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The Era -- Day By Day

LizzieMaine

Bartender
Messages
33,262
Location
Where The Tourists Meet The Sea
Brooklyn_Eagle_Sat__Jun_10__1944_.jpg

("Oh, no no no," mutters Uncle Frank, scanning the front page. "This maaan Dewey woon't do at aaahl. D'ye know whoot he is, Nora? He's a pooblicity hoond. Aaaaahlways with his naaame in th' papaar. Remember when that poor sucker Roosen got hit by Lepke's bunch? Oi blame Dewey farrr that as mooch as anyone, recruitin' an haaanest man t'be his stoolie, joost so he c'n show th' waaarld he's a crooosadar. No, indeed, Oi wouldn't waaant him farr me president. He'd praaaahbly troi t'hire Moolotov t'be his stoolie farrr Staaaalin!" "Mmm?" mmms Ma, immersed in her own thoughts. "Oh, indeed, Francis, indeed." "Ye ain't payin' a word of attention," concludes Uncle Frank sympathetically. "So what IS on ye moind?" "Oi don't know hoo she's goin' t'do it," sighs Ma. "It's been haaard enoof waarkin' in that fact'ry with ONE choild, she surely caaaan't do it with two. Of coorse she'll have to quit, an' ye remember what it was loike when she quit waaark th' laaast time with Leonora." "Joseph told me," chuckles Uncle Frank, "that it got so they had a staaaandin' ordarr for radios at Davega." "Some woomen," sighs Ma, "take roit to mootherin'. An' f'r oothars, it's a stroogle. Now, Oi'm noaaht sayin' Sally's a POOR moothar, boot it ain't like it was when Oi was raisin' harr. Oi was HOOM alla toime." "That you was," acknowledges Uncle Frank. "Cooont'in ye nickles roit at home." "An' Oi kept a cloooose cloooose oye ahhn Sally. That garrrl didn't make a move Oi didn't knoow abooot." "Oh, now," chuckles Uncle Frank, "Oi wouldn't say that. What abooot that toime she snuck into th' City that noit when she was sixteen? Went t' see that croonar there, at that noitclub. 'Villa Vallee.' Told th' man at th' door she was twenty-woon!' "That was WOON TOIME." "That's naaht what Mickey tol' me," counters Uncle Frank. "He said she'd do that ahhl th' toime. Ahhhhhl thim noits she said she was stayin' oot late doin' homewaaark with Mildred McCullough? She nevarr done no homewaaark with Mildred McCullough, she was gooin' into th' city t' lissten t' Rudy Vallee!" Ma glares accusingly at Uncle Frank. "Annnnnd OI suppose," she scowls, "ye knew aaahl aboot it an' ENCOURAGED 'arr." "Oi did NOT," snaps Uncle Frank. "Oi would nevaaaar encourage ANYONE t' go intaaar th' city t'lissen t' Rudy Vallee!" "Well," exhales Ma. "Ahhhl roit then." "Sarrrrtainly naaaht!" repeats Uncle Frank. "Gene Aaaaaaaustin's mooch th' bettar crooner!"

Brooklyn has already beaten its quota in the Greater New York Fund Campaign, according to figures released today by city-wide chairman J. Stewart Baker. Brooklyn's current contributions of $521,840.48 have exceeded the $500,000 borough quota by 4 per cent, with Brooklyn the only one of the five boroughs to have already passed its goal. Local organizers expect the final total for Brooklyn in the city-wide drive to exceed $600,000 by the time the campaign concludes late today.

A group of fifteen prominent Negro leaders have petitioned President Roosevelt to declare himself in favor of an expanded budget for the Fair Employment Practices Committee. A telegram to the White House signed by high officials of the YMCA, the Urban League and other organizations declares that the FEPC is "essential to the war effort" as "the symbol around which 14,000,000 Negroes have rallied to make their contribution to the war.

Conflict erupted today when the City Council passed a resolution calling on Mayor LaGuardia and Fire Commissioner Patrick J. Walsh to return six "exiled" firemen to their previous stations, charging that the transfers of the six to stations "far from their homes" was an act of political retaliation against the men for making public comments critical of the LaGuardia administration. Brooklyn Democratic Councilman Joseph T. Sharkey successfully moved to amend the original resolution submitted by Councilman Michael J. Quill to specifically mention the Mayor's name. During the hour's discussion preceding the vote on the Quill resolution, the administration's actions were condemned as "fascist" and "a shocking example of government tyranny," before the resolution passed on a 14-2 vote. The two dissenting votes came from the Mayor's strongest supporters on the Council, Brooklyn Fusionist Genevieve Earle and Bronx American Laborist Gertrude Weil Klein.

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(If they still fit.)

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(HA HA HA HA HA TED WILLIAMS OUTRANKS JOE DIMAGGIO! Oh, and kinda don't trade Olmo, OK? It's nice to have at least one outfielder on the club who doesn't squeak when he runs.)

