The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

Snooks crossed with Little Iodine. Obnoxious little girls were very much a trend in the mid-1940s.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("T'is is a swell room, Mrs. G," declares Alice, surveying the surroundings with satisfaction. "Four boys lived in this room," nods Mrs. Ginsberg. "It ought to be plenty big for one young lady. Just put your things in the bureau there, and supper we'll be having soon. And enough with Mrs. G. Call me "Mame." "Mamm?? Like 'yes ma'am?'" "No, no, like this -- mahmm," explains Mrs. Ginsberg. "It means, as you would say, 'Ma.'" "Mahhm," repeats Alice. "Hey, t'at's pretty good. Y'know, I neveh had no ma of me own -- I got left at t'owrph'n asylum when I was jus' a baby. Awrways wondehed what it'd be like t'have a ma. T'em sistehs run t'place din' seem t'know too much about it." Mrs. Ginsberg gives Alice a sympathetic pat on the arm. "Go on and put away your things, now." "I ain' got much," shrugs Alice. "I hadda much smalleh room'n'is when I was livin' upstate." "Upstate?" inquires Mrs. Ginsberg. "Um, yeh," mumbles Alice. "F'me healt', y'see." "Ah," nods Mrs. Ginsberg. "You're a little pale," she observes, as they walk into the parlor. "We're having prokes tonight. As you would say -- stuffed cabbage. It'll fix you right up, you'll see. You'd never know Mr. Ginsberg is almost 80 years old, all the prokes he eats. Hello, Zippy! Who's a good bird! Hello Zippy!" The little green head bobs curiously, but the bird remains silent. "Ah, poor Zippy. What he's been thru. Hello Zippy." The bird twitches again and flaps his wings. "H'lo Zippy," he squawks. "Ah! That's a good boy!" declares Mrs. Ginsberg. "But - 'h'lo Zippy?' Now he has an eksent???" "Musta picked it up f'm Joe," shrugs Alice. "He's a swell guy, but he ain' so hot wit' his diction." "What?" squawks Zippy. "Nut'n" replies Alice.)

Wellington bombers, maintaining a steady offensive to break up Italy's supply lines, pounded heavily at the barracks and railways station at Cagliari Wednesday night without loss, it was announced today. Returning fliers stated that two one-ton blockbusters exploded near the railway station and several fires were started in the Caligari targets. A communique reported that during daylight yesterday, American-flown Spitfires destroyed three Focke-Wulf 190s and a Messerschmitt 109 during patrol operations. Safe return of all these planes was considered further evidence of Allied air control over the Mediterranean.

Thousands of American troops swept across the beaches of Rendova Harbor this week, swiftly knocking aside the slight Japanese opposition that annoyed the opening phase a new Allied offensive in the Solomon Islands. A delayed dispatch dated June 30th indicated that American troops were already well-entrenched on the springboard to the Japanese base at Munda, on nearby New Georgia Island.

The Fourth of July rush of traffic that is expected to set a new record for weekend travel is expected to continue merrily today as outgoing and incoming pleasure seekers jammed the city's railroad terminals. Apparently unconcerned over the possibility of being stranded, untold thousands turned a deaf ear to the Office of Defense Transportation's pleas to avoid unnecessary travel as they left the city for near and distant resorts. Because of the ODT's 20 percent reduction in bus traffic, the railroads are bearing the brunt of the holiday transportation burden. At Grand Central Terminal, where 200 to 300 people were waiting in line to board trains yesterday, the peak of traffic is expected today. The peak at Pennsylvania Station is expected tomorrow and Sunday.

(There are no atheists in foxholes or on Death Row.)

Seven radio transcription companies today sought the intervention of the War Labor Board in their dispute with the American Federation of Musicians, after AFM president James C. Petrillo declared that union musicians "are not going to make transcriptions at any cost or at any price." The fiery union president denied that he is at war with the transcription firms, declaring that "the guy really getting rich -- it isn't the transcription company -- is the radio station that's using the transcriptions and he's the guy we can't reach. We've got to go to the source. We've got to stop the transcriptions." Labor Department efforts to end the dispute, which stems from the union's argument that transcriptions take radio jobs away from musicians, failed at a conference in Washington yesterday. The AFM has refused to make either commercial phonograph records or radio transcriptions since August 1, 1942, but Petrillo yesterday offered to allow his members to make records to be used in army camp juke boxes -- but only if the juke boxes are made available to soldiers for free.

Meanwhile, late night dance band remote broadcasts have been cut off from the 212 affiliates of the Mutual Broadcasting System after Federal mediators failed to resolve a hiring dispute between the AFM and station WSAY in Rochester. Union president Petrillo warned that unless WSAY was cut off the network by Mutual by 6pm last night, he would withdraw his musicians from all dance band pickups aired by the network. Mutual refused to comply, and as a result, no dance remotes were broadcast by the chain last night.

