The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

("Gideonse," scowls Sally. "Noitz t' him. I'm t'inkin'a transferrin' t' Hunteh anyways." "Ehh," ehs Alice. "T'em gals is snawbby." "Whatta you know about it?" disputes Sally. "You know t' Ginsboig's daughteh?" contends Alice. T'at Missus Levitz, married t' t'at docteh in Gawrden City? She went t' Hunteh. An' she's snawbby. I remembeh when, way back, r'membeh when she gimme t'at jawb helpin' out 'eh folks? Ackted like I was nut'n but t' help. An' now, what, she comes oveh'reeh maybe once 'a twice'a yeeh t'see 'em? Las' time she come she cawlt me 'Agnes.' T'at ain't my name, y'know." "No," nods Sally, "it ain't." "N' iffit was I'd change it," continues Alice. "One'a t' sistehs, one t'at was real mean t' me when I was lit'l, she was a Agnes. 'N I ain' nut' like t'at. So yeh, t'em Hunteh gals is snawbby." "Ah," ahs Sally. "Well, I dunno if'at's woise'n'em kids I'm goin t' school wit' now. Awley do is ack like I'm some ol' lady dunno what it's awlabout. I knew what it was awlabout when'ney was wipin'eh noses on'neh Ma's aprons. An' awl'LEY do is weah t'em dungarees an' go oveh t' Village an' lissen'a t'at music wheh ev'ryt'ing's outta tune." "I bet'tem Huntehs do t' same t'ing," shrugs Alice. "So why waste'a cawrfaeh?" "I neveh hung aroun' jernts lissen'in t' music t'at was outta tune," grumbles Sally. "T'ey was awrways in tune," agrees Alice, "at Roselan'....")

("Awright," sighs Joe. "Hold it steady." "Hurry up," protests Heckie Capiello. "I'm gett'na splinteh." "We shoulda pain'ed t'is t'ing," continues Joe, screwing the screen door hinges into place, "befoeh we hung it up." Twisting home the final screw, he steps back and attaches the spring to the hook on the door frame. He lets go of the door, and it skeens shut with a satisfying bang. "Summeh," he proclaims, "is heeh." "It's upside down," observes Heckie. Joe scowls, and with two quick twists of his screwdriver, removes the tin CALL FOR PHILIP MORRIS plate from the middle of the door, rotates it to the upright position, and with two final twists, secures it in place. "No," he declares, "it ain't....")

("Hey," heys Solly Pincus, addressing Bink Scanlan, who is slumped behind the counter, absorbed in a copy of "Screen Romances" with the top third of the cover torn off. "Oh," ohs Bink, not looking up. "It's you." "Joe aroun'?" ventures Solly. "Gone'a fin' some meat," she shrugs. "If y'wan'enny, I on'y c'n sell reg'lehs. No specials." "Packa Camels an' a Coke," exhales Solly, sliding onto a stool and dropping a quarter on the counter. "Yeh," acknowledges Bink, scooping ice into a glass and pumping in the syrup. Solly squirms nervously on the stool, and drums his fingers against the marble countertop. "How'sa --um," he stammers. "Hows' Frankie?" "He's gettn' betteh," sighs Bink, fizzing the seltzer into the glass, and stirring with a long thin spoon. "T'ey might let'im come home nex' week." "T'at's good," nods Solly, selecting a straw from the tall aluminum dispenser and plunging it into his drink. "Yeh," agrees Bink. "It's good." She pulls a pack of Camels from the rack behind the counter, and slides it across. Solly picks up the pack and thoughtfully strips open the cellophane wrapper, picks open the foil, and shakes out a cigarette. He taps it on the side of the pack, places it between his lips, hesitates, and tips the pack toward Bink. "No t'anks," she sighs. "Try'na give it up. Bad f' t' kid, y'know?" "Ah," nods Solly, lighting up and taking a puff. "T'at's smawrt," he exhales. "Yawr -- smawrt. Y'know? In ya own way?" "Yeh," sighs Bink. "I'm smawrt...")

(It's a living.)

(You'll recall that Marius Russo was the batter who kneecapped Fitz in Game Three. Not that I'm holding that against him, THE JERK.)

(I don't think that's how it works, I hope.)

(So THERE!)

(Now let's see you take down a milk wagon horse.)

(In this business, you've got to know how to take a fall.)

(Assessing the political tide...)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

New York's Picture Newspaper.

Tip theft? You don't say.

KIDS TODAY

Yes, Mr. Goomp has a trustworthy -- ah -- face.

A .45? Can you get the amm o?


Sure, mess up the plumbing.

Taking graft is more difficult when you actually try to hide it.

