The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

("Leonoreh!" shouts Sally. "Don' run inna street! Ya gonna get run oveh!" "I ain't runnin'," retorts Leonora. "I'm wawkin' fast. It helps me t'ink!" "Ya can't do much t'inkin'," shouts back Sally, "if ya squished flat!" "You may argue," chuckles Mr. Ginsburg, taking a seat next to Sally on the stoop. "But with that one, you will not win." "Yeh," sighs Sally. "But if I keep tryin', it keeps 'eh onneh toes." Mr. Ginsburg nods, as he takes out his pipe and taps in a quantity of Half and Half. "How is Yussel?" he queries, as he lights up. "Yesterday was his open?" "Yeh," sighs Sally. "It was awrf'l. He neveh got 'is meat till afteh noontime, an' by t'en it was so hot out t'eh wasn' nobody goin' out'at way, t'ey was awl goin'a beach." "Oh," ohs Mr. Ginsburg. "He sol' some col' drinks, a few san'wiches," relates Sally, "but not much. He brung home a buncha t' meat las' night, so at leas' *we* got sump'n out'v'it." Mr. Ginsburg takes a contemplative puff as he considers all this. "An' t'day," Sally continues, "it's s'posta rain. Who's gonna sit inneh cawr 'n eat inna rain?" "Perhaps," admits Mr. Ginsburg. "But mitout the rain, what can grow? And whatever grows, does it grow overnight even? A seed, a sprout, yet, before the tree." "I guess," sighs Sally. "Yussel will be fine," assures Mr. Ginsburg, "if he is patient. And if one thing I am knowing, Yussel is patient." "LEONOREH!" bellows Sally. "I SAID STAWP RUNNIN' INNA STREET!" "I'm WAWKIN' FAST!" snaps back Leonora. "Very patient," repeats Mr. Ginsburg, thru his drifting blue cloud...)

("Seven bucks," sighs Joe, reviewing Shirley Blick's accounting of the day's takings. "Seven forty-five," corrects Shirley. "Oh soitenly," eyerolls Joe. "It's twice yesterday," declares Shirley. "A one hundred percent increase." "I made t'ree bucks in tips," adds Rosa, unclamping her skates. "'n afteh y' cleeh'rout t' lead nickels an'na Canadian dimes, I still cleehed two-fifty." "Wawl Street," exhales Joe, tossing his apron on the counter, "heeh we come....")

(Odds that Dixie and Augie end up on the trading block...)

(Because if there's one thing a cowboy is good at, it's chariot racing.)


(The birth of viral marketing.)

(QUESTION AUTHORITY)

(And you could not buy an accordion in all the British Empire...)

(I bet Mozart's ma let him run in the street if he wanted to.)

(How a perfect Page Four is born...)

(RADIO ROMANCES DON'T WORK!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

At least he doesn't have to worry about jailbreaks.

It's always fun when Mr. Hill finds an old sketchbook.

There's just so much happening these days that it's hard to keep up.

Hello.

Yes, you could m urder Jack. That would be quite a story.

All a mob needs is a stern old man to lead it.

"Children Learn What They Live."

He's probably a volleyball player anyway.

"Oh. Well, OK."

Shoulda got a Nash with one of those folding beds...

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

"El Cheapo!" fumes Mr. Rickey. "After all that I have done for this club, this community. El Cheapo!" "There, there dear," console Mrs. Rickey. "Have some lemonade." "I shall not let this insult ride," vows Mr. Rickey. "Retribution shall be swift. At the earliest possible moment I shall direct Mr. O'Malley to file litigation against this Powers man, and against his whole disreputable sheet! EL CHEAPO AM I???" "Have some lemonade, dear," repeats Mrs. Rickey. "Limes," growls Mr. Rickey, "cost half as much."

 

[Fading Fast]

"Wawl Street," exhales Joe, tossing his apron on the counter, "heeh we come...."

I like that this is not the first time that we've seen that Joe thinks about Wall Street. If he is patient as Mr. Ginsburg says and works hard, as we know he will, with a few breaks, he could in five or, more likely, ten years be built out enough for Wall Street to come knocking. He could, before that, also look for some early investors to help with expansion and Wall Street could help him with that. Contrary to popular belief, Wall Street, by and large, does a lot of honest business and can help someone like Joe when his business starts to get bigger.

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I bet Mozart's ma let him run in the street if he wanted to.

Effectively, that's what the little comment says.

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At least he doesn't have to worry about jailbreaks.

I could see Sally trying that as well.

Also, a very busy and varied Page 4, but I was expecting a "Ew" at the bottom.

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Hello.

Allow me to complete, "Hello, Terry, I'm here for the s*x you owe me."

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All a mob needs is a stern old man to lead it.

Who's going to tell them there is no capital punishment for fraud?

 

[Harp]

I wrote my thesis on Pearl Harbor, and a decade or so ago, returned topic to examine
subject event again with all that had been declassified since thesis submittal. Today's congressional imprimatur notwithstanding, reasonable dereliction faulted Washington equally with Honolulu. And the ''Winds'' execute receipt was noted missing official record.