(Poor Charles Laughton. And I will say for the record that Mr. Robeson's performance of "Ballad For Americans" is nothing short of spectacular, whenever and wherever he does it.)

Women have been appointed to managerial positions in 11 of the 18 Loew's theatre's in Brooklyn. Most of them have "grown up" into their jobs, rising from usherettes to assistant cashiers to cashiers, and finally, when all the men were drafted, to assistant managers. Executives in charge of theatre operations for the chains say that the women are making a real success and are quite as capable in their duties as the men they have replaced. Anna Sweet, recently appointed assistant manager at Loew's Palace in Brownsville, had once aspired to become a nurse, but now declares that after getting a taste of theatre management, she can't imagine ever doing any other sort of work.

("Can't I just leave my teeth here and pick them up tomorrow?")

(The Dodgers lead in the win column, the Cardinals lead in the loss column. It's gonna be that kind of year.)

The Giants will conduct a morning baseball school for local semi-pros, high school, and sandlot players at the Polo Grounds during the week of July 12th. The camp, to be conducted by Frank Rickey, brother of Brooklyn's Branch, is open to all interested players, but they must bring their own bats, gloves, shoes, and uniforms.

("Hyper thyroid?" Well, that explains the eyes.)

("Nice physique, but he really needs a shave.")

(Will it work? Who knows. But I can tell you this -- there are going to be a lot of jacked-up crows.)

(THAT"S RIGHT AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO -- OUCH!!!!! WATCH THE CLAWS!!!!)

(My grandfather had a lodge hat and a lodge sword, but they weren't as impressive as this.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Pshaw!" pshaws the Baron. "Just because there is snow on the roof, dear boy, doesn't mean there's no fire in the furnace. Now if you'll excuse me it's time for my blood transfusion."

Endorsed by Butch! And if you mess up, he's on his way over to confiscate your light bulbs!

Odds that they run into: the DL 5-1, Burma 10-1, Hu Shee 50-1.

"I know, I'll turn him in to Petrillo!"

"Zo -- ven do ve eat?"

And a brain of oatmeal.

Yeah, light up a smoke, ya 3-A C-card holder you.

You'll survive, kid, but you'll never throw another curve ball.

And the kid's a little too excited about it too.

You'll pay for this, fathead.

 

[Trenchfriend]

@LizzieMaine

"The Class of '46 arrives at West Point"

1.070 plebes, raw material from the farms...

How much disrespect the chief redacteur wanted to show?

 

[Fading Fast]

("T'is is a swell room, Mrs. G," declares Alice, surveying the surroundings with satisfaction. "Four boys lived in this room," nods Mrs. Ginsberg. "It ought to be plenty big for one young lady. Just put your things in the bureau there, and supper we'll be having soon. And enough with Mrs. G. Call me "Mame." "Mamm?? Like 'yes ma'am?'" "No, no, like this -- mahmm," explains Mrs. Ginsberg. "It means, as you would say, 'Ma.'" "Mahhm," repeats Alice. "Hey, t'at's pretty good. Y'know, I neveh had no ma of me own -- I got left at t'owrph'n asylum when I was jus' a baby. Awrways wondehed what it'd be like t'have a ma. T'em sistehs run t'place din' seem t'know too much about it." Mrs. Ginsberg gives Alice a sympathetic pat on the arm. "Go on and put away your things, now." "I ain' got much," shrugs Alice. "I hadda much smalleh room'n'is when I was livin' upstate." "Upstate?" inquires Mrs. Ginsberg. "Um, yeh," mumbles Alice. "F'me healt', y'see." "Ah," nods Mrs. Ginsberg. "You're a little pale," she observes, as they walk into the parlor. "We're having prokes tonight. As you would say -- stuffed cabbage. It'll fix you right up, you'll see. You'd never know Mr. Ginsberg is almost 80 years old, all the prokes he eats. Hello, Zippy! Who's a good bird! Hello Zippy!" The little green head bobs curiously, but the bird remains silent. "Ah, poor Zippy. What he's been thru. Hello Zippy." The bird twitches again and flaps his wings. "H'lo Zippy," he squawks. "Ah! That's a good boy!" declares Mrs. Ginsberg. "But - 'h'lo Zippy?' Now he has an eksent???" "Musta picked it up f'm Joe," shrugs Alice. "He's a swell guy, but he ain' so hot wit' his diction." "What?" squawks Zippy. "Nut'n" replies Alice.)
...

He talked! They'll never know, sniff.

...