Boston catcher Clyde Klutz will be sidelined today after crashing into the concrete corner of the Braves dugout yesterday while chasing a foul pop off the bat of Mickey Owen. In the collision, Klutz reaggravated a previous elbow injury.

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(Invasion films on screen at your nearby newsreel theatre four days after the invasion is a very impressive accomplishment.)

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(Note that Mr. B. Rickey is one of the endorsers of this program. No doubt he has scouts leaning against the cyclone fence taking notes at every playground in the city.)

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(Gonna let Buff edit that first?)

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(A croppie: Archaic British slang for a convict, derived from the close-cut "prison crop" haircut issued to residents of HM's penitentiaries.)

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(This won't end well.)

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(You've got to respect a man who wears pajamas with a pocket square.)

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(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG is no arriviste.)
 

LizzieMaine

Bartender
Messages
33,262
Location
Where The Tourists Meet The Sea
And in the Daily News...

Daily_News_Sat__Jun_10__1944_.jpg

It can't be this easy.

Daily_News_Sat__Jun_10__1944_(1).jpg

Confessing to the obvious.

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A letter from --- Pat Ryan? April Kane? Connie and Stoop? His draft board?

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"Flight Officer Terry Lee USA, 56 FPO, Secunderabad."

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Poor Gootch. Always the best man, never the groom.

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I bet that's not the only thing he lost in the Army.

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C'mon, Tilda, everybody knows these Greek-dialect comedians are dawgs.

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"A towel isn't the answer my friend!" Oh, I wish Punjab was here.

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Alfred Hitchcock reads today's strip and says "hmmmmmmmmm....."

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If Willie ever shows up in a dignified blue serge, I think I'll fall over dead.
 
Messages
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Location
New York City
The full text before war-time paper rationing required editing: "Boston catcher Clyde Klutz will be sidelined today after crashing into the concrete corner of the Braves dugout yesterday while chasing a foul pop off the bat of Mickey Owen. Owen failed to hold onto his bat at the completion of his swing, but thankfully, the bat landed halfway between home plate and first base without hurting anyone. "
 

FOXTROT LAMONT

One Too Many
Messages
1,723
Location
St John's Wood, London UK
Shooting exacta and trifecta box percentage billiards at Yonkers and Assinibioa,
and a quick thought occurred that Fate has caught Burma cold. The panel Elizabeth
remarked with Burms holding a pistol at some joker. This discard might be the mystery
marksman/woman. Worth a bet guys.o_O
 

LizzieMaine

Bartender
Messages
33,262
Location
Where The Tourists Meet The Sea
The_Brooklyn_Daily_Eagle_1944_06_11_Page_1.jpg