Commerce depends on a delicate equilibrium.

Remember when she commanded armies of followers?

A man who can hold a copy of Webster's Second like that is a man not to be trifled with.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

"Commy?" Charles Comiskey was the tightest wad of all, but he isn't around anymore. And leave it to the Babe to get right to the point.

And still also...

Gawdawmighty...

 

[Fading Fast]

He lets go of the door, and it skeens shut with a satisfying bang. "Summeh," he proclaims, "is heeh."

So true. Or was before I started living in apartment buildings.

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Hey new movies for Manhattan and new old ones for Brooklyn.

FYI, "To Each His Own" is an excellent movie. Solly should take Bink, not that they are dating. The picture is all about a baby boy born out of wedlock and what the mother (played by Olivia de Havilland) had to do. It might feel relevant, just sayin'.

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I don't think that's how it works, I hope.

I very much believe you are correct, but our resident lawyer, Harp, will know for sure.

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Taking graft is more difficult when you actually try to hide it.

It is indeed and only gets harder the larger the scale. Heck, even these two small-time crooks are inching their way toward two sets of books.

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Remember when she commanded armies of followers?

True, but conversely, "It appears" is doing a lot of heavy lifting and it might not be up to the task. I wouldn't sell her short even though she seems off her prewar game.

 

[Harp]

As a former dishwasher who climbed ladder to wait staff at two dining establishments, I can vouch tip differential need, though proprietary claim never settled same. More glitzy downtown loci however often made call all table transactions; which, considering Chicago graft including fire and police trade made sense.
Lustig's tax evasion federal prosecution was foreordained. When a restaurateur cooks the books, it's always a steak well done. And my last Chicago steakhouse wait gig abruptly ended when the boss deliberately torched the place one night after close. Or so said the wait staff buzz.

Boyington apparently never entered a signature contract with his intended Ms Malcolmson given their relationship and wartime exigent circumstances. However, for amounts exceeding a thousand dollars and one full year, the Law demands documented attest transaction mindset. Pappy fixed his own wagon. Especially wherein his children were accorded Ms Malcolmson custody for the duration.

Dragon Gal remains Churchillian enigma wrapped riddle inside mysterious organizational ennui. She must have enjoyed a profitable war all things considered. Squeezed between Chiang and Mao, her postwar rebuild seems slow paced but sure. The book to read is Theodore White's classic, Thunder Out of China.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Hmph," hmphs Sally. "Now t'ey do sump'nabout it, afteh me'n Joe hadda cash in most'voueh wawr bonds t' pay f' Leonoreh's eeh." "Won' apply t'wus anyways," notes Alice. "We woik in Joisey, r'membeh?" "T' sunny side'a t' street," growls Sally. "She's gotta go see Docteh Glass t'marra, y'know. Joe's gonna take'eh." "Las' time I tawked t'weh," notes Alice, "seemed like she hoid what I was sayin' OK." "She heehs fine out'a one eeh," reminds Sally. "It'sat one she had'da abscess in gives'eh trouble. You see'eh tiltin'eh head when she's try'na heeh sump'n." "Yeh," nods Alice. "Y'know, fois' time I seen'eh do t'at, I t'ought it was b'cause she couln' b'lieve what I was sayin'." "I see 'eh do t'at awla time," sighs Sally. "I bet," agrees Alice. "What?" "Uh -- " uhs Alice. "I mean -- um -- t'at wasn' a joke...." "I c'n neveh t'ell wit'choo," squints Sally, as the train rolls on toward home....)

("I guess if we can't get t' meat," sighs Joe, "it won' matteh if we can't get t' bread." "Soomthin'll taaarn oop," assures Uncle Frank, with a sip of his two-cents-plain. "It betteh," shrugs Joe. "I dunno what I'm gonna do if..." He is interrupted by the jangling of the telephone. He steps around the counter to the wall. "Lieb's," he sighs. "Oh! Hilda! Hey, didja -- yeh, jus' a minute, lemme get a pencil --" Uncle Frank produces a pencil from his vest pocket and passes it to his son-in-law, who is ready with a scrap of paper. "Awright, g'head -- JAmaica 9-6640. Right. Who? Snodgrass? Ask f' Misteh Snodgrass. Got it. Right. I'll give 'im a cawl, an'--- yeh, Sal says she do'wanna go till t' Pittsboigs is back in town nex' mont'. Ahhhh, it don' bot'eh me none. B'sides, he's a dam' good secon' baseman, ain'ee? Awright. T'anks again -- yeh, seeya roun'. Bye." "Ahhh," nods Uncle Frank. "Yaaar proparrsition in Ooozone Paaark, is it?" "Yeh," nods Joe, stepping back behind the counter. "I din' have t' hawrt t' tell'eh how t'ings is goin'eeh." "Yaaar gooin' t' caaall this fellar, thoo?" continues Uncle Frank. "This Snodgrass. Hmm. Oi usetarrr knoo a gintleman by thaat name. In th' oold days." "Lotta Snodgrasses runnin' aroun'," dismisses Joe. "I s'pose it wouldn' hoit t'give 'im a cawl." "Oh, by aaaahl means," agrees Uncle Frank. "Oopartoonity knocks boot once. Espicially in Oozone Paaark....")

