The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Whatever are you trying to imply?

Among many other outstanding songs, Mr. Youmans gave us "Sometimes I'm Happy." No doubt inspired by Miss Boots.

A Countess? The Indian chief showed up last week. Where will we run into the operatic tenor?


It's a living.


Pretty thorough processing these prisoners get.

I'm sure Avery would rent you his couch. How does $15 a week sound?

The only comic strip with a musical score by Bernard Herrmann.

"You wouldn't mind if I just dunked his head into your demonstration model, would you?"

Tarz is wearing his grandmother's afghan for a sport coat, which does take a certain level of audacity.

"Here's my card, sir. J. Bismarck Tort, Attorney At Law, personal injuries a specialty..."

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

"Hey, Mike -- column idea for ya..."

How ya gonna keep 'em down on the farm....?

 

[Fading Fast]

Whatever are you trying to imply?



Away from that point, this is also another example of how lucrative jewelry robbery was as a profession back then.

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

The only comic strip with a musical score by Bernard Herrmann.

The creep factor is so high in this storyline I wish that Gray would just make his point and move on.

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

"Hey, Mike -- column idea for ya..."

He could, but he'd have to approach it gingerly as it is city owned and run, the same type of structure he loves.

 

[Harp]

The Youmans estate was poorly structured, and is legally impaired, headed towards probate; though a cursory pre-coffee scan failed note decedent state domicile wherein will filed.. Admirable philanthropy aside, spousal survivors and minor children left out cold without provision red flags estate. Mildred needs a more sagacious black knight counsel than her current beau who allowed her chess board divorce.

 

[Harp]

Addendum: Our boy should have seen Gone With The Wind in Hong Kong, which had Chinese captioning. Dragon Gal seems a sour date.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("What IS 'ensuffehlitis' anyways," murmurs Bink, looking down at the infant Frankie in his hospital crib. "I t'ought'ee had t' measles." "It's a common side effect of the measles infection in young children," explains Dr. McCann. "The brain swells, and sometimes, as I say, sometimes..." "Sometimes," repeats Bink. "But not awrways." "He did not have an especially severe case," admits the doctor. "But in a child this young, the potential for lasting effects cannot be discounted." "So ya sayin'," frowns Bink, "he ain't gonna be right inna head." "We can't really say anything at this stage," insists the doctor. "We'll just have to observe him carefully as he grows. As I said, it's possible that, oh, for example, he might begin to talk later than usual." "You ain' met t' rest'v'is fam'ly," sighs Bink. "All of this is speculation at this point," continues the Doctor. "Whassat mean?" injects Bink. "We just can't know yet," repeats the doctor. "I'm sorry I can't be more specific, Mrs. Scanlan." "It was jus' t' measles," sighs Bink, as her son twitches in his sleep....)

("Solly Pincus ain' so great," declares Willie, bouncing a pink rubber ball against the front stoop of 1762 63rd Street. "He's got med'ls," sniffs Lottie Schreibstein. "He's gotta Poiple Hawrt an'na Bronze Stawr an'na Good Conduct med'l! I seen'm when I was lookin' in 'is bureau draweh!" "My uncle Joe's gotta Poiple Hawrt," scoffs Willie, jumping to grab an errant rebound. "Leonoreh showed me oncet, an' Aun' Sally got mad." "She's awrways mad," snorts Lottie. "Butcha Uncle Joe wasn' no Sawrgean', like Solly Pincus!" "My Pap was inna GREAT wawr," retorts Willie, slamming the ball against the concrete with extreme force, and ducking as it whizzes straight back at him. It bounces once in the middle of 63rd Street, and thru the iron fence in front of the synagogue across the street. "Soives ya right," preens Lottie, "f'tellin' lies!" "My Pap was TOO inna Great Wawr!" retorts Willie. "An'nee got a whole BOX fulla medals! He jus' don' like t'brag!" "Solly Pincus don' hafta brag," twitters Lottie, whirling on her heel. "He's a SAWRGEANT!" "Awright f' YOU!" screams Willie, as his nemesis retreats, and he stalks across the street to retrieve his ball....)

("And it's guaranteed to fall down before you can get tired of it!")