("So," ponders Dr. Levine, tapping her notebook with her pencil as she forms her next thought. "When you found out you were going to have a child, how did that make you feel?" "Oh," exhales Sally, reclining nervously on the couch, "It was swell, yeh. Real excited." She pauses, and there is an uncomfortable silence broken only by the tapping of the psychiatrist's pencil. "Well, an'..." hesitates Sally. "Kinda noivous, an' -- kin'a scaieht." She takes a deep breath. "See," she contnues, "Me'n Joe, see, we kin'a got married onna -- well, t'spurra t'momen'. It was jus' one'a t'ese t'ings weh we said 'ya wanna? Why not?' An' we done it. But, see, Joe was still onna WPA t'en, an' I was woikin' at Woolwoit's, an' we wasn' makin' no real money, an' once we, you know, settl'd downa bit, we tawked t'ings oveh an' said we betteh not have no kids till, you know, t'ings got betteh. I useta read t'em boit' control papehs, y'know, an' I 'splained awlat t'Joe, an'nee was game. Joe's game f'anyt'ing, y'know, he jus' kin'a grins an' goes alawng wit' whateveh, yknow? An'nen, you know, Solly Pincus gott'im in at t'pickle woiks up in Williamsboig t'eh, an' t'ings gotta little betteh, but --y'know, we was livin' innis rat trap in Bensonhoist, right. Not wheh we awr now, t'is was a real hole. But -- see, Ma didn't like Joe, she didn't t'ink I oughta married a -- well, she said, I hadn'otta married a bohunk, an' we hadda big fight about t'at an' I toldeh t'at I was married t' Joe an' I was gonna stay married t' Joe, an' she didn' like it she could take a flyin' leap, y'know? I was twenny-foeh yeehs ol', and ain' nobody gonna tell me who I c'n marry, right?" "Ah," nods Dr. Levine. "Ma was awrways tellin' me what t'do an' who t'do it wit'," growls Sally, her emotions rising. "Like she knows awlabout life, y'know? She grows up onna fawrm in Irelan' an' she t'inks she's gonna tell me, growin' up in Eas' Flatbush, what it's awla 'bout. She didn' want me goin' t' Erasmus. She tol' me not to go out wit' boys an' not t'bring no boys awr anybody else home wit' me. When I stawrted goin' wit' Joe she tol' me she didn' wannim hangin' roun'a stoeh. An' I'd ask'eh why, an' she'd stawrt yellin'. An' y'know, I neveh t'ought t'at was a' way t'raise a kid, an' I awrways said I'd neveh raise no kid a' mine like t'at." "Do you think," interrupts Dr. Levine, "that this might have affected your own -- concerns about having children?" "Well, no," hesitates Sally, taking another breath. "Maybe. I dunno. But anyways, when I foun' out I was gonna have a baby it wasn't sump'n we planned, y'know? We was bot' kin'a scaieht -- I mean, we wasn' inna wawr yet, but y'could see t'at was comin' an' we didn' know what t'at was gonna mean. An'nen I was six mont's gawn an' I hadda quit woik, an'nat really -- got t'me, y'know? Sitt'n 'rouna house awl day wit' nut'n but t'radio an'na cat f'comp'ny. T'cat was OK, but I got really sicka t'at radio, y'know?" "Ah," ahs Dr. Levine, scrawling furiously. "An'nen Leonoreh was bawrn, an' I was awl, 'well, OK, now what?' An'nen she's t'ree mont's ol, t'very DAY she toin's t'ree mont's ol', it's Poil Hawrbeh. Nobody knows what's gonna happ'n. Joe quits t' pickle woiks an'goes t'woik at Sperry's but I gotta stay home awl day an' take caehra t'baby, an'nen Joe fawls inna subway an' hits 'is head, an' I'm t'inkin 'what if he dies? Awr what if he gets drafted an' gets shawt like Solly PIncus done.' So I feel like I gotta do SUMP'N, so I sign up f't'is jawb wit't' phone comp'ny. Toins out'tbe awlaway out'n Joisey, but I don' caeh, jus' so lawng's I'm DOIN' sump'n. I leave t' baby wit' Ma durin'a day, but now, come t'fin' out Leonoreh's some kinda -- prodigy, some kin'a genius kid, an' -- Joe's inna awrmy, an' I jus' don' know WHAT t'do. I wasn' no supeh genius a'nut'n, but -- I mean, I do'wan' Leonoreh t' en' up goin' t'ru t'same t'ings wit' Ma t'at I did, but she got t'rown outa t' noissery at Weste'n Electric f'actin' up, an'neh ain' nowheh's else I c'n PUT 'eh, an' now she comes home ev'ry night tawkin' about monstehs." "Monsters?" queries Dr. Levine, her pencil pausing in mid-jot. "Yeh," nods Sally. "She cawls it 'slommasheen.' What t'hell'sat awla bout?" "Slommasheen?" exhales Dr. Levine. "And you say your mother runs a candy store." "Yeh," sighs Sally. "I mean, whattaya make'a t'at? Monstehs in a canny stoeh. I ask ya....")

Multiple indications of an insurrection by Frenchmen outside the tiny Allied beachhead of liberated France were highlighted last night by reliable reports of full-scale revolt of the local population by two French Departments near the Swiss frontier. According to reports reaching Free French circles in London, much of the population of the Departments of Ain and Saone et Loire joined the "French Fighting Forces of the Interior" -- the new name adopted by fighting French patriots -- to openly oppose the Germans. Fighting was also reported in the towns of Bourg and Macon.

The State Department today bluntly denounced the government of Finland and its individual leaders as pro-German, in response to reports that Finnish authorities have banned the newspaper Svenska Pressen, a journal published in Finland in the Swedish language, due to its coverage of the Allied invasion of France being "too pro-Allied." A State Department spokesman noted that the report, if true, would be "one further indication, if any were needed, of the pro-German sympathies of the Finnish government." Although Britain and the Soviet Union have both declared war on Finland, the United States continues to maintain an official policy of neutrality toward the country, although it has joined with its allies in pressuring the Finnish government to drop out of the war.

The_Brooklyn_Daily_Eagle_1944_06_11_Page_12.jpg

(Optimism in action.)

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(The Dodgers have a tradition of "Fathers of the Year," as witness our dear Fitz taking home that honor a few years back. It's no doubt bittersweet for Mr. Walker, given that, as you may recall, he lost a four-month-old daughter to pneumonia during the 1940 season.)

The_Brooklyn_Daily_Eagle_1944_06_11_Page_34.jpg

(I don't know anything about horses, so this is very educational, I think.)

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(Those Whigs were a harsh bunch.)

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(Heels on the beach? That takes skill.)

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(The ballpark drawing is very clearly Chicago's Wrigley Field as it appeared in the mid-1930s. So we know that Mr. Stamm is a Cubs fan. Might explain a lot.)

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(What really upsets Fat Hermann is that now he'll never save enough boxtops for his Tom Mix Whistle Ring.)