(Sure, take all the fun out of it.)

(Coming events....)

(IS THAT NICE???)

(Yeah, us independent old people are daaaaaaaaaaaangerous!)

(Panel One makes like he's sticking his head out an empty windshield frame. Better get that fixed, these dusty roads can be awful.)

(Didn't Annie visit this swamp once? And sink a submarine?)

(No sensible idea ever occurred to anyone at 2 in the morning.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

KIDS TODAY

A 5 x 8 foot flag should be just enough fabric to sew into a Klan robe.

This is why you shoud brush off your shoes every night before you put them away.

I mean, how many real countesses have YOU ever met?

Enjoy it while it lasts, kids.

Hence the name.

"Plenty of lazy and shiftless folks are harmless." Mr. Gray doesn't want to get any hate letters from bums.

Wheels within wheels.

"Did you put the rat poison in the candy dish, dear?" "They'll never know what hit 'em."

Spring's a little late this year.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Coming events....

 

[Fading Fast]

Amazing that it's eighty years later and Taiwan was probably the biggest issue at the recently concluded US-China summit.

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No sensible idea ever occurred to anyone at 2 in the morning.

Accept for "I need to get back to sleep or I'll be dead tired tomorrow."

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Wheels within wheels.

That is not a woman one should try to cheat. She particularly won't take kindly to it coming from an employee.

 

[Harp]

The Bela Raphael story is so sweet. And the US Army should have detailed her adoptive father, Sgt Simons
to personally take her home, honorable discharge in hand.

R J Reynolds of tobacco road fame and fortune dumps his wife and mother of his four sons for a red haired Hollywood colleen named Marianne O'Brien. Were I his wife's counsel, his *** would be nailed to the wall and thereafter left inside a sling.

A wedge appears ready to drive through Dragon Gal and Slits platonic situationship.
As the Bard wrote, ''A cease of majesty dies not alone, But, like a Gulph doth draw whats near it with it.''

And, speaking of the British...there is a tradition of hatred for the English Crown in my family. Churchill ousted
war's end did little to loosen the fist of Empire. Truman will threaten close pull the American purse strings to free Indonesian rice. My family escaped the Irish Famine my dad's side; and my maternal great great grandfather
a British rope earlier. I have ironically an English surname. And when a boy inside an Irish Christian Brothers school, my curmudgeonly English literature master took a personal dislike of monicker and meself. What goes around, comes around back in spades.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I'm absenteein' t'day," declares Sally, meeting Alice in the foyer of 1762 63rd Street. "I ain' takin' no chance'a gett'n stuck in Joisey awl night when'neh strike stawrts. B'sides, I gotta take Leonoreh t' see Docteh Glass." "I t'ought Joe was gonna do t'at," replies Alice. "He's gonna go out t' Ozone Pawrk t' look oveh t'is hamboigeh stan' out by t' racetrack," sighs Sally. "T'is t'ing Hilda Chesteh told'im 'bout. An'nen'ee's gotta go t' Lawng Islan' City t' pick up some meat." "He ain' gonna take no meat awna subway, izee?" gapes Alice. "Danny's gonna drive 'im out'eh," exhales Sally. "Inna truck." "Oh," ohs Alice, in the way that particular way that one ohs when the truck is mentioned.....)