("Aaaaah, ya shoulda seen it!" declares Hilda Chester, holding court in the Marble Rotunda. "I'm right inneh mawrchin wit' awlem ritzy dames. Jinx Fawlkenboig got nut'n on Hilda!" She rings her bell for emphasis, and catches sight of a familiar family in the crowd welling around the ticket windows. "HEY!" she bellows. "JOE! OVEH'REEH! SAL!!!" "How ya doin', Hilda," greets Joe. "As I live'n breat'e!" chuckles Hilda. "Whe'hyez' been keepin' yaselves?" "Measles quarantine," sighs Sally, her eyes indicating Leonora, who gazes with awe at Hilda. "HEY HONEY!" shouts that worthy. "HOW YA DOIN' KID?" Leonora clutches her ear, as Joe leans over and whispers. "Oh," ohs Hilda, dropping her persona. "Jeez, kid, t'at's rough. She gonna be awright?" "Yeh," nods Joe. "Jus' takin' time." "She's doin' betteh," adds Sally. "She c'n heeh pretty good mosta t'time." "Well," nods Hilda, "take whatch'a c'n get, huh? Hey, howza hamboigeh business? I was down by t'eh t'ot'eh day, an'ney was closed." "Measles quarantine," eyerolls Sally. "Some fam'ly, huh?" sighs Hilda. "I'm try'na get t'ings goin' again," notes Joe. "We'eh s'posta open up again t'marra, if we c'n get t' meat. Tez'zis ot'eh place we sell at oveh we'h we live in Bensonhoist, an'at's doin' awright." "Hey," interrupts Hilda. "T'at' remin's me a' sump'n. Y'know how I woik out at Aqueduc', right? Well, 'ezzis little jernt onna road out by t'eh, kin'a'va junky lit'l stan' wheh t'ey useteh sell hot dawgs 'n stuff befoeh t' wawr. S'awl closed up now, but it's a real good location, y'know? I awrways t'ought a smawrt guy could make a killin' inneh -- an' wit' t'em t'ings you sell y'd have t'beat t' customehs away witt'a stick." "Huh," huhs Joe, glancing at Sally, whose eyes narrow behind her glasses. "Lissen," continues Joe, "you wouldn' know who..." "I can't r'membeh," admits Hilda. "But lissen, 'nezza sign out front says 'To Let," an'nezza phone numbeh. I'm gonna be out'eh t'marra, I'll write it down f'ya an' letcha know, howzat?" "Yeh," nods Joe. "Hmmm," hmms Sally. "I GOTTA PEE," yells Leonora. "Oh, and Sal," adds Hilda. "I hoid sump'n you might be innehrested in. You hoid about t'is union t'ing that's goin awn wit' t' Pirates?" "Yeh?" replies Sally. "I seen about'tat inna papeh." "Well," continues Hilda, "ya know who's one'a t' big awrgenizehs onnat? Ya boy Coscarawrt." "Yeh????" gapes Sally, her eyes doubling in size. "Yeh," nods Hilda. "Him an'nat kid Gionfridda." "YEH?????" repeats Sally. "Ahhh," ahhs Joe. "I SAID I GOTTA PEE!!!" screams Leonara, as the crowd surges onward to their seats....)

(You don't run across too many hoods with a whimsical sense of humor.)

(If you're fleeing your past, don't leave a forwarding address...)

("MUST BE A CONSARNED MANGY OWLHOOT! LET"S HEAD HIM OFF AT THE PASS!")

(You might as well take the bus.)

(The Old Personality Act will only take you so far....)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Hey Caniff, why not give a us a story like this?

Coming events...

Reality is a construct.

Now be nice, or you can't play with your friends.

"Yes it is. You already gave her all the money."


There's always Avery's couch. $20 a week.

The latest fad among American youth? Talking like Bertie Wooster, old thing!

It's always nice to catch up with old friends.

The law is an exacting profession.

"I wouldn't know, he hasn't talked to me since 1935."

 

[Fading Fast]

"All of this is speculation at this point," continues the Doctor.

I don't like this at all.

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

an' Aun' Sally got mad." "She's awrways mad," snorts Lottie.

Out of the mouths of babes.

