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The Era -- Day By Day


Where The Tourists Meet The Sea
And in the Daily News...


It's a little known fact that all victorious plaintiffs are required under Federal law to pose for a cheesecake photo after the verdict. Smile!


CLINK! clllrrrrrchnk! Thunk!


Mr. Gould is a sick, sick man.


"Children Learn What They Live..."


Go to city hall, they couldn't care less.


On the cutting room floor...


You never learn, Mr. Gray, do you?


"Your sister? That violent little thug?"


Always figured him more for the three-for-a-dime type.


Ahhh, Terry, you have such a short memory.
New York City
I'm worried about how long Ma can hold out without her, um, backroom business. Also, she must be bored out of her mind.

Jane Arden is drawn in such a way that she looks to me like a different woman full face versus in profile.


Where The Tourists Meet The Sea

("Well lookeh you, Private Joe Petrauskas, in ya unifawrm," grins Miss Kaplan, hoisting a cup of Bush Tavern coffee in salute. "Pity 'boutcha haieh t'ough." "Ya lookin' pretty shawrp, Joe," agrees Mozelewski. "T'at coat's a little tight inna shouldehs t'ough, y'otta lemme let it out fawr ya. Or ain'cha 'lowed t'do t'at till ya get p'moted?" "Do t'ese two awrways tease ya like t'is?" snickers Sally. "S'wondeh y'c'd put up witt'm." "Aw, t'eh awright," shrugs Joe. "I mean, why ya t'ink I keep me hat awn. Fois' time I see what t'ey done t'me, I t'ough somebody's swapped me head f'ra big tennis bawl a' sump'n. But it'll grow back." "It betteh," nods Sally. "S'wanyways," resumes Joe. "How's t'ings downa plant?" "Aw, y'dowanna know," frowns Mozelewski. "Afteh you lef', t'ey hiehed t'is new supehviseh, come in an' made a messa t'ings. Neveh stawps tawkin' 'bout how she's got t'is husban' Bud t'at's a lieutenan' inna Army, an' she's gawt t'ese two kids goes t' private school an' blah blah blah." Sally's face blanches. "She don' tawk 'bout goin' t'Erasmus, does she?" "Yeh," nods Miss Kaplan. "Like anybody caehs 'bout T'AT." "H'name ain' Mildred Kelly, by any chance," queries Sally, her frown deepening. "Yeh," acknowledges Mozelewski. "T'at's t'one. Bot'l blonde! Can't stand 'eh. An' on tawppa ev'ryt'ing else, she weahs'eh ovehrawls too tight inna..." "Lissen," interrupts Sally. "If she eveh comes aroun' an' tries t'give ya a lit'l white pill, DON' TAKE IT!" "Oh, she awready done'at," shrugs Miss Kaplan. "I put it in me coffee t'ot'eh night, I t'ought it was saccharin." "What a night," sighs Mozelewski. "Hey," adds Miss Kaplan. "Y'know who else I hoid went t'Erasmus? T'at columnis', t'at Dorot'y Kilgallen." Sally's head sinks against the back of the booth as Joe hides his chuckle behind his coffee cup.)

American Liberators, flying a 2000-mile round trip from the Solomons, temporarily knocked out the Japanese airfield at Satavan, 150 miles southeast of Truk in the Carolines, it was announced today. The big four-engined bombers from the command of Gen. Douglas MacArthur dropped 31 tons of explosives on the Satavan airdrome without opposition, as the Japanese failed to put up either an aerial defense or anti-aircraft fire.

