estoppel has inherent limit for trespass upon the heart, the American ex-GI civilian who fell in love with a fraulein against official command directive is also wonderful. However, I cannot help shaking my head over this either. The war is over, crazed American GIs are meeting local German gals and falling head over heels in love. Wedlock for better or worse will occur.

MARY WORTH is quite lascivious. Caniff might take note.

Last but certainly not least, a real prince and fairy tale romance story. Abdication for love.

 

[LizzieMaine]

(At the offices of F. Leary & Sons Plumbing and Heating, we find Danny sloshing a burner component in a pail of solvent, surrounded by other bits and pieces spread out to dry on sheets of newspaper covering the workbench, when the door opens a bit more briskly than is usual. "G'mawrrrrnin!" grins Jimmy, as he saunters into the workshop. Danny greets his twin brother with a scowl. "Wheh YOU been?" he demands. "You was s'posta be back yestehday!" "I have been," continues Jimmy, "t' t' edge'a paradise." "Tuckahoe?" scoffs Danny. "T'at ain' even'a edge'a t' Bronx." "Heeh's ya nozzle," ignores Jimmy, tossing a small box on the workbench. "Whassat smell?" sniffs Danny. "It's woise'n'iss stuff inna pail." "Ya smellin'," sighs Jimmy, fanning his coat lapel toward his brother, "t' smell'a paradise.....")

("I don' like usin'ese 'letric heatehs," sighs Joe. "Y'awrways read 'bout 'm stawrtin' fiehs." "We've gaaaht t' do soom business," shrugs Ma. "We'll get s'maaar heat fr'm ye grill." "I s'pose," exhales Joe, tying on his apron. Ma regards her son-in-law with concern. "Soomthin' aaahn ye moind, Joseph?" she inquires. "I dunno," continues Joe. "It's Sal. You seen what she was like, she neveh said a woid when she come home fr'm t' picket line las' night. Usual, she'd be goin' a mile a minute." "Hmm," hms Ma. "An' when I come upstaiehs 'is mawrnin' f'breakfas'," Joe adds, "t' same t'ing. An' didja see how she was lookin' at me?" "Hmmm," repeats Ma. "Did she say anyt'ing t' you," queries Joe, "afteh'r I wen' down'a bed?" "No," acknowledges Ma. "Naaaht a waaard t'me eitharr." "T'at ain' like 'eh," nods Joe. "Hmmmmmmm," emphasizes Ma...)

("I brought along that Reader's Digest article, just in case!")

(Edith Houghton had a long career in baseball before joining the Phillies, playing both for semi-pro and touring pro teams from her early teens, often competing successfully against men twice her age. She also played baseball alongside men in the Navy. With all that experience, here's hoping working for the Phils doesn't do to her what it did to poor Fitz.)

(The zoning in this town must be pretty lax.)

(If there's one thing any professional writer knows, it's how to plot.)

(Come now, Janie, weren't you a Girl Scout?)

(Note the authentic Batagonian accent.)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER TWO HERO DOG is coming up fast!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

Due to the outage this morning, today's Daily News will be posted around 530pm. At least there isn't a newspaper strike...

 

[Fading Fast]

"I have been," continues Jimmy, "t' t' edge'a paradise."

Dear God.

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

"It's Sal. You seen what she was like, she neveh said a woid when she come home fr'm t' picket line las' night. Usual, she'd be goin' a mile a minute."

This is not good — not good at all.

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

"I brought along that Reader's Digest article, just in case!"

Kudos to Lichty, this is a nice, thoughtful one.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And, at long last, in the Daily News..

So much of life depends on where the decimal point falls...

"I neveh t'ought I'd eveh know," gushes Alice, "somebody gotteh pitcheh inna Daily News!" "Eh," ehs Sally, gazing at the scratches on the tabletop. "What HAPN'T??" "I dunno," shrugs Sally, her voice flat and soft. "I was stan'nin'eh, an'nen, well, I dunno." "It looks like ya get'n ready t' t'row a brick," gasps Alice. "I t'ought you said you wasn' gonna do t'at no moeh!" "I dunno," repeats Sally. "Maybe? Who knows? Who caehs?" "Sal," queries Alice, putting down the paper. "Did sump'n hap'n out'eh?" "No," admits Sally. "Leas' I don't t'ink so." Alice considers this reply, and looks at her friend with mounting concern. "Sal," she resumes. "Awr you -- awright?" Sally looks up, absently tapping her fingers on the table. "I dunno," she confesses. "I really dunno..."

Stoop stoops for no man.

Lithium? Maybe Diet Smith should try it.

"Slot machines, roulette wheels, chuck-a-luck. Oh, and twenty cases of prewar bourbon."

Fish in a barrel. A great big wide-mouth carp.

"CUT! Do we have to work with THIS dog??"

If you're gonna troll, never drop character.

"But dear, they cost so much at Abraham & Straus!"

Thing I hate about old-dark-house movies is that the ghost always turns out to be something stupid.