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

Well, 'ezzis little jernt onna road out by t'eh, kin'a'va junky lit'l stan' wheh t'ey useteh sell hot dawgs 'n stuff befoeh t' wawr. S'awl closed up now, but it's a real good location, y'know? I awrways t'ought a smawrt guy could make a killin' inneh -- an' wit' t'em t'ings you sell y'd have t'beat t' customehs away witt'a stick."

Solly will help capitalize it.

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

Hey Caniff, why not give a us a story like this?

Seriously, but no answer as to what happened to her, yet. Good things did not follow her disappearance down the conning tower.

 

[Harp]

Mrs Britain's disappearance is heartbreaking assumptive speculate; however, must be pursued.
As she was MacArthur secretarial staff, I imagine such investigation is currently active with evidentiary
leads among ship's officers and crew. A highest priority-no stone left unturned pursuit.

The McDermott-Harris death occurrence is a tort-of-misadventure happenstance, bereft prosecutable mens rea criminal intent. But lasting guilt.

Count de Plexus cannot possibly be you-know-whose, since Dude hit that illegitimate foundling square in the abdomen, and, luscious lethality wrapped grace, beauty, and elegance, Burma, delivered coup de grace editorial finality set to copy evening paper obit section. Definitely done and dawg gone bye-bye....

 

[LizzieMaine]

("You gonna use ya rain checks t'day?" asks Alice, leaning back against the stoop. "Neh," nehs Sally. "Who wants t'see t' Reds? We'll wait'la nex' time t' Pittsboigs come t' town." "Whenzat?" wonders Alice. "Eighteent'a June," replies Sally, without a moment's hesitation. "Nineteent' n' twenniet'. Petey'll be back inna lineup by t'en." "He's awrganizin'a union, huh?" continues Alice. "Howzat woik f'ra bawlplayeh, t'ey t'row up a line arou'na infiel'?" "I'll tell ya what I t'ink," declares Sally. "T'at wasn' no rainout yestehday. It was jus' drizzlin', t'ey coulda played. What I bet really happ'nt is t' Pirates hadda siddown strike, jus' like we done at Woolwoit's in t'oity-seven. An' I betcha Petey was right awna front line, lookin'm right inna eye an' sayin' T'EY SHALL NAWT PASS! He's like t'at. You eveh seen'im toin a double play?" "I bet if t'ey t'row up a line aroun'a infiel'," speculates Alice, "t'ey could nail up signs awna bats." "An' if t'ez any scabbin'," nods Sally, "BANG, right awna head." "You neveh done'at at Woolwoit's," queries Alice. "Didja?" "Neh," admits Sally. "But we t'rew a lotta mash p'tatehs fr'm t' lunch coun'eh." "What about t' bricks?" wonders Alice. "Not'lley got us outside," declares Sally. "Tezza time 'na place.")

("Izzat awla meat we got?" frowns Joe. "I t'ought t'eh was a mess'v'it innat freezeh up awna roof!" "We was quaaarantined in here farr three weeks," sighs Ma. "An' they run oota meat down t' Bohack's, an' ye knoo how Francis is whin'ee doon' get 'is beef." "What about'at pal'a his?" queries Joe. "Shaughnessy t' butcheh." "Hmph," hmphs Ma. "T' Saaaaawdoost King a' East Flatboosh." "It's awrways sump'n," laments Joe. "I gotta chance t' 'spand out wit' t'is jernt in Ozone Pawrk Hilda tol' me 'bout, an' now t'ez no meat again!" "Ooozoon Park?" perks Ma. "Is that oot by th' -- " "Yeh," nods Joe. "Awlat traffic, awlem people goin out t'eh." "Be surrre ye get'm," advises Ma, "aaaahn th' way IN." "Ah," nods Joe....)

("These labor agitators," sneers Mr. Rickey. "They have no purchase upon my ferocious gentlemen!" "Um," ums Mr. Parrott. "You contradict me?" frowns Mr. Rickey. "Tell what you know at once." "Wellllllllllll," demurs Mr. Parrott. "Out with it, boy," demands Mr. Rickey. "You have no secrets from me." "Don't you think," ventures Mr. Parrott, "that, oh, for example, it might be a good idea to start, uh, well, a pension plan? For the guys? Don't you think?" "A man who practices the virtues," scowls Mr. Rickey, "of thrift and abstemiousness will be ably provided for in his elder years." "You played ball," argues Mr. Parrott. "Did you ever know anyone in the game like that?" "I did," declares Mr. Rickey. "Myself." "Ah," sighs Mr. Parrott. "And Mr. Mack," adds Mr. Rickey. "Yes sir," sighs Mr. Parrott, reaching for the door....)

