The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

A prophet is without honor in his own time.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Use ya judgemen"

Absolutely not the advice I'd give Frank Leary.

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

Great pic.

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

This better be worth it.

It hasn't been for a long time.

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

"We must have the wrong place, there's only a few bucks here." This is why you check your plan before putting it into motion.

Obviously, there are some exceptions, but in general, making an honest living, even leaving morals aside, is just easier.

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

Oh, Terry, when will you ever learn.

Knowing how talented and detailed Caniff is, it's interesting that he hasn't aged the DL in an obvious way, but her face seems "harder" in the way faces do often before real aging sets in. Just a thought and kudos to Caniff if that's what he was thinking.

 

[Harp]

The Ray-Farragher robbers-gone-wrong third party lookout remains on lam, and is eligible for
first degree murder prosecution of both fools despite not having fired a shot.

A fast look at the Texas couples slaying story curdles my blood. However, shell casings from a perceived
revolver raises doubt, as opposed an automatic's shell ejection.

Mayor O'Dwyer's scratch sheet scrimmage caught me eye. As a former federal government employee
who talked openly about thoroughbreds and wager, I received several emails from resident federal law enforcement regarding illegal book making and taking. It's illegal to book federal property; however, all
such horse talk was constitutional free speech. I did use my desk computer and office printer for track work
analysis, but Uncle Sam always took twenty-eight percent tax skim off my window winnings. A quid pro quid
de facto where Samuel took his cut. Ironically, I used to place federal liens on criminals and their crimes,
and supposedly led the national federal chase crowd bringing in millions annually for avuncular revenue.
So, if I used Equibase-which the fed computer snoops probably consider equity derived rather than equine
speculate-on my Friday afternoons, I was a top ***slinger for Uncle. A two-way street baby.

Terry is off the rails. Milt's phoning it in. Our hero isn't normal and hasn't been since that Caucasus DC-3
ride out with Burma when he didn't score Mile High Society membership. Now, with luscious Dragon Gal,
he's all Boy Scout-Mickey Mouse musketeer run amuck Mularkey pious soapbox. The kid needs some
Hong Kong *** drag Macau R&R with the New York Times, Wall Street Journal; six or seven hundred hands Stud Poker; steak, scrambled eggs, whiskey, and women.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Ye needn't take oovar th' whool situation," wheedles Ma. "Boot'chee knoo moor aboot how t' raise a choild in these toimes than OI do." "Oh yeh," eyerolls Sally. "I'm right outa Parents' Magazine." "Joost give'arr soom advoice!" pleads Ma. "Don' have a kid," shrugs Sally. "Yarrr smaart toong," frowns Ma, "will woon day bring ye to a sad end." "Look, Ma," declares Sally. "I'm a lousy mot'eh, awright? Ev'rybody knows it. Leonoreh knows it! Fois' chance she gets she runs awff! An' I should be givin' advice? Joe's awrways been betteh wit' kids t'en I am. I can yell at Leonoreh t' stawp doin' sump'n till I'm blue inna face. Awl Joe's gotta do is giv'eh t'is look 'eeh, an' she set'ls right down. An' ya know why? She's teasin' me. Playin' games. Try'na get my goat. Five yeehs ol'! An' she's givin' me t' business!" "Ahhhh," aaahs Ma. "Seems loike anoothar willful little garrrl Oi uset'arr knoow." "I ain't so sueh," scowls Sally, "t'at t' two'a'yez ain' in awnnit t'gett'eh!" "Oi wish," snorts Ma, "Oi'd thaaaaght've it!")

("Hey," heys Solly Pincus, stepping around the curtain divider in the maternity ward. "Look who's'eeh," snickers Rosa Capiello, seated beside Bink's bed. "She sleepin'?" nods Solly, rustling the brown paper bag in his hands. "Just drawpped awff," replies Rosa. "She's been sleepin' a lawt." "Guess t' noices don' hafta keep t'eh hands inneh pockets," observes Solly, placing the bag on the table. "Look, don' wake'eh up. I - um -- brung'eh'ra coupla pickles. Crown pickles, full soueh. I know she likes'm." "Ah," ahs Rosa, giving him the up-and-down look. "I'll tell 'eh you come by," she adds. "Yeh," shrugs Solly, not sure what else to say...)