Seven radio transcription companies today sought the intervention of the War Labor Board in their dispute with the American Federation of Musicians, after AFM president James C. Petrillo declared that union musicians "are not going to make transcriptions at any cost or at any price." The fiery union president denied that he is at war with the transcription firms, declaring that "the guy really getting rich -- it isn't the transcription company -- is the radio station that's using the transcriptions and he's the guy we can't reach. We've got to go to the source. We've got to stop the transcriptions." Labor Department efforts to end the dispute, which stems from the union's argument that transcriptions take radio jobs away from musicians, failed at a conference in Washington yesterday. The AFM has refused to make either commercial phonograph records or radio transcriptions since August 1, 1942, but Petrillo yesterday offered to allow his members to make records to be used in army camp juke boxes -- but only if the juke boxes are made available to soldiers for free.
...

The first two good-paying jobs I had after college - jobs that were considered careers at the time - were, within ten years, completely eliminated by technology. It's jarring to watch your skills be replaced by algorithms and advanced communications as, like Hemingway and bankruptcy, it happens gradually and, then, suddenly.

...
(Poor Charles Laughton. And I will say for the record that Mr. Robeson's performance of "Ballad For Americans" is nothing short of spectacular, whenever and wherever he does it.)
...

Laughton's performance in "This Land is Mine" is, also, spectacular - moving, poignant and uplifting at the same time. His performance and this movie should be better known. (My comments on it here: #27,906 )

I think Joe, of the three (there's no getting past that Alice is part of the family now), would appreciate it as he is the most sensitive.

...

Women have been appointed to managerial positions in 11 of the 18 Loew's theatre's in Brooklyn. Most of them have "grown up" into their jobs, rising from usherettes to assistant cashiers to cashiers, and finally, when all the men were drafted, to assistant managers. Executives in charge of theatre operations for the chains say that the women are making a real success and are quite as capable in their duties as the men they have replaced. Anna Sweet, recently appointed assistant manager at Loew's Palace in Brownsville, had once aspired to become a nurse, but now declares that after getting a taste of theatre management, she can't imagine ever doing any other sort of work.
...

Imagine that, Lizzie, a woman managing a movie theater.

...
(The Dodgers lead in the win column, the Cardinals lead in the loss column. It's gonna be that kind of year.)
...

Was the mindset just not there in '43, as it seems Fitz would be a natural at this stage of his career for relief work?

...

("Nice physique, but he really needs a shave.")
...

...

(Will it work? Who knows. But I can tell you this -- there are going to be a lot of jacked-up crows.)
...

Especially if these are the same beans that Scarlet's been drinking.

...

(THAT"S RIGHT AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO -- OUCH!!!!! WATCH THE CLAWS!!!!)
...

Nice.

And in the Daily News...

"Pshaw!" pshaws the Baron. "Just because there is snow on the roof, dear boy, doesn't mean there's no fire in the furnace. Now if you'll excuse me it's time for my blood transfusion."
...

What 87-year-old wouldn't be happy to pay that $2000.

...

"Zo -- ven do ve eat?"
...

I think those WWII diesel subs can stay submerged for, maybe, two days, but not weeks.

We should ask our "Das Boot" expert @Trenchfriend to opine on this.

...

You'll survive, kid, but you'll never throw another curve ball.
...

But don't sweat it, son, you were never going to play for the Dodgers, but you'll still be able to play catch with your and Nina's kid.

 

[LizzieMaine]

There are a few relief specialists around -- the Senators used to have Firpo Marberry, who, like Fitz, was a substantial knuckleballer, and the Yankees had Johnny "Fireman" Murphy, but in general relief is still the province of pitchers who don't have what it takes to start. Fitz would probably excel in one or two-inning stints, but I doubt his pride would see it that way.

Ever notice that the Dodgers do best when Durocher is "managing" the least -- as soon as he starts fiddling and diddling with his lineup and his pitching staff it doesn't work. I submit that over the past three years Dressen was the real strategic brain of the dugout, and now that he's back hopefully we'll see some improvement. So far -- and it's impossible to believe we're nearly half thru the season -- it has been a decidedly uninspired campaign.

The theatre I've managed for the past eighteen years, was, from 1940 to 1981, managed by an indomitable woman named Ida Dondis. She once drove her car thru a garage door because she couldn't find the electric door opener, so you can see how I'd find her an inspiring role model.

 

[Trenchfriend]

I think those WWII diesel subs can stay submerged for, maybe, two days, but not weeks.

We should ask our "Das Boot" expert @Trenchfriend to opine on this.

VII A/B/C 150 to 170 km submerged.

 

[Fading Fast]

VII A/B/C 150 to 170 km submerged.

Thank you, but your answer is beyond my technical knowledge, so allow me to ask the question this way: how long in hours or days could a regular WWII diesel submarine stay submerged?

