The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

("What'm I sp'osta say??" jitters Rosa, shaking in the phone booth at the Texaco station just down Rockaway Boulevard. "Don't worry," calms Shirley. "I wrote it all out for you on this card. Just tell him what it says here." "I dunno," quails Rosa. "Maybe I betteh not." "It's advertising," declares Shirley. "Just like I explained." "Who even looks at television??" protests Rosa. "Guys in bawrs!" "And who's most likely to come by here on their way to the racetrack??" counters Shirley. "Guys in bars! And who's going to stop for a Big Joe's Special before they go in??" "Look," injects Joe. "You ain' gotta do t'is if y'don' wanna. It's upta you, an' nobody's gonna t'ink lessaya..." Rosa gazes out at her associates, bites her lip, and slowly lifts the receiver. Shirley hands her a nickel. "Whassat numbeh?" Rosa requests. "CIrcle 7-8300," instructs Shirley. "Extension 777. Ask for Mr. Sobol." "SObol 7..." repeats Rosa. "Maybe," sighs Joe, "Shoiley betteh make t' cawl...")

("I t'ink 'e's a pretty cute baby," declares Bink. "I din' t'ink so when I fois' gottim, but he grows awn ya. His head ain' as big as it was." "Docteh Spock says," declares Angie, "t'at ya shouln' lettim sleep like t'at. It'll make his head flat awna back." "Hey," whispers Bink at her sleeping son. "Frankie. Toin ya head." She frowns as the infant remains as pinned into position by his grandmother. "Whass' Uncle Spock say," queries Bink, "bout pinnin' 'im t' t' mattress?" "I ain' read'at fawr," admits Angie. "I'm jus' upta heads." "Well," announces Bink, removing the safety pins holding the baby in place, "I ain' gonna stan' f' no pins, even if t' ol' lady DOES say t'ats t' way SHE done it. Awright, Frankie -- toin ya head." "He don' unnehstan' English yet," notes Angie. "Oh," sighs Bink. "Lissen, do me a faveh. Run downstaiehs an' ask Ma how ya say 'toin ya head' in Irish...")

("And thank gawd for Just Plain Bill...")

("Going over the falls, sir?" snickers Mr. Parrott. "That wretch Powers," grumbles Mr. Rickey. "That bounder. That rabble-rousing son of perdition, in whose tongue no righteousness dwells..." "He sells a lot of papers, sir," notes Mr. Parrott. "More than two million a day. And can you imagine how much they make from advertising?" "Place a full page advertisement at once," commands Mr. Rickey, "defending my integrity against this muckraker's thrusts." "That will be -- expensive," warns Mr. Parrott. "Ah," sighs Mr. Rickey. "Niagara is beautiful," nods Mr. Parrott. "Especially at this time of year...")

(Quiet, stupid, let the professionals handle this.)

(I was dull eyed and listless for fifteen years and I never missed a broadcast. SO THERE.)

(MEET CUTE)

(Um...)

(Be sure it's unoccupied -- you know how these farm people get.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Ew" just won't do it this time.

Ohhhh, Leo, you do need better friends...

"And only two more payments and we own the carriage free and clear!"

Civil aviation is the next big thing.

"Just a rattle-brained hepcat!"

Ah.

"Well that'll get me thru another day, I guess. When do we eat?"

"He's a barber, stupid. And you need a haircut!"

Jinx Jr.

Mr. Willard sure has a lot of friends. Hiya, Billy the Kid Levinson!

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

"Sal!" gasps Alice. "You ain't woiked'eh in yeehs!!!! SAL!!!!"

 

[Fading Fast]

"Maybe," sighs Joe, "Shoiley betteh make t' cawl..."

Seriously.

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"Lissen, do me a faveh. Run downstaiehs an' ask Ma how ya say 'toin ya head' in Irish..."

Dear Lord, this kid is going to have some challenges to overcome. But he's got people who will care about him and that puts him ahead of many.

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

Be sure it's unoccupied -- you know how these farm people get.

Nice. But yeah, humans gonna human.

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

Ohhhh, Leo, you do need better friends...

So the guy sets up a phony company to dodge the draft and manages to get $93,000 worth of orders which is about $1,800,000 today. I know several honest business that can't come close to that.

Oh, somebody should take a closer look at those dice.

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

"Sal!" gasps Alice. "You ain't woiked'eh in yeehs!!!! SAL!!!!"

Oh dear God. Solly or the Ginsburgs will have to come up with the bail money.

 

[Harp]

Lt Farrell, hardly a proverbial officer and gentleman, merits a double sawbuck sentence.

Having lived in Greece, Ms Stavrou's homeless comment remarks Hellenic societal norms.
She has estranged herself from family consequent her tryst with defendant. Her counsel has filed civil suit against Farrell, and, after conviction opportunes approach for settlement. A fast nickel over slow dime, but nevertheless substantial. And that ******* Farrell isn't in position to argue against his own counsel picking his pockets.

Terry might have a shot with Smythe-Heatherstone after all.