(T'is a consummation devoutly to be wished...)

(A team made up entirely of spare parts? I thought the war was over.)

(REALLY should have tried for bullfighter.)

("Would you like to hear a drawn-out pointless story?" "I thought we were already in one!")

(What a role for Bette Davis.)

(A little therapy would go a long way.)

(Get in a truck with a grubby old man? SURE WHY NOT?)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Jeeeeeezuz.

"My Most Unforgettable Character."


"When I was your age, dear, we never even had rayon!"

A new approach to foreign aid.

HEY THATS MY LINE

"Hey! Who's that calf think he is?" -- Sandy.

I hope you put some papers down on that seat.

"Racket? I don't know what you're talking about. Now give me my bottle and let me go."

That's right, Shad, ac-sent-chu-ate the postive.

Growing up in the environment he is in, Kayo has developed an acute awareness of the value of money.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Let's go!

 

[Fading Fast]

"Yeh," shrugs Solly, not sure what else to say...

No one ever knows what to say in those situations.

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

Jeeeeeezuz.

It's no mystery why the wife moved cross country.

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

"Hey! Who's that calf think he is?" -- Sandy.

I noticed that, too, and our boy is none too happy with Gray right now.

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

"Racket? I don't know what you're talking about. Now give me my bottle and let me go."

When I was in college, I rented an attic apartment from an elderly couple who definitely did "walk throughs" when I wasn't there for the first few months, then they seemed to lose interest as there was nothing to see.

 

[Harp]

Prisoner Otto Holt, still in England as a last-boat homer hung double sawbuck for desertion,
gets approached by a one star flag with proposition.... War's over and done with, so hazardous mission
volunteer get outta jail free card tender isn't anymore, but sworn statement beneath, under, or sideways oath
solicited for stockade sentence bust. This had to come from the top. Probable cause here folks for the
Inspector General serious **** squad lawyers.

Back in Boston, the Farrell case accusation seals defendant's fate. ****, false imprisonment, kidnapping
are felonies tallied forty years or more before branding. A young man with heinous mindset throws his life
away. Odds are an early death in confinement with general population.

Terry seemed to have adjusted, adapted, and was definitely making the terrain work to his advantage
with Dragon Gal before a Big Shup silhouette stopped seductive moment. Twos a couple, threes a crowd.
He'll just have to wing it. Still, nice recovery after that twenty yard line fumble.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I'm tellin' yez," snickers Heckie Capiello, "t'at is t' funnies' lookin' one kid I eveh seen." "He ain' so bad," counters Joe. "Awl babies is funny-lookin'. T'ey grow out'v it. Most'v'm." "You seen'a size of 'is head??" laughs Heckie. "It's gigan'ic! Looks like a casaba melon wit' legs awn it." "You ain' no prize package y'self," snorts Joe. "Hector!" interrupts Ma, looking up from her ledger. "Get back t'ye sweepin' befaaar I swat'chee woon." She sighs and glances over at Joe, chewing her lower lip. "Joseph," she queries. "Have ye seen any maaaar'a that -- gintleman." "Nah," nahs Joe. "He ain' been aroun' f'ra coupla -- wait, no, I t'ink I see 'im now. Look t'eh, gett'n awff't trolley." "I smelll copppaaaaah," yodels Heckie. "Bootun ye lip," commands Ma. "Oi'll handle this." An unnatural quiet settles over the group as the door jingles open. "G'day t'ye sarr," nods Ma. "Yeh," nods the man, now clad in a blue gabardine topcoat and a pearl-gray hat. "You Missus Sweeney?" "Leary now, actually," nods Ma. "How may OI help ye?" The man shifts his weight, and slides his hand into the overcoat pocket. "Like to talk some business," he confides, in a low, even tone. "Someplace private." Ma gives him a long look. "Joseph, Hector," she commands. "It's yarr loonch toime. Oi hear they got caaaarned beef ovarr t' Dewes'." Joe hesitates, and his eyes lock with his mother-in-law's. There is a silent exchange. With a nervous sigh, Joe unties his apron, takes Heckie by the elbow, and ushers him out the door....)