("It don' look like much," shrugs Joe, eyeing the boarded-up clapboard shanty tilting in a gravel lot off Rockaway Boulevard. "It ain't much," admits Mr. Snodgrass, a lanky man in a mossy prewar suit. "But it's got whatchacawl p'tential. T'guy t'at run it befoeh t'wawr done awright. "What happ'nta him?" challenges Joe. "He went inta real estate," admits Mr. Snodgrass. "Got a whole grill set-up inneh, got a lit'l room inna back wit'a cooleh'rinnit, runnin' wawteh, got some stools y'cn bolt down onnat concrete t'eh. An'nez room inna lawt heeh, pawk ten cawrs right t'eh. Y'sell'm eats, t'ey sit righn'a cawr." "I hoid'a t'at," nods Joe. "An' awlese jokehs goin' out t' t' races," adds Snodgrass, "t'ey stop'eeh'rn load up fois'. It's a reg'leh gol' mine y' know ya onions. Heh. Lit'l joke t'eh. So whatcha say? Yawr a nice lookin' guy, gotta hawnes' face. You a vet'ran?" "Um," ums Joe. "Well, I...." "Y'look t' type," nods Snodgrass. "Tell ya what, kid. I like ya. I'm gonna give ya a break. Foehty-five bucksa mont'. Awr, I give to ya f' t'oity, an' you kick me two cents awn evry customeh." "Um," ums Joe. "It's a good deal," insists Snodgrass. He nods toward Danny, who sits glowering on the running board of the truck. "Go ask ya buddy t'eh. He'll tell ya it's a good deal." "I wanna tawk it oveh wit' me wife," declares Joe. "Foehr'I 'gree t' anyt'ing. An' someot'eh people." "You gotta lawyeh?" hestiates Snodgrass. "Well," replies Joe, "t'ezza guy I know who..." "You tawk t'ya wife awlya want," interrupts Snodgrass. "You gimme a cawl t'marra, lemme know. I got t'ree, foeh ot'eh guys lookin' at t' place, real live-wiehs. But you -- you, I like. You t'ink it oveh, gimme a cawl. But make it befoeh two. I'm goin'a races...")

(Give him time...)

(Dead tie for first place. It's gonna be one of those summers.)

("So be sure to put the pipe out first.")

("Absolutely not, I refuse to do this. When will she be here?")

(Nobody seems too awfully concerned about any of this...)

(It's those bullfrogs that really get you...)

(You never get a second chance to make a first impression...)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Ew.

"Hold the onions."

Carpe diem!

"Do you think a four foot hole is deep enough, or should we go down the full six??"

"None of this would be happening if we'd just gotten a dog!"

Fake countessing is a full time job.

Avery run out of booze?

A riding crop? Better quit while you're ahead, son.

"Oh fudge." Plushie is such a gentleman.

Things I never knew till now.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Oh, and...

Um....

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Coming events...

 

[Fading Fast]

"Oh," ohs Alice, in the way that particular way that one ohs when the truck is mentioned.

Ah.

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

You never get a second chance to make a first impression...

This is a lost cause; move on, Trix.

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

Carpe diem!

Diminished since the war or not, she is not a woman to double-cross.

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

"None of this would be happening if we'd just gotten a dog!"

Cute.

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Um....

Yes, they should have gotten a room. Also, reminds us how great the "no slide" rule is as it took away a lot of this nonsense.

 

[Harp]

Today's news saddens the heart with bridal crossing deaths, Russian roulette juveniles, and axe spousal assault. However, saw the Dodgers upset Cubs header, which reminds recent YouTube clips of Ohtani's brilliance. Guy's just outstanding-and a pitcher too. A deadly curve ball nailed it.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("T'is can't be legal," fumes Sally, "crammin'iss many people awna stinkin' ol' bus!" "Ain'no wois'n'a BMT," shrugs Alice, or at least she *would* shrug if her shoulders weren't firmly pinned in place by a mass of grumbling first-shift humanity. "Lease'em bums could do," Sally growls, as the bus rattles out of the Holland Tunnel and into the morning sunlight, "is hieh'ranough buses so we could breat'e." "Whassat smell?" wrinkles Alice, failing to twist her head around. "Sawry," sighs a beefy co-worker. "Hawt wawteh's out at t' place. No coal f' t' berleh." "HEY!" shouts Sally. "SOMEBODY OPEN A WINDEH!" "WON' HELP!" shouts back another voice. "NO PLACE F' T' AIEH T' GO!" "Gawdamm...." sighs Sally. "HEY!" shouts Alice. "QUIT POKIN!" "Sawry," murmurs an elderly man. "Hey," demands Sally. "You don' woik f' Weste'n Ele'tric -- whattaya doin' awnis bus??" "I wish I knew," laments the man. "I was standing in front of the Hudson Terminal, reading my Herald-Tribune, and suddenly this crowd..." "Gawwwwwwdammm," exhales Sally, as the bus rattles on toward Jersey City....)