 

[Trenchfriend]

Thank you, but your answer is beyond my technical knowledge, so allow me to ask the question this way: how long in hours or days could a regular WWII diesel submarine stay submerged?

VII C theoretical 72 hours.

 

[Fading Fast]

VII C theoretical 72 hours.

Thank you.

 

[LizzieMaine]

(“Aw, it’s swell, Sal, it really is,” gushes Alice as the train bounces into the Hudson Tube. “A real bed afteh awliss time. Y’know I ain’ slep’ in a real bed since 1935. Well, not f’moe’n one night at a time, anyway. Gawdsawnes’ troot. Y’know what I slep’ in at t’at roomin’ house I was at ‘foeh I come t’yoeh place? Cushions f’m a couch layin’ onna floeh. T’ey said t’eh was s’posta be a Moiphy bed inna room, but I get inneh an’ I op’na dooeh, out fawls two cushions. I guess Moiphy took t’bed wit’im when he lef’.” “As long as ya happy,” eyerolls Sally. “Anna FOOD!” exults Alice. “T’at Maahm, boy, c’n she cook!” “Maahm?” queries Sally. “Yeh, Mrs. G. She says I oughta cawl’eh ‘Maahm,’ an’ says I oughta cawl Misteh G. ‘Tateh,’ but he din’ go f’tat, so I jus’ cawl him Misteh G. Anyways, Maahm cooked t’ese cabbage t’ings, like rolled up cabbage leafs wit’ hamboigeh an’ stuff in’em, an’ was’sey GOOD! I had secon’s an’ t’oids, an’ I was goin’ in f’foehts’ by t’time Misteh G. got aroun’ t’goin’ f’ secon’s, ‘cep’ t’eh wan’none lef’.” “Ahhhh,” chuckles Sally. “Yeh,” nods Alice, “t’at’s when Tateh sez t’me I should cawl’im Misteh G.”)

Borough President John Cashmore today declared July “Records For Our Fighting Men Month” in Brookly, kicking off the local phase of a nationwide drive to collect 200,000,000 phonograph records for servicemen. Brooklyn’s quota for the campaign has been set at 4,500,000 by the War Relief Board. Worn and defective records will be sold to the leading record manufacturers as scrap, to be reprocessed for the manufacture of new records, while newly purchased and lightly-used records will be sent directly to men now in the service, both at home and on the far-flung battlefronts. Records may be brought to the nearest American Legion post, police station, or fire house for collection. Mr. Cashmore stated that over a hundred records have already been delievered to his office, and he observed that if old records are still playable they won’t necessaraily go to the scrap barrel “You’d be surprised how frequently soldiers ask for old numbers. We had one request last week for ‘Good Bye Bluebell,’ which surely dates to the Civil War if not before.

Prospects of an increased meat supply in the immediate future were low today with an increase in point values going into effect tomorrow and the New York OPA office again rejecting a plan by independent packers to sell meat to retailers on a consignment basis. Although the Agriculture Department yesterday predicted increased production of meat for the last half of this year, veal and lamb supplies continued at an all time low here, and the OPA in Washington in spredicting an even greater scarcity of beef this month. Only pork continues to be abundant. Ration point increases were set for at least one point a pound on all beef except variety meats. Most of the better veal cuts were increased by one point, as were legs of lamb and mutton. Pork fat backs, plates, and jowls will drop a point, while all other meat will remain at previous levels.

(Guess who’s sleeping on the fire escape tonight.)

(And if there’s one thing we know here at the Chamber of Commerce, it’s how to spread fertilizer!)

("Huh," huhs Joe, scanning the paper spread before him on the counter. "Hig is t'rowin a knuckleball now. Afteh what he done t'Alice Dooley, he's nut'n but a knucklehead I know Alice ain' no prize package, but only a real louse acks like he done." "Mr. -- ah -- Fitzsimmons, " begins Ma Sweeney, "throws a, what did you call it, Joseph -- a knuckleball?" "Yeh," says Joe. "An'nees got t'is twoily rouna-bend kin'a wineup he does alawng wit'it. Twists awla roun, shows t'batteh t'at big numbeh 14, an'nen spins aroun' an' lets it go. Makes t'is loud noise like a moose when he does it, too -- y'c'n heeh it up inna stan's! Hig don' do none'a t'at, t'big fakeh." "I haven't been to a baseball game, oh, in more than twenty years," reflects Ma. "Francis took me to see the Waarlds Series, ooh, must've been 1920. Thaat oother fat fellow, Mr. Robinson, was the maanager then," "Good ol' Uncle Robby," chuckles Joe. "One time I tried t'sneak inta Ebbets Feel t'eh, t'ey lef' t' centeh fiel' gate op'n, an' I got in, anna pawrk special seen me an' was haulin' me out, an' Uncle Robby seen it an' says 'ahh, leave t' kid alone. He might be a payin' customeh some day.' Howcnya not love a guy like t'at." "Mr. Fitzsimmons, fraam what I ooonderstand," continues Ma, 'is to pitch tomaarow, is he naat?" "Yeh," nods Joe. "Against'a Cawrdnals. Doubleheadeh. We was awl plannin' t'go, if we c'n get tickets. Prob'y gonna be a sellout." "I c'n promise," declares Ma, "thaat ye'll have noo trooble with tickets." "Really?" grins Joe. "T'at's swell! When c'n we..." "IF," continues Ma, "ye have me coom with ye." "Ahhhhhhh," nods Joe. "You wanna see t'game because...." "Mister Fitzsimmons is pitchin'," nods Ma. "You know he's married, Ma?" "Thaaars noo law," smiles Ma, "against brooowsin'.")