("He ain' a bad lookin' kid," nods Sally. "What'cha say ya gonna name 'im again?" "Frankie," shrugs Bink. "Rosa's ideeh." "Unc'a Frank's gonna love t'at," chuckles Sally. "Nobody eveh named a kid afteh'rim befoeh." "Um," ums Bink. "Yeh. Um, yeh. T'at's who --uh --he's named afteh." "Look," sighs Sally. "I know t'is ain'a easy t'ing. So if y'need t' know anyt'ing about, you know -- stuff --y'c'n ask me if y'wanna. Maybe I c'n help." "Yeh," nods Bink. "I figyehed t'ey'd give ya a book a' sump'n, but'cha know, I don'like t'read awlat much. An'ney neveh give me no book anyways." "T'eh'rain' no book," shrugs Sally. "Leas' not one'at's any good." "Somebody otta write one," grumbles Bink...)

(Should've read the fine print before signing up.)


("So I guess t'is kidd'a Bink's," figures Alice, "is Willie's stepbrot'eh, kinda. I mean, Mickey ain' Willie's legal fawr'teh, but I guess'ee's still -- " "Neh," nehs Krause. "So t'at makes Sally an' Joe t'is kid's aunt an' uncle, an' he's Leonoreh's cousin, jus' like Willie, c'ep not f' legal. So what does t'at make us to t' Bink?" "Meh," shrugs Krause. "T'is is a very confusin' fam'ly," sighs Alice, "but maybe Willie c'n help t'is kid alawng, loin'im stuff, keep'im outa trouble. Y'know, I wondeh sometimes if we oughta maybe -- well, I ain' gett'n no youngeh. You eveh t'ink about'at?" Krause puts down his paper and gives his wife a long look. "Yeh," he nods...)

(Anyone who would slap enamel paint on seats, outdoors, in Boston, in April -- is probably too stupid to own a ball club.)

(Nice hat.)

(Like YOU ever dealt with a book peddler.)

("Ew, this cheap muskrat is shedding on me.")

(You're a detective, hon. Start detecting.)

("Lemme know what you want, I'll put the word out, have it for you in three days.")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

KIDS TODAY


Nothing says Opening Day like the brooding realization that there is ultimately nothing waiting for you but the cold and lonely embrace of the grave. But at least the Giants won.

Yep, that's what those monumental vases are for.

You're slipping. You used to cut men's tongues out for less.

Meanwhile, some mackerel trawler is about to have a very good day...

Hey, got any pre-war baseballs in there?

Better start fundraising now, kid, I hear it's going to be a crowded field.

If you don't read it, if you don't know about it , it didn't happen.

Nobody ever gets that excited about **** Haymes.

Serves ya right.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

"Cuddles Marshall?"

 

[Fading Fast]

"So I guess t'is kidd'a Bink's," figures Alice, "is Willie's stepbrot'eh, kinda.

Wouldn't they be half brothers? Both have the same good-for-nothing father.

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

"Ew, this cheap muskrat is shedding on me."

Caniff would have made better use of panel two.

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

KIDS TODAY

"...all these people trying to tear down its dignity are just a bunch of ickies and squares."

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

You're slipping. You used to cut men's tongues out for less.

A little older; the hint of crows feet; an almost imperceptible wobble of confidence.

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

Better start fundraising now, kid, I hear it's going to be a crowded field.

Wave election.

 

[Harp]

Mrs Jean Carbone entered the United States under the Brides Act admittedly pregnant with another man's
child, and filed for a Reno divorce citing 'extreme mental cruelty' against her wedded spouse, who contests
her divorce suit. Jean's residency right is imperiled, though mitigated her child's native birth; whose biological father engaged criminal conversation with the mother in the United Kingdom. Consequently, Jean's unfaithfulness has provenance outside the territorial United States, where she married. Jean's six weeks Reno residency requirement is subordinate Brides Act stricture intrinsic adultery provenance. Consequently, Jean may not be able to avail Nevada divorce jurisdiction. Her Reno local yokel knows this, which accounts hyperbolic mental cruelty falsehood cited petition. Were Harold my client, I'd advise consent to divorce, sparing himself further anguish.