On the anniversary of the Battle of the Warsaw Ghetto, now known as "Ghettograd" due to the bitter struggle and the large number of German casualties, the Jewish underground in Poland sent word today to London that the Jews are now fighting the Nazis thruout the nation with every available weapon. Although Hitler's Gestapo and special execution corps are still killing thousands and tens of thousands, everyone able to bear arms is now taking part in the resistace. The latest message to be smuggled out of the Warsaw Ghetto came by means of a thirteen-year-old refugee, and declared that "every threshhold in the ghetto has been so far and will remain our castle. We all may fall in this battle, but we will not surrender. This battle for freedom is your battle as well as ours." In Lodz, a Jewish general strike forced the Nazis to cancel a series of mass executions. At Treblinka, where German hangmen murdered hundreds of thousands of Jews, the Jews themselves captured and burned the city, killing the Ukranian Nazi guards, destroying all buildings and communications facilties, and releasing 2000 Jewish captives.


("Wo-men," reads Leonora, gazing intently at the page. "In B-o-n-da-gee..." "GIMME THAAT PAPARR!" erupts Ma, snatching away the sheet. "And don't YOU," she growls at Uncle Frank, "be goin' t'no movin' pitchars t'night!" "Ahhhh, Nora," reassures Uncle Frank, "ye need t'relax. A pitchar show would do ye good." "Ain't tharr any good whoolsome movies any moore," Ma laments. "Well, tharr's th' Song a' Barnadette," shrugs Uncle Frank. "Anoothar one," huffs Ma, "of ye garrrlie musicals!" "What's eat'n ye, Nora?" demands Uncle Frank. "Oh, it's joost narves," sighs Ma. "It useta be soo simple. Ye just go aboot ye business, ye keep ye head down, ye take caaar'a things, an' ev'rybody leaves ye alone. An' now ye got police commissionars an' mayors an' graaand juries -- how's a woman s'post'a make an aaaaanhest livin'?" "Ye got nothin' t' warry aboot,' reassures Uncle Frank. "Jimmy an' Danny aaar takin' care a' ye reg'lar clients up at th' shop, an' ye got noothin' t'warry aboot. Who evar harrrd of a bookie an' a noombars bank roonin' out of a plumbarrr's shop?" "Oi'm gett'n'a headache, Francis," sighs Ma. "Waatch th' children farr me, would ye, Oi think I'm goin' oop an' lie down." "You ain' havin' anoothar strooke, ahr ye?" frowns Uncle Frank. "Oi jus' waant t'lie down," reassures Ma, "an' rest me head." She slowly mounts the stairs, but pauses half way up. "AND DOON'T," she shouts down, "TAAAKE THOOSE CHILDREN TO NO MOVIES!")


("I had t'funnies' dream," puzzles Alice, sitting on her barrel as Krause pulls a large clinker out of the furnace grate. "I was dreamin' t'eh was t'is guy, t'is fat guy, kin'a looked like Sidney Greenstreet c'ept less han'some. An' he was tawkin' 'bout buildin' 'is giant bawlpawrk -- wit' a glass roof on it, yet -- an' 'e was gonna build upta Foeht Greene Place, t'eh. An' I op'n up t'papeh heeh, an' whattaya know -- t' 'ZACT ADDRESS he was tawkin' about innat dream is right heeh innis ad. A meat mawrket! An'nis guy wan'ned t'build t'is gian' bawlpawrk right t'eh. Ain'nat crazy t't'ings ya dream?" Krause flips the clinker into an ash can with a loud thunk, and shakes his head with a bemused "yeh.")

The Eagle Editorialist admonishes Brooklyn College president Dr. Harry Gideonse for his recent statement interpreted as an attempt to "muzzle" certain members of the college staff who spoke publicly about the recent controversies concerning the college Art Department. "Suppose," ponders the EE, "an instructor objected to the presence in the library of a magazine containing obscenities, and his superiors ridiculed him and would do nothing. Yet he felt it a bad situation. Should he be barred from calling the situation to public attention?"


("So when I say 'bedtime at ten,' it ain't negotiable!")


(Poor Hilda. All the way to Philly, and for what?)

Leo Durocher, fuming after yesterday's loss at Shibe Park, hotly denied rumors that he will next try out cowbell-ringer Hilda Chester at second base.


(Sorry, there's no cure for advanced busybodyism.)


(I can't believe he didn't go in there at least with a rubber band and a piece of glass.)