(And with that, Mary handed her Doc Brady’s booklet on iodine therapy. NEXT STORYLINE.)

(Not every gorilla can pull off wearing a cape, but this gorilla can!)

(That’s what Kay said.)

(“AMERICA’S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG IS NOT SCARED. I AM FOLLOWING CIVILIAN DEFENSE RULES ABOUT TAKING SHELTER. That’s not gonna happen again, is it?”)

(Moxo? Who names a kid Moxo??)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News…

MUSICIANS.

Hey Maggie, they’re looking to replace Gypsy in “Star and Garter,” and I bet an accordion act would be just the thing.

Sigh. There’s something terribly nostalgic about seeing the three of them off on an adventure like this. Only if it was five years ago, they’d be rescuing Terry from his dancing instructor.

"And can I help it that they laughed at your ascot?"

What’s going on here – and why does Mr. Slice look like a Dr. Seuss character??

PORK CHOPS TONIGHT!

SANDY! WHERE’VE YOU BEEN!

The last time I was under general anesthesia, they said I was “talking a mile a minute” when I came to, but nobody would tell me what I said.

Just like Richard Whitney.

Remember those little plastic monkeys from Woolworths where you press the bottom and the neck pops up?

 

[Fading Fast]

...

(Guess who’s sleeping on the fire escape tonight.)
...

"Who does the cheating on gasoline with the family car? The little woman."

Challenge.

...
("Huh," huhs Joe, scanning the paper spread before him on the counter. "Hig is t'rowin a knuckleball now. Afteh what he done t'Alice Dooley, he's nut'n but a knucklehead I know Alice ain' no prize package, but only a real louse acks like he done." "Mr. -- ah -- Fitzsimmons, " begins Ma Sweeney, "throws a, what did you call it, Joseph -- a knuckleball?" "Yeh," says Joe. "An'nees got t'is twoily rouna-bend kin'a wineup he does alawng wit'it. Twists awla roun, shows t'batteh t'at big numbeh 14, an'nen spins aroun' an' lets it go. Makes t'is loud noise like a moose when he does it, too -- y'c'n heeh it up inna stan's! Hig don' do none'a t'at, t'big fakeh." "I haven't been to a baseball game, oh, in more than twenty years," reflects Ma. "Francis took me to see the Waarlds Series, ooh, must've been 1920. Thaat oother fat fellow, Mr. Robinson, was the maanager then," "Good ol' Uncle Robby," chuckles Joe. "One time I tried t'sneak inta Ebbets Feel t'eh, t'ey lef' t' centeh fiel' gate op'n, an' I got in, anna pawrk special seen me an' was haulin' me out, an' Uncle Robby seen it an' says 'ahh, leave t' kid alone. He might be a payin' customeh some day.' Howcnya not love a guy like t'at." "Mr. Fitzsimmons, fraam what I ooonderstand," continues Ma, 'is to pitch tomaarow, is he naat?" "Yeh," nods Joe. "Against'a Cawrdnals. Doubleheadeh. We was awl plannin' t'go, if we c'n get tickets. Prob'y gonna be a sellout." "I c'n promise," declares Ma, "thaat ye'll have noo trooble with tickets." "Really?" grins Joe. "T'at's swell! When c'n we..." "IF," continues Ma, "ye have me coom with ye." "Ahhhhhhh," nods Joe. "You wanna see t'game because...." "Mister Fitzsimmons is pitchin'," nods Ma. "You know he's married, Ma?" "Thaaars noo law," smiles Ma, "against brooowsin'.")
...

I believe I've mentioned this before, but when Joe Namath was "the man" with the NY Jets in the late'60s/'70s, my in-her-seventies grandmother had a big crush on him. She wouldn't admit it (and you didn't tease that woman), but she had one, so much so, I'd go over there and she'd have the Jets game on - and she never watched football otherwise.