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(Somebody at the Schlesinger studio has absolutely no use for the notoriously racist and poisonously anti-Semitic Congressman John Rankin.)

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("PS -- You and I both know that 'Kingsley' is a really dopey name.")
 

LizzieMaine

Bartender
Messages
33,262
Location
Where The Tourists Meet The Sea
And in the Daily News...

Daily_News_1944_06_11_4.jpg

"I don't remembeh much really about my ma," sighs Alice, dabbing at her eyes, as Krause places a comforting hand on her shoulder, "but I do remembeh when she lef' me onna Fulton Street L. I awrways figyehed she'd come back, but she neveh did. I awrways t'ought she mus' be out t'eh lookin' fawr me, an' it wasn' till t'ey toeh down t' Fulton Street L t'at I hadda admit she wasn' comin' back..." "Yeh," acknowledges Krause. "Her lawss," he adds. "Yeh," whispers Alice.

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"You did WHAT at the Paramount Theatre?" interrupts Dr. Levine. "I didn't say," mutters Sally, "t'at I was PROUD of it..."

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"Huh, isn't this funny. Look here, it says Z-E-I-S-S. What's that mean?"

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Well, of course it's just a head, they were running out of room down there. And I never used a bicycle like this, but I did once pull a tooth with a string and a doorknob, and it worked exceedingly well. It's all in the technique!

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A sash worn with a white dinner jacket with red lapels? When did Plushie get a job at the Roxy? And Chester is all "this is nothing, did I ever tell you about the ancient underground tribe that worshipped me as a god? That was fun!"

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Pop knows he can get away with "Pantywaist" because he has a mortgage on Shadow's stomach.

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Ever notice that Cindy and Joy are completely identical except for their hairstyles? I bet Jack has.

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Enlisted men love a good practical joke. Meanwhile, this is clearly not Hu Shee -- or is it? Disguise is only one of her many accomplishments.
 
Messages
16,979
Location
New York City
Tell the truth, Lizzie, did you breathe out once while writing the (mainly) Sally monologue? :)

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

The Triple Dead Heat is an insanely exciting finish.

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

Heels on the beach? That takes skill.

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

Alice is mature enough now to appreciate Krause and will make him a good wife, but she found a gem in that short, bald, laconic, cigar-smoking man. He's a prince.

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

"You did WHAT at the Paramount Theatre?" interrupts Dr. Levine. "I didn't say," mutters Sally, "t'at I was PROUD of it..."

LOL

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

"Look, Baby, I'm too tired and hungry to argue...my name is Burma...I stumbled on this place purely by accident. If you have been able to hide out from the Japs since they took this country - then congratulations! If you will feed me and allow me to sleep awhile, I'll move on and forget I saw you."

"Burma, hmm, cleaned up, I bet you are an attractive woman."

"Sure, we can throw that into the bargain, too, but first the food and sleep."
 

FOXTROT LAMONT

One Too Many
Messages
1,723
Location
St John's Wood, London UK
*******************************************************************

The Triple Dead Heat is an insanely exciting finish.

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

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

"Look, Baby, I'm too tired and hungry to argue...my name is Burma...I stumbled on this place purely by accident. If you have been able to hide out from the Japs since they took this country - then congratulations! If you will feed me and allow me to sleep awhile, I'll move on and forget I saw you."

"Burma, hmm, cleaned up, I bet you are an attractive woman."

"Sure, we can throw that into the bargain, too, but first the food and sleep."
A Derby fiver slam after a wet Oaks run the day before across a sealed track is equine heroin to a horse player fool such as meself.:eek: Meanwhile, this Burms bargain spake Fast is
thought to ponder beyond paddock. And our lad there but for the asking.:confused:
 

LizzieMaine

Bartender
Messages
33,262
Location
Where The Tourists Meet The Sea
The_Brooklyn_Daily_Eagle_1944_06_12_1.jpg