(If you squint a bit, he even kinda looks like Wilmer.)


(Best Served Cold.)


(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG is not into, um, this.)


Where The Tourists Meet The Sea
And in the Daily News...






Best "buddy comedy" ever.


Careful what you wish for, kid.


I repeat...


Time marches on...


Well, there's always that tunnel into the bank...


That's right Trish, better practice your poses.


It started out as champagne but it's real pain now...


Careful, kid. Pat can get away with that, but you ain't Pat.


Where The Tourists Meet The Sea

("T''eh ain' houehs 'nough inna day," sighs Sally, leaning back against the seat as the train rattles toward Jersey. "Awready T'oisday, an' Joe's leavin' f' Marylan' on Sunday. An' me woikin' ev'ry day, we gotta rush aroun' t'spen' any time t'getteh atawl." "I hoid ya comin' in late las' night," notes Alice. "Yeh," nods Sally. "We wen' out f'ra bite wit' t'em people Joe useta woik wit' at Sperry's an'nen we took in a movie, t'at one wit' William Powell an' Hedy Lamawrr at Loew's Met. 'T' Heavn'ly Bawdy' it was cawlt. Had t' do wit' astrawlagy, you know, t'ats weh ya tell ya futcheh f'rm t' stawrs." "I don' need none'a t'at," scoffs Alice. "I got dreams. I eveh tell ya 'bout t'at? I have t'ese dreams sometimes, an'nen'ney come true. I mean, did I eveh tell ya I dreamed about t'wawr befoeh it happn't? I seen'nis newsreel one time, about Hitleh'r'nawl, an' I dreamt t'eh was gonna be a wawr. An'nen it come. An'oteh time, I dreamed it was gonna snow out. An' it didn' f'ra while, but t'en one day -- it did. Jus' like in me dream. An' I dreamed I was gonna marry a skinny bawl-headed guy -- an' I did." "Ah," eyerolls Sally. "You got t'gift. Y'ra reguleh Dunningeh." "Yeh,' agrees Alice. "T'at dream about marryin'a skinny bawl-headed guy, t'at one was so real, I awmos' woke Siddy up t'tell 'im.")

American bombers from the Southwest Pacific raided Woleai, outlying Japanese post 1200 miles east of the Philippines on Tuesday, exactly three weeks after a strong U. S. Naval task force attacked the base in the western Carolines. A commuique announced today that the planes concentrated their bombs on the runway and supply areas at Woleai, midway between Palau and Truk.

Prominent senators predicted today that a bill to extend Lend-Lease will pass without substantial revision. The House of Representatives approved the bill late yesterday by the overwhelming margin of 334 to 21, but there were indications that the Senate will not receive it before mid-May due to other important pending legislation. The bill would extend the Lend-Lease program one year beyond the present expiration date of June 30th.


("I had a coupla rough teachehs when I was in school," sighs Joe. "But nut'n like t'at. My sisteh, t'ough, she useta cuff me aroun' a bit if I had it comin'." "Ye nevarr talk mooch about ye family, Joseph," notes Ma. "Nah," shrugs Joe. "What's t'say? Y'know, I oughta go oveh t'Joisey an' see me sisteh while I'm home. I ain' seen'eh in yeehs. She married t'at guy t'eh, t'at boilehmakeh, an'ney moved out t'eh, an'ney don' keep in touch much. Las' I hoid he was woikin' at one'a t'em shipyawrds in Bayonne, an' she had some kin'a job at one a'tem erl refineries. I t'ink we got a cawrd f'rm'em when Leonoreh was bawrn, but t'ey neveh been oveh t'see'r, an' we ain' had no chance t'get oveh t'eh. Sal don' get alawng too good wit'tem, t'ey awrgue 'bout ev'ry't'ing. Y'know, me sisteh didn't like it much t'at I married a Irish gal." "R'diculous," frowns Ma. "Imagine gett'n warrrked oop about soomthin' so foolish as that." "Awrmos' as bad," snickers Joe, "as gtt'n woiked up 'bout y'daughteh marryin' a bohunk." "What?" "Nut'n.")