("Docteh Glass says she's doin' betteh'n she was," relates Joe. "But t' improvemen' is whatchacawl tapeh'rin' awff since'a las' time he seen'eh." "Oh," frowns Ma. "Yeh," nods Joe. "He can't say'f she's gonna get any betteh'ra nawt. An'nen Docteh Minkoff wants t' tawk t'wus nex' week, about 'eh stawrt'n school inna fawl. He t'inks she awta skip ya kindehgawrt'n an' stawrt right out in 1-B." "Skippin' oovar 1-A??" gapes Ma. "I don' like it," frowns Joe. "She's smawrt enough f' *6*B, but she don' get alawng wit' ot'eh kids. Sal t'inks we oughta do like 'ee says, y'know, she's still soeh you wouldn' let'm skip HER t'at time." "Oi had good reasons," insists Ma. "Oi doon't think...." She is interrupted by the jangling of the phone. Joe steps around the counter to answer. "Lieb's," he greets. "Oh, yeh, Misteh Snodgrass. Yeh. Look, I ain' had time yet t'really tawk it oveh wit' -- well, she woiks out'n Joisey, see, an' hadda get up oily t'catch t'is bus, an' -- yeh, yeh, I know. I ain' stawlin', I jus' gotta figyeh some -- look, I'll tawk t'weh t'night, an'nen -- awright, t'marra mawrnin' f' soiten. I'll cawl. Awright. Yeh. G'bye." With a deep exhalation, he hangs up the phone, and slumps back to the counter. "It's too much sometimes," he laments. "Ah," acknowledges Ma. "Lissen," Joe resumes, cupping his forehead with his palm. "You seen Solly Pincus t'day? I wanna tawk t'wim......")

("Nahhh," nahhs Bink. "I dowanna go see no pitcheh." "Aw," cajoles Rosa Capiello. "C'mon. You goin' out tw'a show ain' gonna hoit nut'n. Y'need t'get out, an' so do *I*" "Whass wrawng wit'CHOO?" wonders Bink. "I'm worried," admits Rosa. "I'll be awright," insists Bink. "Lookit, I'm smilin'. See?" "I don' mean about YOU, ya fathead," snaps Rosa. "I got my OWN problems. I'm worried t'eh's sump'n gonna happ'n at woik. T'is meat business -- t'eh tawkin' 'bout layin' people awff. An'nat means ME." "Ahhh," aahhs Bink. "Din'choo say t'ey'rra 'fam'ly,' neveh lay nobody awff?" "T'at was when'ney NEEDED us," sighs Rosa. "Bohack ain' no diff'n any ot'eh comp'ny when t'ings is tight. An' I can't affoehd t' lose my jawb. I mean, Heckie's bringin' in money, but Angie an' Jerry's too young t' woik. An' Heckie don' make enough t' keep us awl eat'n if I ain' woikin'." "Maybe Joe'll take ya awn," shrugs Bink. "He's one'a t'ese sensitive guys, y'know." "He can't affoehd t'at," dismisses Rosa. "I see t'trouble HE's havin'. I mean, yawr lucky --" "No," snaps Bink. "I ain't." "Luckieh," argues Rosa, "t'en a lotta people....")

(Tsk. I suppose you can't throw anyone out of the game before there's a game to throw them out of. And I guess Joe Moore ain't so tough without his blackjack.)

(Nobody ever gets to finish a meal in this house...)

(A train? Don't you read the papers????)

(I shore do love the authentic cowboy slang.)

(I wonder how they're getting along back at the office...)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG isn't too worried about any of it, to be honest...)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Being thrown out of the DAR is a badge of honor.

Do you get the feeling this season is rapidly spinning out of control?

"Don't discourage him, dear. After all, you're the one who bought him the little hat."

Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick....

"We shall obey Molech rather than men..."

Oh, Bim....

You've got to stop enabling these guys.

If you're going to go to the trouble of carrying one cyanide vial, you should probably carry two, just in case.

Even though counted in advance, some chickens are doomed never to hatch.

This is what happens when you forget your lines.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Lease'em bums could do," Sally growls, as the bus rattles out of the Holland Tunnel and into the morning sunlight, "is hieh'ranough buses so we could breat'e."

The city just had a 3-day LIRR strike that was quickly settled because, well, the politicians and unions work together with the strike just being a little Kabuki Theatre for public consumption. Still, it's a kinda cool echo of 1946.

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No "Grin and Bear It" today?

BTW, "The Blue Dahlia" is also an excellent movie. Still, Bink should see "To Each His Own" first.

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

AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG isn't too worried about any of it, to be honest...

A false accusation is coming his way, though.

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

Being thrown out of the DAR is a badge of honor.

Indeed.

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

"Don't discourage him, dear. After all, you're the one who bought him the little hat."

That hat is the best part of it today.

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

Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick....

It's going to be so ugly.

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Could the DL be so far ahead of her time that she's the first to try vabbing?

 

[LizzieMaine]

Mr. Lichty's got to stop shipping his cartoons by rail.