I had forgotten how cruel Dragon Gal is; which, when considered with her concomitant personal isolation,
validates assumed libiinous notion of acute turmoil. Her arranged meeting with Terry may not have been so much mercenary as meretricious. Slits is heading towards a broken heart.

Saturday's Oak Lawn Handicap features Sovereignty against Journalism. I've made money with both but
their layoffs and short odds favor betting Plumber at 15-1 overlay.

 

[EngProf]

As Harp said:
"Terry appears unusually restrained for a red blooded
American ex GI...couldawouldashoulda had Dragon Gal on Second looking to steal Third."
Harp is exactly "on target"...
Terry is worried about being blackmailed by a picture of him kissing a beautiful woman!!??
A real red-blooded American ex GI would be asking for three 8x10 glossies, six 5x7's ("suitable for framing") and a dozen wallet-size prints to carry around and show his friends.
(However, A shot of him kissing Chopstick Joe (or worse) Hotshot Charlie would be blackmail material...)

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Y'know," observes Sally, "Robinson's playin' t'day. In Joisey City. Montreal's openin'eh. We could cut woik at noon, get onna bus inta New'ehk, hop t' train, an' be in Joisey City in haffa'noueh. Game don' stawrt 'till t'ree. We could be t'eh." Alice weighs this information. "We shouldn' cut woik t'ough," she sighs. "Not so soon afteh t'strike." "Awl t'rough t' wawr how many days did we absentee??" retorts Sally. "We was t'eh t'ru t'ick an' t'in. But t'is is gonna be hist'ry. What would you rat'eh do, make cat'odes f't' Bell System awr see hist'ry? 'Magine bein' able t'tell ya gran'kids someday you seen hist'ry?" Alice again ponders the suggestion. "You know how t'get t' t' bawlpawrk?" "It's Joisey City," scoffs Sally. "Wheh t'ey gonna hide it?" "Wheh we gonna get tickets?" challenges Alice. "I heeh t'ey awrways sell out on Op'nin' Day 'cause t'at Mayeh Hague gives ev'rybody t' day awff." "T'em guys sellin' tickets awna sidewawk," notes Sally. "T'ey don' take t'day awff." "I dunno, Sal..." demurs Alice. "Game stawrts at t'ree," repeats Sally. "Be oveh by, what, five? Five t'oity? We get awff woik at five anywyas. An' we'eh awready in Joisey City, so if t' game lets out at five t'oity, we'h still awn sched'le t'get home same time's we awrways do. I'm tellin'ya, it's hist'ry. We gotta be t'eh." Alice again weighs the proposal. "Wasn' you," she ponders, "at'tat game wheh Owen drawpped t'bawl? Wasn'AT hist'ry?" "T'ez hist'ry," snorts Sally, "an'nen'nez HIST'RY...")

("Howcome *I* gotta do it?" protests Heckie. "I ain' no cleanin' lady! B'sides, I was gonna go t' t' bawlgame!" "Barbara's comin' hoom fr'm th' haaaaspital t'morrow," declares Ma, "an' that room a'haaars is a pig stoye. An' Oi'll not have a baby expoosed t'sooch a mess. Soombody's gaaaht t' clean it, an', me foine lad, that is gooin' t' be YOU. Th' bottle'a Lysol is in th' bathroom an' the bucket's in th' basement. Now be aaahff with ye an' Oi bettar be able t'see me face in that linooleum when yarr doon!" "T'ez linoleum up t'eh?" puzzles Heckie. "Yee'l foind it," growls Ma, "oonce ye scroob doon a bit!"