(At the Bedford Avenue office of F. Leary & Sons Plumbing and Heating, Uncle Frank leans back in his creaky swivel chair, and calls into the workshop. "'Ere, Jimmy boy," he shouts, summoning one of his sons. "T'marra marrnin, take ye'self ovarr to th' praaaduce maarket, an' bring me -- oooh -- fifty poonds'a p'tatahs. Oi wanna doo some expaaaarimentin'.")

In less than two weeks, the first crop of spring will make its appearance on Brooklyn tables, and rhubarb eaters await that moment with great anticipation. More than a treat, more than a tonic, fresh rhubarb pie takes the menu out of the winter doldrums to provide a rosy-hued tangy treat. Shoppers should note that the first rhubarb to market is always the best, since the first cuttings of the spring plants are always the tenderest and most colorful. And don't worry about peeling the tangy stems -- the skin gives a becoming blush to the finished dish, and helps the juicy cubes keep their shape in the pie.


("But really, Herkimer, hanging a cardboard dicky off the front of your nightshirt doesn't make it formal.")


("A lifelike imitaton of Nick Altrock" is not a compliment. Mr. Altrock is an elderly coach for the Senators who is well known for his comedy ball-handling tricks done between innings. Sorry, Mr. Olmo, but Dodger clownery went out with Casey Stengel.)


("You'll find the whip and the blindfold in the hall closet.")


("But first --my camera! This will be an outstanding addition to my collection!")


("And in the meantime. please stop quoting dialog from 'Mary Noble, Backstage Wife.'")


("Scott? No, his name was Duncan. BUT NEVER TRUST A SCOTSMAN!")


("And whatever you do, don't turn on the current!")


Where The Tourists Meet The Sea
And in the Daily News...




Ah, Russian Winter Icing.


I'm sure he'll be glad to hear it.


Sandy refused to appear in today's strip, because he's in the middle of negotiating a new contract.


Best solution ever.

Hey, go with it.


"Just hold my hand so I don't punch Wilmer in the face."


Many movie careers started exactly like this.




"Oh yes, didn't I used to have a branch there? Something about a tunnel? Oh well, no matter. Continue. And pour me another drink."


One Too Many
St John's Wood, London UK
Including all of her hoochie-coo outfits, Burma has never looked cuter than in her flight suit.
Or out of it. Our lad had a delicious eyeful after amorous greeting no doubt. :cool:

Honourable mention Col Thomas Hitchcock US Air Corps. Heroic gallantry in both wars no less. R.I.P. sir.

and Ms Ginny Simms. Wolf whistles and she with Gloria Grahame comprise my image of beautiful Burma.
Speaking of Gloria, sweater girl extraordinaire, the flick to see is Moviestars Don't Die in Liverpool.