("Letteh fr'm Joe?" queries Alice, as they take a seat in the Jersey-bound train. "Yeh," Sally nods, tearing open the envelope she extracted from the mailbox this morning on the way out the door. "Says heeh, 'Deeh Sal." An'nen'nez awlis poissonal stuff." "Yeh," snickers Alice. "Betteh not read t'at stuff out loud, y'get arrested." Sally shoots her a look, and continues. "An'nen he says 't'anks f't' boit'day present. T'be hones' I f'gawt awl about it bein' my boitday b'cause'a t' Invasion goin' awn. We was awl lissenin' t't' radio while we was woikin', an' I didn' remembeh till t'nex day. But I open't it an' I t'ought it was swell. Some'a t'ot'eh guys looked it oveh an' said y'shoulda senna salami instead, but t'ese guys ain' fr'm Brooklyn an'ney would not unnehstan'. An'nen he says 'It is very diff'rn't down heeh fr'm like it is at home. People don' move like we do, an'ney don' tawk like we do, an' sometimes it is hawrd t'unnehstan'nm. An'nen some'a t'em say t'ey cannot unnehstan' me, an' I oughta slow down in my tawkin'. T'at is easieh said t'en done.'" Alice chuckles at this. "Good ol' fas'-tawkin' Joe," she muses. "Jus' like Siddy." "An'en he says," resumes Sally. "Me'n a couple'a t'boys wen' inta Wawshin'ton las' weekend an' seen t'sights. We seen t'White House anna Capitol anna Wawshin'ton Monumen', an'awlem t'ings. We was gonna go see a bawl game, but t' Senatehs was outa town. We wawked aroun'a bawl pawrk t'ough, it's right neehra big bread fact'ry an'na smell kina reminded me a' t'neighbehhood aroun' ya Ma's place whenna Bond Bread fact'ry is bakin'. You would t'ink I would be sicka t'smella bread by now, but no matteh how much of it I smell it awlways makes me t'inka home." "I awrways get hungry when I go by ya Ma's place," nods Alice. "Guess 'at's why." "An'nen he says," resumes Sally, "it is hawrd t'b'lieve I got jus' anot'eh mont' heeh befoeh I graduate fr'm t'is school. You awrways said I oughta get me a diploma, an' I guess a c'tificate is close enough. T'ey say I will awlso get pr'moted t' Technician Fift' Grade when I am done heeh. T"at is t'same t'ing as a corp'r'l, 'cept I can't tell nobody what t' do. Guess t'at's about right f'me, ha ha. Afteh t'at, I will get two weeks leave an'nen I go t' Camp Kilmeh an'nen t'wheh'eveh t'ey sen' me. Most of us heeh will prob'ly get sen' ovehseas t'woik in fiel' kitchens 'nawlat.'" Sally pauses at this statement. "Oh," exhales Alice, understandig the implication. "'Speakin'a which,'" resumes Sally, "'if you heeh any'ting fr'm Solly befoeh I do, please sen' it to me right away. I wisht I coulda seen him when he was home, but t'at's t'Awrmy fawr ya.' An'nen t'ez s'moeh poissonal stuff an' -- uh ...." She trails off, her face flushing. "Ah," grins Alice. "Shattup," mutters Sally.)

A fleet of possibly 1750 American heavy bombers and fighters struck the chain of German fighter bases behind the French invasion coast today while more than 3000 other Allied warplanes swarmed over the Norman battlefields under rapidly clearing skies that promised embattled ground forces their greatest aerial cover since D-Day. American aerial forces also pounded German communication lines and many airdromes in France.

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(Well, at least it wasn't teenage girls this time.)

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("Regards," writes Uncle Frank in a tight scrawl, "from F. Leary & Sons Plumbing and Heating, 1392 Bedford Avenue. 24 Hour Service. BUckminster 4-8201. Special Orders a Specialty" He pauses momentarily and then adds, "We Deliver.")

The Eagle Editorialist reminds readers that B-Day as in Bonds Day is just as important as D-Day -- an should generate just the same chill down your spine as you think about the contribution you yourself can make to winning this war. "Open up your heart as well as your pocketbook," he directs. "Put Brooklyn over the top!"

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("Don't worry, though, Private Mailer is one of our best men!")

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(Look. why don't we just grab a bunch of these guys off the Bushwicks and let THEM play a while?)

The possibility of securing a pitcher from the Braves collapsed last night as the Dodgers wrapped up their series against Boston without a deal. The Braves instead announced they had purchased outfielder Ab Wright for cash from the Minneapolis Millers, putting an end to the possibly that Mr. Rickey could send one of his surplus outfielders to Boston for one of the Braves' better pitchers.

The Dodgers will spend their day off Thursday out at Camp Kilmer in New Jersey, where they will play an exhibition game against the camp team. The Dodger office has declared the game off-limits to the press.

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(Brazen creature? You ain't seen nothin' yet.)

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("I'll admit Mrs. Dardanella is nice.." Oh. George.)

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(You don't spend much time around race tracks, do you Jane?)

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("No! Don't shoot me! I've only got two payments left on this suit!")

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(Luxury comes with a price, if not to your pocket than to your soul...)
 

LizzieMaine

Bartender
Messages
33,262
Location
Where The Tourists Meet The Sea
And in the Daily News...

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"You're as old as you feel."

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C'mon now, Mary Martin?? Why isn't Gypsy involved in this?

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Really? Ever hear the expression "heads will roll?"

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"Look, can the small talk and show me the bathtub."

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Least self-aware man in the comics.

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Just a minute now, did you clear this with Petrillo?

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You'll love Occupied Germany.

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"As long as Phyllis Wallet isn't involved. She frightens me."

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Reddy Kilowatt needs his sleep.

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"Wait, did they come with a case? Look around for the case!"
 