The coverup was running and known in '45; General Short remarked that George C Marshall
would never be able to write his memoirs. Marshall did pen a First World War memoir, but nothing 1941-45, therefore proving Short correct.

Nice to see Binnie and Ian happily wed.

Milt's got my attention. Definitely.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("C'mon Sal," cajoles Alice. "Cheehr'up. T' fois' weekend is awrways t' woist." "Who says?" grumbles Sally. "Um, I hoid it awna radio," dissembles Alice. "From -- uh -- Jinx Fauwlkinboig. An' she otta know, she was Miss Rheingol'." "Yeh," mumbles Sally, gazing morosely out the window as the train rattles on. "Hey," continues Alice. "I got sump'n'll cheeh ya up. I got anot'eh letteh Satehday. From Willie, at Camp Chin-Ach-G ook. Lemme read ya." Sally shrugs her assent, and Alice produced a folded sheet. "He stawrts out'eeh, 'Deeh Ma,'" she begins. "Camp is fine. I am havin' a good time since I wen' swimmin' yestehday an' gawt lake wawteh in my eeh." Sally shoots Alice a look. "I have what t' noice says is cawlt 'swimmeh's eeh.' But it is OK because when Lottie hollehs at me fr'm acrawst'a lake, she ain' so loud.'" Sally rolls her eyes and sags her head against the window. "Pap is OK too," continues Alice. "Except one t'ing. We was playin' basebawl an' I hit a bawl out'na woods. We had t'go look fawr it 'cause we ain't got too many of'm an' what we foun' was perzen ivy. Pap ben' down t' look fawr t' bawl, an' t' perzen ivy got awnis head. So now t' toppa his head is all red an' bumpy. T' noice put some erntment awn it an' awl it done was toin his head poiple." Sally glances over, her mouth twitching at the corners. "Pap says," continues Alice, "can you go in his trunk in t' berleh room an' get out his ol' awrmy hat an' sen' it to him. He figyehs nobody will laugh at him no moeh if he has a awrmy hat awn even if his head is poiple. T'ank you fawr sendin' me to t'is camp, I am loinin' a lotta t'ings you neveh loin inna city. Love from yawr son, Willie. PS, I still have not seen a beah." Alice gazes at the letter with immense satisfaction, and looks over at Sally. "It's okay," declares Alice, "t' laugh. "Yeh," snorts Sally, as the train rolls on toward work...)

("Well, so what if it rains," declares Solly Pincus. "We'll put up 'n awnin' oveh ya windeh t'eh." "I can't affoehd," sighs Joe, "t'put any moeh money innis jernt." "What spend?" dismisses Solly. "We'll BUILD one. Yeh. I got some 'luminum tubin' back inna waehhouse. We'll hang it up t'eh f'ra framewoik, an'nen I got t'ese shelteh halves we c'n stitch t'geteh f' t' coveh. An' I got'tis wawetehproof paint we c'n put onnit, any coleh ya want -- black, green, brown, any coleh." Joe gazes out at the empty parking lot, as Rosa does loops in a light drizzle. "Yeh," he shrugs. "I guess so. Hey, maybe you got a rain pawncho t'eh f' Rosa. She's gonna get pnemonia out'eh." "At'sa spirit," enthuses Solly. "Awrways look afteh ya woikehs. Look, I'm goin' back home, I can bring t' stuff f't' awnin' out'eeh t'is aftehnoon, an' we c'n get it up befoeh nightfawl. Anyt'ing else you wan' me to bring back?" "Customehs," sighs Joe...)

("I can dream, can't I?")

(Know your audience.)

(THIS ONE'S FOR PETEY!)

(All security guards share a certain specific physique.)

(C'mon, with snappy dialogue writing like that, you could be five a week on NBC!)

(Tastes like chicken!)

(While you're making out, who's flying the chopper?)

(Coyote poison!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

George White's Scandals Of 1946.

"But seriously folks..."

What, no update on B. O. and Gertie??

"Oh, don't worry, they're bound to catch him eventually."

You just can't help yourself, can you?

"Thus ever by the will of Molech."

Everybody uses that excuse.

And sorry, it's not proportional representation.

BAIT AND SWITCH

Emmy has mellowed. There was a time when she'd SLAP HIS SASSY FACE.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

The last four days of the month are always "Buy Nothing Day."

 

[Fading Fast]

"...Pap ben' down t' look fawr t' bawl, an' t' perzen ivy got awnis head. So now t' toppa his head is all red an' bumpy. T' noice put some erntment awn it an' awl it done was toin his head poiple."

Better than last year's broken arm, but maybe he should stop going to summer camp.

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"I can dream, can't I?"

The sausage factory never really changes. Same garbage happens today.

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BAIT AND SWITCH

Awful rug-pull by Caniff. I can't even look at him right now.

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The last four days of the month are always "Buy Nothing Day."

I work from home, so I have "buy nothing days" all the time.

 

[Harp]

Mrs Wickware should discharge counsel for more competent representation as her second divorce suit fails adequate summary underlying marital circumstance.

Terry admittedly threw me; although a golddiger looks likely. Raison d'etre res ipsa loquitur....