Where The Tourists Meet The Sea

("WELL LOOK WHO'S HEEH!" bellows Hilda Chester, spotting Joe, Leonora, and Willie two rows behind her in Section 37. "An' in UNIFAWRM yet! Whatcha say, Gen'rl?" "Aw, I ain'na gen'rl," flushes Joe. "Howya been, Hilda? Have a good winteh?" "Ahhh, lousy," frowns Hilda. "T'em Rangehs, y'know? Hey, I know ya little goil heeh, but who'sis fella?" "Me nephew, Willie," introduces Joe. "Lawng story t'eh. He's a good kid." "Whatcha know, Willie?" greets Hilda. "Mitt me!" Willie shifts his half eaten frankfurter to his left hand and obliges, and mutters a quiet "h'lo.'" "An' how's Leona?" inquires HIlda. "Leonoreh," corrects Joe, as his daughter eyes her inquisitor warily. "Awr you REAL?" Leonora queries. "Whassat now?" replies Hilda, taken aback. "I see you 'na movie pitcheh," continues Leonora. "G'amma says movie pitchehs ain' reel. Awr YOU real?" "Heh!" hehs Hilda. "Soit'ny I'm real! Hey, what kin'a question's'at f'rm a lit'l goil like you!" "I'm GIFTED!" proclaims Leonora, her arms folded. "Doc Minkoff says!" Hilda casts a puzzled glance at Joe, who merely shrugs. "Anot'eh lawng stawry." "Ah," ahs Hilda. "How's t'wife, how's Sal? She still woikin' innat fact'ry out'n Joisey? Y'know, I tried t'jerna WACs, but t'ey tol' me I'm too ol'. I sez to'm, you drawp me on Berlin, I'll show yez how ol' I am. Take t'at Hitleh an'nat No-balls Go-balls, 'nawlarest'vm, bang'eh heads t'get'eh!" At this last, Hilda clangs her bell for emphasis, causing Willie to drop his frank. Without missing a beat, he reaches under his seat, brushes off flecks of ash and dirt, and resumes consumption. "Hey," continues Hilda, "Sal still hangin' roun' wit' t'at big redheaded dame? I seen'm heeh coupla times las' summeh. T'at redhead neveh shut up. I neveh see such a loud mout' on a woman. HEY LEO! HOW'SYA T"UMB?" "Yeh," chuckles Joe. "I'm gifted," repeats Leonora. "Mmmgf," replies Willie, shoving the last of the hot dog into his mouth.)

Six Japanese planes were destroyed and fires ignited at the big enemy air base at Truk and four of its outlying protective posts, as American bombers made a dual raid on the Japanese-held Caroline Islands. Liberators from the 7th Army Air Force struck Truk on Tuesday night and Wednesday morning, encountering only anti-aircraft fire as they dropped 46 tons of bombs on Moen and Dublon Islands.

The leader of the Odessa Partisan Army charged today that Germans stole the blood of scores of Russian children -- and not in a figurative sense. Major Anatole Loeschenko told news correspondents that trainloads of dead, dying, and emaciated children were evacuated from Nikolaev after the German retreat, after being used by the Nazis as "a living blood factory," their blood methodially drained for use by wounded German soldiers, and declared that "every Odessan will tell you this. The Odessans saw the children arrive." Maj. Loeschenko stated that the Nazi occupation of Odessa resulted in the slaughter of 80,000 persons, 70,000 of them Jews. In November 1941, he noted, about 15,000 Jews were herded into buildings on the Strelbrishe barracks fields, used as an ammunition drump. The buildings were then "sprayed with kerosene and touched off."

Anticipating a winter of short coal supplies in 1944-45, the Solid Fuels Administration, after wrestling futilely with the coal distribution problem during the winter just past, is turning to the coal industry itself for help in creating a central clearing house for consumers unable to obtain coal, and for advice on how the distribution problem may be met by dealers. Representatives of forty major coal companies serving Brooklyn and Queens met yesterday at the St. George Hotel to select four delegates to a new city-wide committee assigned to work closely with the SFA in working out the coal problem. That committee convenes for the first time around June 1st.


("See here now, Nora," declares Uncle Frank, slapping the paper with the back of his hand, "it says right here. 'Woomen in Baaahndage is a thaaaghtfully presented fillum.' Look here, it's aboot a woman who's NEARSOIGHTED. You yarrself are nearsoighted. It could be YOU in this fillum. Ye owe it t'yeself t'see what th' bloody Nazis do." "Rubbish," scoffs Ma, buttering her bread with emphasis. "Stoof 'n naahnsense." "Aaaand then this oothar film," continues Uncle Frank. "Trocadera. Thaat's got Rosemary Lane in it, now. She's Priscilla Lane's sistarr. An' ye yarrself have said it, tharr is no one more wholesome than Priscilla Lane." "Sarrtainly not Rosemary Lane!" sniffs Ma. "Yaaar a harrd wooman, Nora," sighs Uncle Frank. "That," declares Ma, "I am!")


("You should see the GIFTED class. They're in there now arguing about this month's issue of VVV!")