LizzieMaine

Bartender
Messages
33,262
Location
Where The Tourists Meet The Sea
The_Brooklyn_Daily_Eagle_1944_06_13_1.jpg

("Y'see??" insists Sally, thrusting Joe's latest letter across the counter at her mother. Leonora looks up from counting her nickels, finds the conversation of no interest, and returns to her work. "Lookit!" continues Sally, her face flushing. "It says RIGHT T'EH! When'ee gets done wit' Cooks an' Bakehs School, t'eh gonna send 'im OVEHSEAS! OVEHSEAS, MA! WHEH T'SHOOT'N IS! T'AT WASN' SPOSTA HAPPEN!" "Settle DOWN, daughtarrr," admonishes Ma, adjusting her glasses to consider the letter. "Roit," she continues. "See tharrrr. He says 'MOOST oov oos.' He doosn't say AAAHL oov oos. An' b'soides, even if he DOES get sent ovarr, he woon't be aahn th' froont loines. Isn't that roight Francis?" "Saaartainly noot," replies Uncle Frank, sipping his two-cents-plain from behind a copy of the Eagle's sports final. "Tharr now, y'see?" declares Ma. "Ye gaaaht t'staaahp worryin, Sally, it ain't dooin' ye health noo good, especial naaaht in ye condition." "An'nat's ano'teh t'ing," sputters Sally. "Wha'ssat s'posta mean, anyway, my 'condition.' Y'keep sayin' stuff t'at don't make NO SENSE, an' meanwhile t'eh gett'n ready t'send Joe oveh t'weah t'wawr is! He ain' got no business oveh t'eh! He don't know nut'n 'bout no wawr! Ain'at right, Unca Frank, din'choo try t' teach him 'bout gun shootin', an' all 'e done was shoot a seagull? Din'choo SAY t'at?" Uncle Frank exhales and puts down the paper. He is about to add his thoughts when Sally turns on him, her eyes narrowed. "An' f'tat matteh, t'em boys'a yehs! Jimmy an' Danny! T'EY ain' in no wawr, now AWR t'ey???" "James an' Daniel aaahr 4-F," interjects Ma. "Ye know fool well. Joseph is in th' Army, an' whether ye loike it aaahr not, th' Aaarmy does what it dooes. Ye think OI loike it that they took ye broothar, an' noow he's in a bloody prison camp? Ye think Oi'm gonnah wave th' FLAG aboot that? Ye think Oi'm goona march inna damn PARADE? Bloody HELL Oi'm naaaht! Boot tharr's a WAAAR ahhn, an'..." Her speech is interrupted by the skeening of the screen door as Hops Gaffney saunters in, collection pouch in hand. "YOU!" snarls Sally, fixing the Hopper in a burning glare of contempt. "WHY AIN'T **YOU** OVEHSEAS???" With a sudden start, Sally jumps down from her stool and makes for the door. Hops instinctively covers his face with the pouch and ducks, but Sally shoves him into a display of cigarette cartons, which clatter noisily to the floor as she jerks open the door and dashes, heedless of traffic, into Rogers Avenue. Horns blare and brakes squeal as, before anyone in the store can make a move in response, she runs full speed down the western leg of Midwood Street and is absorbed into the distance. "What'd I DO?" blubbers Hops, wilting in anticipation of Ma's fury. But Ma can only look pleadingly at Uncle Frank, who gapes back in bafflement. "Uh-oh," mutters Leonora.)

Finland hurled fresh reserves today into battle on the Karelian Isthmus in an effort to stall the latest Russian offensive, but the Soviets are reported still advancing on a broad front less than 40 miles from Vilpuri and other Karelian towns. A report broadcast by the BBC stated that the evacuation of Vilpuri has already begun.

An aerial offensive designed to smash Japanese air and sea power, and ultimately Japan itself gained momentum today following new task force raids on the southern Marianas and a third land-based attack on Palau, near the Phillipines. Witnesses predicted that when the Allies succeed in seizing bases in the Phillipines, they will deal a death blow to the Japanese Empire.

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("Howcome people gotta be like t'is," sighs Alice, tossing aside the paper. "Awr t'ey stupid?" "Yeh," nods Krause, slipping on a jacket as they prepare to go upstairs for dinner with the Ginsburgs.)