("Oi was thinkin', Saaaaargeant," ventures Uncle Frank. "Ye been waaaarkin' very haaard oov late, an' it's a foine spring aftarnoon, an' Oi doon't think anywoon would begroodge ye takin' th' day ahhf." "Meh," mehs Solly Pincus, bent over a stack of paperwork. "It oocarrs t'me that this is yaaar farrst -- aahh -- Ooopenin' Day -- in, what, foor yaaars? Woonce again t' taste th' sweet flaaavarr oov an April aftarnoon at th' baaallparrk. An' yet, ye sit an' droodge. "Y'couln' get a ticket if ya tried," shrugs Solly, not looking up. "Indeed?" smirks Uncle Frank, flourishing a pair of salmon-colored pasteboards. "Two in th' gran'stand, gineral admission." "Huh," huhs Solly, his attention now gained. "Two, huh?" "The sellaaaar was," confesses Uncle Frank, "quoite insistent aaahn not breakin' th' pair." "Well," exhales Solly, flicking a sour glance at the paperwork, "wouln' be right t'let'm go t'waste." "Oi'm glaaad," grins Uncle Frank, "ye see me aaaargyement. Shall we goo?" "Awright," nods Solly. "We go." He tosses his pencil down on the desk, and reaches for his jacket. "Waitaminute," he pauses. "Whed'ja get'em tickets?" "Ahhh," ahhs Uncle Frank. "Lemme see'm," demands Solly. "Han'm oveh." He examines the tickets closely, holding them up to the light. "Ya pal Quinlan," scowls Solly, "does nice woik." "Oi doon't knoo what'chee mean..." chuckles Uncle Frank as they head for the door...)

(When does the "golden age" begin?)

(Coming Events...)

("Goon?" There's no need to be insulting.)

("Flapper Madonna?" I hear they're planning a musical revival with Bobby Clark and Gypsy Rose Lee.)

(Even better, we're sending you by night bus!)

("Obey?" Hmph, the Methodists got rid of that nonsense in 1863.)

(The code of the street sweepers insists on silence.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Jeeeezuz.

Coming Events...

And then someday you wake up and you're old and you have no idea how it happened...

Hey, he's got the grave all dug and everything...

Well, if they'll take Vaughn Monroe, they'll take anybody.

Not only that, Avery has been smoking that same cigar since 1919.

Fifth-Dimensional Chess.

Things are still quite a mess over there, he might just be misplaced.

What a performance. There's a future for you in soap operas.

What ever became of the Slither Sisters?

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

"See?" declares Sally. "Hist'ry!"

 

[Fading Fast]

"Ya pal Quinlan," scowls Solly, "does nice woik."

Hopefully, Alice or Joe – the only two I'd call – won't have to bail them out.

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

"Flapper Madonna?"

In the real Hollywood of that era, the censors wouldn't even let that title go through.

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

The code of the street sweepers insists on silence.

You just made that up; there is no code of the street sweepers.

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

What ever became of the Slither Sisters?

I had forgotten about them.

 

[Harp]

The Dodgers shoulda never left Brooklyn.

I assume Dragon Gal is running opium inside the China interior.

Didn't see any legalese this morning, but still on the first cup of morning joe with thoughts focused
a $1,250,000 purse offered the Oak Lawn Handicap later today. Having scanned Equibase past performances
for all six older entrants, my initial pick of Publisher as a long shot holds reasonably well; however, Sovereignty
has had sufficient works despite an eight month layoff. He's vulnerable but either Journalism or White Abarrio
seems a better jackal. Abarrio, though still capable, has lost a step over his seven year reign. Due short odds
given Journalism, a solid superfecta will be needed for any serious window cleaning. A rough inside strait
read discards both Liberal Arts and Duke of Duval from held hand. A nagging tug to all this is Asmussen trains
Duke and Publisher. Then again, perhaps Sovereignty isn't vulnerable just rested and ready....

 

[Harp]

^^^ Aimless post race wander. New York 1940s Noir jazz saxophone and keyboard chase this track crow,
after break even earnings returned Abarrio's jackal fecta with Sovereignty, Journalism placed and show before
anchor horse Publisher's cuarto lugar. With Liberal Arts and Duke discards tied a too brief bettor, a not too
arcane superfecta wager returned peanuts. Handle all there, just a too predictable ending spread peanut butter dollar bill thin. Odd week too, so full card track handicap homework with look around big purse pounce
forfeit. I like to mull things through before bankroll handle even knowing poker percentages cold. Agonizing over play is enjoyable and pays at winder, but setup is what it is.