("Then Die!" I wish I'd thought of that, everyone's quoting it...)

(What would Sergeant Solly say if a five-foot-tall rabbit in white gloves walked into his store?)

(Judge not, lest you be judged...)

(In Hollywood? Anyone who speaks perfect English can name his own price!)


(I don't hate geraniums, but carnations fill me with rage. I dropped a can of milk on my foot when I was three and I never forgot...)

(Well, I suppose I can stick it out for two more years...)

(GLAAAAARE)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

In a certain Bushwick warehouse, Uncle Frank surveys the stock. "Inky dropped off t'em new labels," notes Danny. "He fixed t'at t'ing you said about t' E befoeh I." "Ah," acknowledges Uncle Frank, opening one of the bundles to examine the results. "Sooo he did," he sighs. "R-H-E-I-N-G-O-U-L-D."

The passing parade...

Smoke "TOBACCO" brand cigarettes! Because why bother?

"They want Fred's still! BUT I WON'T LET THEM HAVE IT!"

Left unexplained is exactly what was going on when Moon walked in. But maybe we don't want to know.

Some effects are best created by the real thing.

It takes a certain kind of man to pull off wearing a hat that way. And you, Mr. Gump, are not Alexander Woollcott.

A chute like that could come in real handy.

This always happens in a mysterious lost valley. I wonder if there'll be dinosaurs?

I hear the trailer fad is coming back...

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Gawblessya, Fitz...

 

[Fading Fast]

"It's awrways sump'n," laments Joe.

Being the boss sounds great until you're actually the boss.

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

What would Sergeant Solly say if a five-foot-tall rabbit in white gloves walked into his store?

If he's the businessman I think he is, he'd ask what he could show him.

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

In Hollywood? Anyone who speaks perfect English can name his own price!

With or without the Mid-Atlantic accent?

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

A chute like that could come in real handy.

"Allow me to show you our latest model." – Salesman, Chutes 'r Us, a wholly owned subsidiary of Basements 'r Us.

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

Gawblessya, Fitz...

Agreed. Is it true? Who knows? It's a good story, though.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Checking the box scores, this would seem to be the game -- September 11, 1941. Fitz's memory is off on some of the details, but it was a hell of a performance. It was his last win of the year, until that World Series game he WOULD have won if he hadn't been kneecapped.

https://www.baseball-almanac.com/box-scores/boxscore.php?boxid=194109110SLN

 

[Harp]

First cup traverse caught the McDonald matrimonial story. Their Mexican divorce raises jurisdictional issues with her former spouse London embroglio challenge; also, child custody and daughter illegal UK remove entwine issue. I doubt the Mexican courts have proper jurisdiction, and perceive a McDonald res ipsa loquitur defense insufficient the probable moment.

Munchkin's doormat act and Dragon Gal's evident dismay, raise query as to Pat Ryan's whereabouts since he was herself's saxophone squeeze, or so surnised.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Is Bink aroun' t'day?" queries Joe, wiping his hands on his apron. "I need t' go out'n tawk t' t'at wholesale meat guy again, an' I need 'eh to run t' grill while I'm out." "She's at th' haaaaspit'l," sighs Ma. "They doon't have noothin' new t' tell'ar, boot she goos ovarr tharr and sits. Oi c'n roon th' grill farrr ye if ye moost go." "You sueh?" hesitates Joe. "T'ezza trick t'wit, gett'na meat jus' right." "Oi s'poos Oi ate enoof'a yarr beef darrrin' th' quarantine," shrugs Ma, "Oi should knoo what it otta taste loike." Joe gazes at his mother in law for a long moment, and then nods. "Awright," he agrees, untying his apron, and reaching for his cap. "I otta be back foeh t' school rush stawrts. I wisht we hadda not'eh poisson t' help out in'eeh -- I know Bink don' like to woik 'less she hasta, but she's pretty good onna grill." He steps to the door and sighs again. "An' I promise I'll put up t' screen dooeh t'is aftehnoon, jeez, ya miss t'ree weeks an' y'gotta have t'ree weeks t'get caught up! Oh -- and if Heckie comes in, tell 'im no moeh san'wiches onna cuff til'ee set'ls his bill. It's onna ticket inna draweh. Awright -- um -- Oh, I f'got --" "Joseph," exhales Ma. "Ye joost missed th' trolley." "Oh," sighs Joe. "Well, I s'pose I could use t' exehcise....")