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("Hmph," sneers Mozelewski, shoving the paper across the lunch table after jotting critical comments on the construction of the depicted dress in the margin of the photo. "Yeh," agrees Miss Kaplan. "Lookit'eh. What's she gawt? T'eh ain' no possionality t'eh. She ain' got no whatchacawl characteh. I got moeh characteh in me elbow t'en she does inneh whole self, any day'a t'week. An' we'd a WON if you'd done like I tol'ya an' put t'at FRILL aroun'neese heeh. You gawtta give t'public what it WAWNTS." Mozelewski taps his pencil on the table, snatches back the paper, and writes a dismissive comment about the sloppy way in which Miss Henry wears her gloves. "Hey," resumes Miss Kaplan after gnawing a hole in the crust of a hard roll and stuffing her mouth with its pulled-out interior. "You still got any copies a' t'at pitcheh we took?" "A couple," growls Mozelewski. "Y'loin fr'm ya mistakes." "Gimme one," commands Miss Kaplan. "I wanna send it t' -- somebody." "Who?" demands Mozelewski with a suspcious frown. "A friend inna soivice, Misteh Nosey," snaps Miss Kaplan. "T'boys need morale." Mozelewski leans back with his arms crossed and is about to respond when the factory bell brings the scene to a merciful conclusion...)

The Eagle Editorialist notes the rising popularity of Edwin Franko Goldman's rousing military march "Hail Brooklyn." Since it was composed last years, it has become a great favorite with American service bands, and it has been performed all over the world, from Liverpool to Bombay.

Speaking of music, the EE notes with amusement the recent resignation of Leopold Stokowski from his position of co-conductor of the NBC Symphony Orchestra. Stokowski's departure, the EE notes, is the result of a disagreement between himself and colleague Arturo Toscanini over the question of how violinists should bow. Maestro Toscanini requires the violinists to bow their up and dow strokes in unison, while Maestro Stokowski stands for rugged individualism. "We must remember," declares the EE, "to keep this moving problem on our calendar with a high priority rating for Things To Be Thought About Intensively After The War."

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(Ahhhh, civility.)

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("Wesley 'Please Omit' Flowers." Well, at least we're keeping a sense of humor about it.)

The way home runs flew around the Polo Grounds yesterday is a sure sign that the infamous Dead Ball of 1943 is well and truly gone, replaced by the Rabbit Ball of 1944. The Giants have clouted 16 round-trippers over their last 34 home games, and even the Dodgers got in on the fun, with Frenchy Bordagaray picking up his third of the season and Mickey Owen knocking his first.

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(Look, maybe you both need to cut your losses.)

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(Bat man? Now THAT would be something. Oh wait, she said 'batty.' Never mind.)

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(The art in this strip has its eccentricities, but panel one is wonderful. Two cops and a milkman.)

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("No, I won't use my foolproof automatic pistol, instead I'll resort to a comically overelaborate gimmick weapon!" When Mr. Stamm worked for Chester Gould, he learned his lesson well.)

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(NEVER ASSUME IT'S THE CAT!)
 

LizzieMaine

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And in the Daily News...

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You can tell Miss Williams is new at this.

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Given that the Giants are, historically, the favored team along Wall Street, the pro-FDR views expressed here are a bit inconsistent. Just who are you working for, Mr. Grobstein?

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"Brow?" Why do you suppose they call him that?

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"If only we had somebody around here who could read minds!"

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Our little boy certainly has grown up. Maybe she can let out that shirt for you too.

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Everyday Women Of The Era.

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Well all right then.

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Your job here, Pantywaist, is not to have fun. Your job here is to make sure everybody ELSE has fun.

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Already an old married couple.

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Just A Street Where Old Friends Meet...
 
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16,979
Location
New York City
""You still got any copies a' t'at pitcheh we took?" "A couple," growls Mozelewski. "Y'loin fr'm ya mistakes." "Gimme one," commands Miss Kaplan. "I wanna send it t' -- somebody." "Who?" demands Mozelewski with a suspcious frown. "A friend inna soivice, Misteh Nosey," snaps Miss Kaplan. "T'boys need morale." Mozelewski leans back with his arms crossed and is about to respond when the factory bell brings the scene to a merciful conclusion...)"

Oh dear Lord.
 

LizzieMaine

Bartender
Messages
33,262
Location
Where The Tourists Meet The Sea
The_Brooklyn_Daily_Eagle_1944_06_14_1.jpg