...

(“AMERICA’S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG IS NOT SCARED. I AM FOLLOWING CIVILIAN DEFENSE RULES ABOUT TAKING SHELTER. That’s not gonna happen again, is it?”)
...

We've had dogs who get really scared when they hear firecrackers, fireworks, etc., so July 4th was just a terror for them - it's heartbreaking. Other dogs we've had couldn't care less and some seem to enjoy it barking along and having a good time.

And in the Daily News…

MUSICIANS.
....

I feel I'd just be repeating myself from the "Invisible Scarlet" strip, but I really wanted to post Hendrix's "Purple Haze" video here for Krupa.

...

What’s going on here – and why does Mr. Slice look like a Dr. Seuss character??
...

I know that Bim is a very rich man, but he's carrying about $31,000 in 2023 terms in his pocket. Why is he carrying that much money around?

...

SANDY! WHERE’VE YOU BEEN!
...

"Did something happen? Last I remember, the three of us were up on the roof and I was thinking that since my sleep specialist said I should take regular naps to help with my anxiety, now would be a good time. So I went off in the corner for a snooze. What have you guys been up to? Did I miss anything? Does anyone have a paper, I want to catch up on what that dope Bo's been doing?"

Does the Eagle publish on July 4th?

 

[LizzieMaine]

There will be an Eagle tomorrow, but none on July 5th. I suspect most of the Sunday paper is done in advance, so it makes sense to have it this week, but everybody will be hung over on the 5th anyway.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

It was onlting opposite Barbara Stanwyck in the classic "Ball of Fire."

Man how did I miss this Barbara Stanwyck snippet. She had ''it'' in spades. A woman who possessed charisma,
talent, ''it'' and even more. Perhaps it's me but when Barbara Stanwyck, Ava Gardner, Loretta Young, Heddy Lamarr,
Ingrid Bergman are compared with today's crowd, well they were women in the fullest sense. The today crowd look
like girls and immature brats.

 

[Fading Fast]

Man how did I miss this Barbara Stanwyck snippet. She had ''it'' in spades. A woman who possessed charisma,
talent, ''it'' and even more. Perhaps it's me but when Barbara Stanwyck, Ava Gardner, Loretta Young, Heddy Lamarr,
Ingrid Bergman are compared with today's crowd, well they were women in the fullest sense. The today crowd look
like girls and immature brats.

I think you'll enjoy this one too:

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

What 87-year-old wouldn't be happy to pay that $2000.

Man how did I miss this Barbara Stanwyck snippet. She had ''it'' in spades. A woman who possessed charisma,
talent, ''it'' and even more. Perhaps it's me but when Barbara Stanwyck, Ava Gardner, Loretta Young, Heddy Lamarr,
Ingrid Bergman are compared with today's crowd, well they were women in the fullest sense. The today crowd look
like girls and immature brats.

His lordship never consumated relations although the tort of trespass upon the human heart occurred
without doubt and his fine to the cuckold Mr Newman reflects this intrusion. Charlotte Bronte sums it quite-
''The heart has hidden treasures, in secret kept, in silence sealed.''

The West Point story is admirable. I've known several Academy men from when I was in the Paras, all toppers.
Sandhurst is a two year course and West Point is four so I assume WWII trimmer a bit there.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

I think you'll enjoy this one too:

This is cinema long gone and never equaled in modern film where sexuality speaks or whirls like Salome
dancing her seven veils yet chastened, which only dials the flame higher. I'm hardly a prude and lust has its
place and all but all too often such is scripted requirement rather than truly relevant. Miss Stanwyck had lost
nothing of her allure when she starred in Big Valley. And Thorn Birds allowed her complete rein to demonstrate
her full self as the octogenarian pursuer of Richard Chamberlin's curate protagonist. The final scene with Chamberlin
before her suicide and seductive confession I've never seen even approximatley approached.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Bums! Bums!" chortles Leonora, seated high atop her father's shoulders, as the Petrauskas entourage steps out of the midday sun and into the refreshing cool of the Marble Rotunda. "I still can't b'lieve we'h gonna be sitt'n down by t'dugout," marvels Sally. "Awlla time we been comin' heeh, we neveh sit down b'low wit' awla big shots. How'ja get t'ese tickets again, Ma?" "Ahhhh, daughter," breezes Ma. "It's easy if a vaaaary imparrtant man owes ye -uh -- a favorrr. Yes, a faavorr." "Some faveh," chuckles Joe, tipping Ma the wink, which is returned by a quick flash of scowl. "Wow!" exhales Alice. "Y'evveh see a crowd like t'is?" "Yeh," nods Sally. "At t'woil' series. We was heeh t'day Casey t'rew t'at lemon pitch an' Owen dropta bawl. Buncha Joe's pals upta pickle woiks took uppa c'llection to get us tickets 'cause t'ey felt sawry f'rus missin'at big game wit' t' Giants when I went inta labeh!" Alice's eyes grow huge. "You wen' inta labeh -- innis jernt?" she gapes "Yup," nods Sally. "An' 'ney took me down inna fois' aid room unneh t'stan's, an'nat's down right nexta t' clubhouse, right? An' y'know who come walkin' by while I'm layin'neh onna table wait'n f'ra amb'lance? PETEY!" "YA KIDDIN!" erupts Alice, giving Sally an astonished shove. "Honestagawd, I kidja nawt," Sally insists. "I look up an' right out by t'doeh is a guy wit' a shoit on wit' numbeh 3. He was fixin' 'is pants a' sump'n', not six feet away. "Didja say h'lo?" babbles Alice. "Tell me ya said h'lo!" "You eveh b'en in labeh befoeh," eyerolls Sally. "Well, no," acknowledges Alice, "but one time I past a kidney stone. Ain'nat kin'a t'same t'ing?" "HIDDA!" yells Leonora, waving her arms and pointing. "HIDDA!" "Hey, lookit," observes Joe. "T'eh's Hilda Chesteh. Whyn'cha take Leonoreh an' say h'lo while I figgeh out which gate we go in." Sally takes her daughter down from her lofty perch, and, with Alice in tow, steps over to where an imposing grey-haired woman in a bold print dress is holding court. "HIDDA!" yelps Leonora. "HING BEWW!" "Oh hey, h'low t'eh, honey," grins Hilda. "Su'eh I'll ring t'bell!" She raises an antique school bell above her head and shakes it fiercely, the sharp ring pealing out against the high ceiling as Leonora giggles with delight." "Howya doin' kid," chuckles Hilda. "Ain' seenya up 'n section t''oity sev'n much t'is yeeh." "Aw, I'm woikin' out'n Joisey," explains Sally. "Well, you ain' missin' much," declares Hilda. "Who's ya pal?" "Oh," replies Sally. "T'is is Alice Dooley, she woiks wit' me at t'plant, an' she lives downstaiehs f'm..." "HIYA TOOTS! MITT ME!" bellows Alice, grabbing Hilda's beefy palm and giving it a mighty pump. "I SEEN YA INNA PAT"E NEWSREEL ONE TIME, JEEZ, T'AT'S A SWELL RACKET YA GOT GOIN', HOW'JA SWING IT! HEY, YA KNOW I USETA GO WITH KOIBY HIGSBY TIL I FOUN' OUT HE WAS A RAT BUT T'AT'S HOW IT GOES YA KNOW! HEY! IT'S BEEN SWELL TAWKIN' TO YA BUT I GOTTA GO FIN' T' LITTLE GOIL'S ROOM YA KNOW? LATEH GATEH!!" With that, Alice releases her grip, and shoves her way thru the crowd toward her destination. Hilda blinks. "Loud," she exhales. "Ain' she?"

Axis radio, like a boy whistling in the dark, blared a nervous but derisive running commentary today on their own so-far unfulfilled prophecies that massed Allied forces would invade Europe on the eve of the American Independence Day. Axis broadcasts alternately claimed that such Allied attacks would be annihilated, or that the British and the Americans are "too busy having tea" to invade Europe. But thruout these sarcastic or worried broadcasts ran a definite pattern of nervousness over being on the short end of an unprecedented war of nerves that might at any time shift to a war of action. Allied propaganda experts, analyzing the Axis reports, suggested a primary purpose might be to create periods of alternating tension and frustration, especially among the French. The Nazis have recently been circulating many rumors concerning impending invasion dates, many of which have been believed by French patriots, only to have disappointment set in when those invasions failed to materialize.

Reports reaching the Swedish press indicate that Reichsmarshal Hermann Goering is recovering from a serious illness, purportedly heart disease, a nervous breakdown, or some combination of the two. It is believed that Goering has made no public appearances since March 21, and has notably not been present at recent meetings of the Reich Defense Council. At the same time, another report received in Zurich claimed that Adolf Hitler is recovering at his Berchtesgaden retreat from a nervous breakdown.

In London, the gossip columnist of the newspaper "News Of The World" asserted today that Italian Premier Benito Mussolini has twice been the target of recent assassination attempts. The columnist claimed that assassins armed with high-powered sniper rifles have fired upon the embattled dictator and on one of those occasions, barely missed him. Both incidents were claimed to have occured during semi-public appearances, causing Mussolini to withdraw into seclusion in order to avoid further attempts on his life.

("Women fail to put the requisite heft into the swing." I can see you never met my aunt.)