(And yes, Clyde Klutz has HEARD ALL THE JOKES.)

Dodger second-string catcher and sometimes infielder Bobby Bragan won't be around much longer -- he has just received notice from his draft board in Birmingham, Alabama that there's a place waiting for him in the U. S. Navy. Old folks Ray Hayworth and Clyde Sukeforth thus remain as Mickey Owen's backup options.


("Why, there's two women in particular....")


("Forget it, Karen.")


("Now, are there any questions?" "You don't actually WEAR that bathrobe, do you?")


(WEASEL! And his haircut's dumb too.)


("Charley? Charley who?")


(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG says "This wasn't in the script!")


Where The Tourists Meet The Sea
And in the Daily News...


Miss Tennyson is not untalented, but her radio program is nothing special. I mean, she's no Mary Martin.


Family Values.


For a guy recently shot in the neck, Mr. Top certainly displays remarkable recuperative powers.


Annie never used to be THIS snarky. Her contract must be coming due.


Funny thing is, it only locks from the outside.


While doing my taxes, I found an uncashed check for $200, but it had "Expires 90 Days From Issue" on it, and the person who wrote it to me is now dead. So it COULD BE WORSE.


She's seen it all before.


"As you know, my son despises me, the ungrateful whelp. BUT HE ALWAYS CASHES THE CHECKS!"


Elmo used to do a pancake-snatching act on the Orpheum time.


Aw, no fair. I wanted to see Terry try to sneak out in HER clothes.


Where The Tourists Meet The Sea
Caniff did a Terry "spin off" strip for the Army's Camp Newspaper Service, starring Burma in person, in which a certain license could be taken. The News-Tribune syndicate withdrew permission for this, however, leading Caniff to do a new strip for Army papers called "Male Call," featuring a new character named "Miss Lace," who was nothing like Burma at all. This strip can be found only in Army papers, but there have been book collections for those inclined to search for them.


One Too Many
St John's Wood, London UK
Perhaps understandable. Yet I am frankly awed by the front page reporting-real journalism of exceptionally high calibre investigative thoroughness without pulled punches. And when romantically based stories show, quite often criminal homicide triangular, ever even more so. Comic strip editorial proctor therefore seems unduly tad dullard belated barn door slam. And our lad is such an outstanding character a few red blood corpuscles hardly seen incongruous what with all else.
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One Too Many
St John's Wood, London UK
Caniff did a Terry "spin off" strip for the Army's Camp Newspaper Service, starring Burma in person, in which a certain license could be taken. ... This strip can be found only in Army papers, but there have been book collections for those inclined to search for them.
Fast tipped me the Terrence books, which is next Christmas. This licentious strip with Burms interests.


Where The Tourists Meet The Sea

("Mmm," sighs Joe, gazing up at the bedroom ceiling. "T'at was some dinneh t' Ginsboigs give us, huh? Cawrn beef n' kugel. T'at Mame G is some cook." "Alice cooked t'at," chuckles Sally. "She tol' me she's been plannin' it awl week. Mame G taught 'eh t' recipe f' t' kugel, but she made it awl by 'ehself. 'Magine'at." "I oughta see," suggests Joe, "if she'll gimme t'recipe. T'ey gotta lotta cawrn beef inna Awrmy, but t'ey don' know nut'n'about kugel. I'll make sawrgeant f'soiten." "I can't b'lieve y'gotta leave t'marra," sighs Sally. "Seems like y'jus' got heeh." "I'll be back," reassures Joe. "Like I said, t'is Cooks an' Bakehs School is twelve weeks, an' I'll get ano'teh week's leave afteh t'at befoeh t'ey sen' me...wheheveh t'eh gonna sen' me." "Middl'a July," replies Sally. "I won'eh what'll be goin' awn witta wawr t'en. T'invasion's comin'. Maybe it'll be awl oveh t'en an'ney'll say 'sorry Joe, can't use yeh. G'wan home now, g'wan backta Bensonhoist, an' t'anks f'helpin' out.'""Yeh," is Joe's rueful reply. After a silence, he resumes. "It won' be so bad, Sal," he continues. "I mean, yeh, t'ey'll sen' me ovehseas, an' I'll prob'ly be woikin' in fiel' kitchens 'nawlat, but...it won' be so bad." "Yeh," is Sally's quiet reply. "It won' be so bad." "Lissen," adds Joe. "T'marra, when I go t'catch t'train out, I dowanna have no big do about it like ev'rybody done las' time. Ev'rybody down'eh cryin' an' actin' like t'ey was neveh gonna see me again. Le's jus go, you, me, an' Leonoreh, an' jus', y'know, leave it at t'at. Jus' lemme go like any ot'eh guy, 'k?" "Yeh," exhales Sally. "Jus' like any ot'eh guy.")