("Well?" demands Ma as Uncle Frank enters the store, his face grim. "Noothin'," Uncle Frank replies with a tight frown. "Alice says she nevarr came doonstairs t'meet harr t'go t'warrrk this marrnin', an' Mistarr Krause used his passkey t' get us in th' apaaartment. Noo sign she'd been tharr. Th' bed hadn' been slept in, an' th' cat haadn't been fed. Krause is takin' caaare'a th' cat, an' he's gonna taalk t'ivveryone in th' buildin' t' look oot farr 'er." "Wheeeah's my ma?" grumbles Leonora frowning into a soggy bowl of corn flakes. "Y' get used to it," mutters Willie as he gathers his things for school. "Thaaat's not GOOD enough, Francis," erupts Ma. "Have ye gaaht th' boys out? Have ye checked aaahl harrrr knoown haaaunts." "Nobody's seen harr at Roseland," dismisses Uncle Frank, "if that's what ye mean. Besoides, you know she'd nevarr go thar withoot Joseph. Doyle tells me nobody's seen'ar arooon this neighbarhood. An' th' boys are goooin' aroon'alla stores an' restaraaaants in Bensonharrst. If she's been in any oov'm, aaahr anyboody's seen'ar, they'll find oot. Just calm doon, will ye?" "Calm doon," sputters Ma. "Send soombody t'taaalk t'that oobstetrician ahhn President Street. Maybe she's been tharrrr. It's dangerous, Francis, harr roonin' arooon aaahn th' loose in harr condition! R'membarr what happened when she stool ya troock!" "Ye've got t'do soomthin' aboot 'ar, Nora," declares Uncle Frank. "YE THINK OI AIN' BEEN TROYIN' FARR THARRTY WOON YEARRRS!?" roars Ma. "Tharr's NO dooin' soomthin' aboot that garrrrl! Oi've tried..." But what Ma has tried is lost to the moment, interrupted by the sharp ringing of the telephone. "You get that, Francis," exhales Ma. "It moight be news." "Lieb's," greets Uncle Frank, stepping to the phone and lifting the receiver. "If it's soomwone with a bet," injects Ma, "tell'm we're closed." "Quiet," admonishes Uncle Frank, holding up his free hand. "It's -- hello? Yes, this is Frank Leary. Oi'm her -- ah -- stepfaaather. Yes. Oi see. Oh. Oh. Ahhl roit, thank ye farr cahhlin, we'll be roit ovarr." "WELL??" demands Ma, her eyes flaring behind her spectacles as he hangs up the phone. "That was the police, Nora," sighs Uncle Frank. "They've found Sally." "What is it," blurts Ma, the words coming in a rush. "Is she harrrt, is she in trooble, is she..." "They foond harr at Pennsylvania Station this marrnin'," Uncle Frank replies evenly. Ma's face goes pale as she continues. "She was troyin' t'barrrd a train farr Baahltimore, with noo baggage an' no ticket. She ran oota th' crowd an' joomped up on th' step, an' when th' condooctar troied to pull'ar aaahf, she slooged him. Knocked him roit aaahf th' platfaarm. He hit his head aaahn th' concrete. Knaaacked him unconscious, boot he wasn't harrt serious. A coopla redcaps grabbed 'arr an' held'arr till th' coppars coom runnin' an' took'ar in." "Gaaahdaaahlmoity," exhales Ma. "Get aaahn th' phoon, taalk t'who y'need t'taaalk to get'arr bailed oot. An' put oot th' warrd t'keep it oota th'papars, it's th' last thing we need t'have nosey r'parrtars aboot. What jail they hooldin'ar at, th' Tombs?" Oi'll naaaht have me daaghter held in thaaat miserable." "No," interrupts Uncle Frank, "it's not jail." "What??" snaps Ma, her eyes flashing. "Boot you said..." "Nora," Uncle Frank resumes, "they didn't take Sally t'jail. Not this toim..." "But..." puzzles Ma. Uncle Frank takes her hand to steady the shake. "They took harrr to..." he begins, wishing he were anywhere else at this precise moment, "Nora, they took harr to Bellevue." )

Japan's air and sea power in the Pacific was weakened further today by a smashing three-day assault on the Marianas by a powerful US task force which sank or damaged 29 enemy ships, nine of them war ships, and destroyed 141 planes, while land-based Liberators sent seven more enemy vessels to the bottom off New Guinea. The task-force strike into the Marianas, second carrier-based attack since February, raised the toll of Japanese ships knocked out in four major raids on the enemy's "frontline" defese perimeter thru the central Pacific to 107, with 391 planes destroyed.

The first two American pilots to land on liberated French soil since the invasion got there after what was described as "a field day of blowing up bridges, machinegunning Reichswehr transports, and strafing Nazi ground troops." 1st. Lt. Harry Stroh and 2nd Lt. Alvah Bessey were running low on fuel and when they spotted British Spitfires on an airfield below, they brought their plane in, and within minutes were shaking hands with excited RAF pilots. "It was a lucky day for us," commented Lt. Bessey.

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(Does Doc Brady have a pamphlet about this?)

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(Hey, c'mon. How come Levant doesn't get his picture up there?)

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(I mean, he does have a point.)

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(Hey, Mr. Wheat is only 56. He's only 15 years older than Paul Waner. And I bet he can still hit. Rucker is probably good for an inning or two. And I don't care how old Otto Miller is, he never had his picture in the paper chasing a ball with an arrow pointing to it.)

X-rays taken yesterday of Whitlow Wyatt's troubled right shoulder show nothing physically wrong with it, but doctors have advised the ailing hurler to take another week off.

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("What's good for the goose is good for the gander...")

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("Dash it, my last bottle of Angostura bitters!")

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(Um, I thought you were smarter than this, Jane.)

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(Is Gould actually ghostwriting this???)

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(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG just isn't cut out for this kind of life.)
 

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