(Keep 'em flying, boys. Especially you, Herbie. The movies can wait.)

Reader Frank J. Anderson writes in to propose that America's racial problems can only be overcome when we "abandon the broken-down hack of 'white supremacy' and give equal opportunity to all racial minorities. How else can we convince the Chinese and our colored Allies that we mean what we say in our pledge support the principles enunciated in the Atlantic Charter?" He further blames Congress for much of the problem, especially "die hard" Southern congressmen who filibuster such legislation as the anti-poll tax law -- congressmen whom, he notes, were conspicuously absent when President Barclay of Liberia recently addressed Congress.

("GOOOOOO GETT'M, MR. FITZSIMMONS!" bellows Ma, as Sally and Joe exchange looks, Leonora stares intently at the field, and Alice eradicates her third frankfurter. "Settle down, Ma," admonishes Sally. "T'game ain' ev'n stawrted yet. Ev'ybody's lookin' atcha. "Be still, daughter," rebuffs Ma. "I've known you to whoop and haaalar when' ye've a mind to." "Hey!." interrupts Sally. "Joe! Look oveh t'eh, t'ree boxes oveh -- ain'nat KILGALLEN! Wha's SHE doin' heeh?"
"Nah," dismisses Joe. "T'at ain' Kilgallen, jus' some ut'eh fancy dame wit' white gloves on. Heh. White gloves at a bawlgame. Takes awl kin's, I guess." "No, I t'ink it is. T'at gal ain' got no chin, an' if Kilgallen eveh had a chin it got los' f'm bein stuck up inna aieh so much. NO! Don' look! Don' make it like we noticed 'eh. I wanneh t'see US, an' if she comes oveh'n says anyt'ing, make like y'don' know who she is!" "I dunno how y'c'n eat hawt dawgs wit' white gloves on," muses Alice thru a moutthful of Stahl-Meyer's finest. "YOOO HOO!" yoo hoos Ma, to the horror of all assembled, ""MA! Don' say 'yoo hoo!' growls Sally, pulling her mother's dress. "People gonna t'ink ya makin' funna t'awrmy!" Joe coughs up a mouthful of beer at this remark, but Ma is unfazed. "MISTAAAAR FITZSIMMONS!" she shouts. "OVAAAAAR HEEEEEEERE!" And though summoned by an uncanny force Fitz, a bemused grin creasing his broad features, steps over toward the box. "Mr. Fitzsimmons!" beams Ma. "You remember me, of course," "Well now!" rumbles Fitz. "Mrs. Sweeney, is it? How's your game?" "Ahhhhh, I bowled a 160 last night. Me skills is devellopin' an' so is me faaaarm. Of caaarse, I could do with more of ye pointers." "Well, keep at it, ma'am," declares Fitz, his fist pounding his glove before he nonchalantly reaches up to grab a toss sent his way by his colleague Mr. Camilli. "Well, enjoy the game," he says, ambling back toward the mound. "Y'actin' like ya in 8-B," growls Sally. "Carryin' on like t'at about a bawlplayeh." "It ain' like he's Petey," slips in Joe from behind his raised beer cup. "What?" "*** burp***")

Remember Conrad Nagel? He was the screen's man-of-all-work in the dawning days of the talkies fifteen years ago, when he starred in such "part squawkie" features as "Tenderloin " and "Glorious Betsy" alongside Dolores Costello. Mr. Nagel made more than 30 pictures between 1928 and 1930, until it became clear that audiences had had their fill. Mr. Nagel has made no pictures since 1933, and has devoted himself instead to radio and the stage -- and it is the stage that has welcomed him back to New York, where he has joined the cast of Thornton Wilder's "The Skin of Our Teeth" at the Fulton Theatre. Mr. Nagel has replaced Frederic March in the role of Mr. Anatrobia, who claims to have invented the wheel and the alphabet.

Old Timer John P. Pfalzgraf is on hand to recall the noisy Fourths of July down in the old Tenth Ward. Giant fire crackers, cannons, pistols and old Army muskets wielded by Civil War veterans rang out from the crack of dawn until long after sunset. "There was no such thing as a 'Safe and Sane Fourth' in those days of fifty years ago!"

(I bet the Lone Ranger would've pulled him out.)

(I'd love to see a picture of MacArthur throwing off his mask and spinning around to chase after a ball scooting away from him with a little white arrow pointing to it.)

(Well, at least they didn't try to launch a rocket off their heads.)

(I hear this is how Polly Adler started. And that carpet trick works even better if you leave in the tacks.)

(Doncha hate getting one of those form letters from your doctor? And "WOO HOO FREE COFFEE!!!")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And of course...

(America's Biggest Small Town wishes you a happy Fourth.)