Further reports on the first giant air blow against the Japanese base at Rabaul came today from a Brooklyn airman, and another from Glen Cove, Long Island, both of whom were navigators aboard B-24 Liberators when the raids began last October. Lieutanant Murray Pearl of 328 E. 5th Street and Lt. Harry N. Johnson of 15 Leonard Street have both earned the Distinguised Flying Cross for their performance in those raids. Pearl reported that his plane participated in sinking a 10,000 ton freighter, but "the bombs were dropping so fast it was impossible to tell which plane accounted for the ship." Lt. Pearl called the sinking "a grand show." Lt. Johnson adds that his plane also participated in that raid and bagged two Zeros.




("And not only that, they brought back the money they took last year!")


("Did I smile enough?" wonders Gov. Dewey, gazing into a hand mirror as he carefully smooths his moustache. "I always worry I don't smile enough." "You smiled fine, sir," replies his secretary. "Do you think they could tell I'm a Giant fan?" wonders the Governor, sliding the mirror into his desk drawer. "I tried not to smile TOO much. I had to smile SOME, because, you know, Brooklyn has a lot of votes, but I can't smile TOO much because, after all it's Brooklyn." "I wouldn't worry sir," sighs the secretary. "After all, it's Brooklyn." "It was so much easier," sighs the Governor, "when I was chasing Lepke.")

Yesterday's opening day crowd at Ebbets Field, amounting to just over 12,000 when you count the 482 uniformed servicemen admitted free, was one of the smallest in years. Observers suggested the chilly football-like weather was a major factor in keeping the fans home by their radios instead of in their seats at the ballpark.

A familiar voice rang out over the crowd yesterday, with Jack "Tex" Rickards returning to his old post as Ebbets Field public address announcer after an absence of eight years. Tex was here long before the microphone installed by Larry MacPhail, and you may remember him marching around the field with his big megaphone calling out the starting lineups.

The Flock was braced against the chilly weather yesterday in brand-new windbreakers, which are actually more along the lines of blue silk overcoats, with white piping across the shoulders and darker blue collars. The new outerwear made the Dodgers look like fighters about to enter the ring.


("Joe E. Brown, Nora!" declares Uncle Frank. "Ye aahlways loiked Joe E. Brown, he's sooch a foony man with 'is big mooth'n aaahl, an' aaaahlways sooch clean comedy, joost parrfect farr th' children..." "Whaaat's it caaahled," demans Ma, hacking with a dull knife at a stubborn potato. "Um," ums Uncle Frank. "Caaasanoova of Burrl...." "NO!" roars Ma, impaling the potato to the countertop to underline her point. "Well, aaahl roit, Nora," concedes Uncle Frank. "Nooo need t'get baaathered. Here's anoothar one. 'Oop In Mabel's Room..."

Across Midwood Street, three customers at Dewes Delicatessen look up from their sandwiches and wonder about the muffled scream emanating from the window above the candy store.)


(This is a very offensive portrayal of writers. No writer I know would ever tear up a $25 check.)


(Ahhhhhh, Classic Jo is really back. BRING ON OAKDALE!)


(Ew, no.)


(That's what you get for having thick ankles.)



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