("I wondeh how Jinx Fawlkenboig," ponders Sally, "got t'be Jinx Fawlkenboig." "Huh," huhs Alice. "I neveh t'ought of it, but I guess she's pretty good at it. She got a radio show now, jus' like -- um -- " "She's a lawt betteh at it t'en Kilgallen," snorts Sally. "I lissened to'eh when we was home awl day, an' she ain' stupid an' stuck up. She don' go twitt'n an' tweet'n alawng like Kilgallen does, 'oh la dee dah, awrnt'eese lit'l white gloves from Bonwit Telleh jus' dawrlin', don't you t'ink so Dickie deeh..." Alice laughs in acknowledgement, as Sally punctuates her statement by sticking out her tongue while wagging her pinky derisively in the air. "Whatta YOU lookin' at," she snaps at the World-Telegram reader in the seat ahead. "Plus Jinx Fawlkenboig plays tennis," adds Sally. "Kilgallen neveh played nut'n inneh life. 'Cept'a pianna, an' she wasn' no good at t'at." "She wasn' Miss Rheingold neit'eh," reminds Alice. "Um. Was she...?")

(Coming Events...)

(I can sing the Chiquita Banana Song too. Where's MY Eagle profile?)

(JEEZUZ CHRIST, REISER!)

(The Dragon Lady's kid sister needs better henchmen.)

("Mildred Pierce" was more fun.)

(You need a better sidekick. Is Smiley Burnette available?)

(Edward Arnold makes the most of every role he takes.)

(Now now, Kitty, you live in a cellar.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News....

Remember when we used to get dramatic stories of hero cops bulldogging runaway milk wagon horses to the ground?

Note the spelling, Inky.

Needs ice.

"That's all right, I'm the doctor."

"Well, get the shotguns. For the glory of Molech, of course."

She left town three days ago, and who can blame her?

Mama's losing her finesse in her old age.

Somebody's contract is about to be renegotiated.

Times are tough all over.

Timing is everything.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

And this is why Uncle Frank does his brewing in Bushwick.

 

[Fading Fast]

"She wasn' Miss Rheingold neit'eh," reminds Alice. "Um. Was she...?"

God luv her.

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

JEEZUZ CHRIST, REISER!

UFB.

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

Now now, Kitty, you live in a cellar.

Kitty is relentless. She is up for a fight 100% of the time. Cats, though, are much easier to take care of.

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

Remember when we used to get dramatic stories of hero cops bulldogging runaway milk wagon horses to the ground?

Doesn't that seem like a hundred years ago?

At least now the police worried about hitting the driver with a stray b*llet. The postwar shift to more safety is on. In the prewar days, it would have been the driver's responsibility to duck.

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

Somebody's contract is about to be renegotiated.

When it all blows up, this will be ugly.

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

And this is why Uncle Frank does his brewing in Bushwick.

Uncle Frank never genuinely worried about the quality of anything he does or sells a day in his life. I think I almost like the guy because he's not mean, but he is basically all hat and no cattle.

 

[Harp]

Drinking on the job has cost those Brooklyn bandito ******eros; whom should have waited to slide behind
a double rocks poured Evan Williams eight year charcoal barrel aged Kentucky bourbon after a job well done.
With some equally smooth Manhattan jazz playing softly in background, lovely women, and the promise of fateful chance whispering softly in their ears.

Saw the Corbett-Royal divorce Reno dive, which implies the lady is under advisement. And she is probably a citizen of the United Kingdom wherein the taxman axe doth fall.