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Nope," vows Sally, as she takes her seat on the morning train. "I ain' gonna buy a single t'ing t'day." "Y'boughta train ticket!" points out Alice. "I gotta commuteh ticket, same as you," snorts Sally. "T'at don' count." "Y'awrways buy a papeh t' read awna train awna way home," argues Alice. "I'll pick out out'va gawrbage can," dismisses Sally. "Long's it ain't t' Joinal-American I don' caeh." "It'sem cinnamon buns t'day inna cafehteria at woik," dangles Alice. "I c'd stan' t' lose some weight," insists Sally. "B'sides, I tol' ya, it's retail t'at counts, not stuff t'eat inna cafehteria, 'ra rest'runt, awra hamboigeh stan'. B'sides, I ain' got no money awn me. We'eh livin' pretty tight right now." "Oh," sobers Alice. "Did Joe have any customehs yestehday?" "Damn rain," sighs Sally. "Few people jus' t'see what was goin' awn. He's got Rosa Capiello doin' rolleh skat'n stunts inna pawrkin' lot, try'na drawr a crowd." "I seen a goil doin'at oncet," recalls Alice. "Downa Coney. T'eh wazzzis gal wit' rolleh skates awn twoilin' a flamin' baton. He t'inka t'at?" "Rain'd put out t' fieh," dismisses Sally. "Times is tough," sighs Alice, as the train pulls out of Hudson Terminal...)

("I dunno," frowns Leonora, glaring hard at Angie Capiello. "Ain'choo kinda young t' be takin' caehra babies?" "How olda YOU?" retorts Angie. "I'm five," declares Leonora. "But I'm GIFTED." "Doon't troy t' argue with'arr," warns Ma, dispensing two little tin dishes of ice cream. "Ye woon't win." "Hmph," hmphs Angie, as the door skeens open. "I'm back," announces Bink Scanlan. "Whezza baby?" "Sleepin' in his cradle," assures Ma, "in th' back room. Aaaaftarrnoon resoolts ain't coom in yet, so it's quoiet." "I been shoppin'," declares Bink. "Downtown. At Namm's." "Ye didn't -- ah -- take noothin' aaahn aacooont'?" snorts Ma. "Didjeee?" "You know I'm livin' straight," snaps Bink. "I'm a good mot'eh. An' I'm gonna be even BETTEH. Look'eeh!" She drops a book on the counter, glistening in its dust jacket. "'Cooommon Sense Booka Baby An' Choild Caaaare,'" reads Ma. "'By Benjamin Spock.' Hmph. What koinda name is 'Spock?'" "He's a docteh," declares Bink. "He wenta YALE." "Hmph," hmphs Leonora. "Rudy Vallee wenta Yale," injects Bink, with a side-glance at Leonora. "Go tellAT t' ya mot'eh!" "We nivvar had noo sooch books when OI was raisin' me children," declares Ma. "It's s'posta be real smawrt," argues Bink. "T'cloick at Namm's said evry'body's read'n it." "Lemme see," demands Angie. "You can't read t'at," scowls Leonora. "I'm gonna be in 8-A," glares Angie, snatching the book and turning to the opening chapter. "Trust yaself," she reads. "You know moeh'rn ya t'ink ya do." "HA!" guffaws Ma. "Hmph," hmphs Bink. "Couldn' skip t' 8-B," mutters Leonora....)

(Anyone for croquet?)

(DON'T KNOCK THE ROCK)

(Strange? You clowns should talk.)

(The thing with doing radio under a fake name is that anyone can be "Aunt Prue.")

(And on into the sunset...)

(It's not nice to mess with swamp hermits.)

(Hence the expression, 'Lay Or Bust.')

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

No such thing as bad publicity.

"Golf?? Do you have any idea how much you can make hustling gin rummy?" -- Leo.

Never trust a lawyer in a windowpane suit.

"She's just a moll named Honey Doll, that's all." Crosby won't touch it, but it'll be a big hit for Vaughn Monroe.

"And of course, if you need to appoint a new police commissioner...."

I dunno, have you ever been to Bar Harbor?

That's one way to take care of the real estate pitchmen.

"Let me go find a good tree.."

We've all grown up a bit since then, but some more than others....

A real rich guy has a flunky to do this. CHECK HIS BANK ACCOUNT.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

There's a New World Coming, eventually....

 

[Fading Fast]

He's got Rosa Capiello doin' rolleh skat'n stunts inna pawrkin' lot, try'na drawr a crowd." "I seen a goil doin'at oncet," recalls Alice. "Downa Coney. T'eh wazzzis gal wit' rolleh skates awn twoilin' a flamin' baton. He t'inka t'at?"

Rosa's just nuts enough to go for it.

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No such thing as bad publicity.

Based on the life he leads, this one's not even worth cutting out for the scrapbook.

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"She's just a moll named Honey Doll, that's all." Crosby won't touch it, but it'll be a big hit for Vaughn Monroe.

If RKO options it, I could see Mitchum delivering the line better than any other noir actor.

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

There's a New World Coming, eventually....

As a, in general, supporter of the police – there are several in my family – I also believe this: along with "Bible salesmen" who pray on war widows, there should be a special place in hell for cops who abuse their power, period.