Yesterday's attempt to beat the favorite failed utterly since Bless the Broken didn't hit the board
much less win. And Snowtje with less previous credentials squeezed rail to nail showtime.
I busted flush holding an inside straitjacket but today's another day. #6 Cornucopian, #5 Stronghold, #1 Maximum Bourbon, ''ALL'' for a $45 bucks bet down superfecta in the Crosby
at Del Mar this evening. Cornucopian is Baffert's boy with exceptional recent past performance.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Whattaya t'ink?" queries Joe. "T'ey fit? T'ey feel awright?" "I guess," experiments Rosa, testing the feel of the new skates. "I neveh had nut'n awn like t'ese befoeh. Wheh'd'ey..." "Neveh min'," interrupts Joe. "Jus' go practice. T'ey wanna see ya do ya stuff on Monday, an' we gotta be ready." Joe winds a portable phonograph resting on the serving counter. "T'eh probl'y gonna use music inya audition, so ya gotta make sueh ya keepin' in time. I brung some reckehds." He lowers the soundbox, and "King Porter Stomp" scratches out over the parking lot. "T'at cawrny ol' stuff?" snorts Rosa. "Strickly L-7." "I c'n see," sighs Joe, shutting off the record, "you gotta lotta loinin' t' do. You know howta dance, don'cha?" "I get by," shrugs Rosa. "Ya gotta do moehr'n get by," insists Joe. "Y' can't jus' spin aroun'. When me'n Sal was inna Hawrves' Moon Bawl back in t'oity-seven, we had a whole routine t'at we..." "What?" gapes Rosa. "You? An'na wawkin' mou --" "We woulda made t' quawrteh finals," declares Joe, "if Sal hadn'a -- oh, neveh min'. Look, t' rhyt'm is simple. It's ya basic fox trot, 4-4 time." "I know, I know," snaps Rosa. "Slow slow quick quick. Jus' like Awrt'eh Murray." "No," insists Joe, "see, t'at's wheh ya ain' get'n it. Ya gotta give it a swing. Slow-quickquick-slow-slow-quickquick-slow, like'at. Y'see? An'nen ya jus' keep up wit' t' tempo, pace ya moves, an'ya inneh!" "You betteh do it," groans Rosa, beginning to unlace. "You c'n weah my outfit. We'll getcheh'ra wig. Nobody'll eveh know." "SHOILEY!" bellows Joe...)

("You eveh read anyt'ing by t'is guy?" querie Alice, gesturing to the photograph on page two. "I seen'im in a Movietone once, lawng time ago. T'ey say he's Irish, but'ee don' soun' it." "Yeh," nods Sally. "T'ezza buncha stuff. T'eh was one he wrote, 'Man an' Supehman...' "Really?" gapes Alice. "Supehman? Huh. Maigin'at. He eveh write any'ting 'bout Batman?" "Not'tat Supehman," corrects Sally. "It's 'bout t'is guy awrways runnin' 'is mout' 'bout stuff, right? An'nezzis gal t'at's smawrt'eh'rn he is, an' makes 'im do what she wants 'im t'do, 'cept'ee don' realize it." "Oh," shrugs Alice. "So whez Supehman come in?" "T'at'sa pernt," declares Sally. "T'is guy t'inks HE's a supehman, awr'ee's gonna be one, a' sump'n. Been a lawng time since I read it. But anyways, awlee really is is some guy can't shut up." "An'ee ain' even fastehr'na speed'n bu llet?" questions Alice. "Nawt even close," affirms Sally. "Huh," huhs Alice. "Seems like people'd get soeh. Y'pick up a book says "Supehman" awn it anneh ain' even no Supehman in it, seems like t'at guy'd have a lotta questions t' anseh." "He don' do intehviews," deadpans Sally. "Prob'ly f' t' bes'," agrees Alice, as the train rolls on toward home..)

(Oh, you ain't seen nothin' yet.)

(Game and a half lead? Nothing to worry about.)

(Hey, teach me that trick.)

("You're late. You go on the air in forty seconds. Here's your script. Some of the pages might be out of order, but you'll manage.")

(Won't the Inspector be surprised!)

(Some people are just made for high armholes.)

(Life is full of pragmatic decisions.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Luba the Beautiful Dancer?" Hey, didn't you know Mrs. Langford?

Kay's been kind of lost since Mae moved out.

Charlie is this far from saying "hubba hubba," at which point Terry is prepared to slap him really hard across the back of the head.

Wherever humans gather, you will find hustlers.

"You will stoke the fires of Molech. So it is written and so shall it come to pass."

Relative time. You know, like Einstein said.

Well, give him a few days, and he'll probably end up there anyway.

"Voom Voom? My name, suh, is Ethel!"

If Gershwin won't save her, nothing will.

Being a burglar's actually pretty boring. You never hear about all the standing around.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Whattaya t'ink?" queries Joe. "T'ey fit? T'ey feel awright?" "I guess," experiments Rosa, testing the feel of the new skates. "I neveh had nut'n awn like t'ese befoeh. Wheh'd'ey..." "Neveh min'," interrupts Joe. "Jus' go practice.

My guess is Solly came through, because if it was Frank, there'd be something wrong with them. Also, they need time to work on this act.

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

"Luba the Beautiful Dancer?" Hey, didn't you know Mrs. Langford?

"There is not now and never has been a 'Mrs. Langford.'" – every NYC newspaper + the NYPD.

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

Charlie is this far from saying "hubba hubba," at which point Terry is prepared to slap him really hard across the back of the head.

And I wouldn't blame him. She has "stay away" flashing in neon on her forehead.

 

[Harp]

Artie Shaw appeared before the House Un-American committee suspected of being
a communist while under Treasury Department investigation for piracy.... And he's paying
out two gees a month to one babe and just split from Ava Gardner. Puts my racetrack blues
in another perspective....

Terry has a rather chilled perspective regarding Smythe-Heatherstone. I would have thought
whatever action on the table postwar-civil strife torn China was all good tablestakes.
Apparently not.

Yesterday's Crosby at Del Mar proved another barn burner debacle for track rail crows
like moi. I recall a Damon Runyon snapshot, elegantly decked out pinstripes topped fedora,
holding a folded daily racing form paper at Aqueduct. Satisfied obviously with day's profit like
a Chicago Board of Trade pit day scalper. Some days are like that but many aren't.