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Germans Launch “Lightning War” on Low Countries
Holland and Belgium Under Siege
ANTWERP, Friday—The Wehrmacht today dispatched 500 bombers on a series of strafing raids over Belgium and Holland, eliminating the last few pockets of peace in Europe.
Calling the assault “shameful,” President Roosevelt denounced Hitler’s aggression as “wanton and unprovoked,” but denied—at least for the moment—that a mandatory draft would be enacted in order to put the U.S. on a tentative war footing.
Brooklyn, however, rebuffed the newest Nazi threat sensibly and without panic. Several local restaurant owners have removed hamburger and sauerkraut from their respective menus and have replaced the items with liberty steak and pickled cabbage. Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia has not yet responded to a petition that would require other Borough eateries to follow suit.
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INTERVIEWER: Donald M. Weston, Ph.D.
SUBJECT: Joseph Charles Margolis
Q: What’s the matter?
A: Cheesed off.
Q: At your father?
A: No. At Steve Early.
Q: President Roosevelt’s Steve Early?!?
A: Yeah.
Q: What position does he play?
A: You’re humoring me again.
Q: I’m sorry. Why are you cheesed off at Steve Early?
A: He wouldn’t listen to me about Czechoslovakia or Austria. Now he says Holland is nothing to worry about either.
Q: How do you know that? From the newspaper?
A: No. He told me so.
Q: Of course.
A: You think I’m slap-happy, don’t you?
Q: I didn’t—
A: You want to read the letter?
Q: If you’d like—
A: Here.
Subject hands interviewer an envelope and a sheet of paper.
Q: Oh, my God.
A: See?
Q: How long has this been going on?
A: Since 1937. He apologized when the Panay got sunk, ’cause I told him that was gunna happen too. See, right after Nanking—
Q: He calls you Joey….
A: Right after Nanking—
Q: He calls you Joey twice—
A: Charlie Banks calls me “Kid.” I hate it when he does that.
Q: Then why don’t you tell him so?
A: Because.
Q: Because why?
A: Just because.
Q: What do you see?
A: C-Crosley Field in Cincinnati. The game where Charlie hit two grand slams in a row. W-we all waited for him at the plate after the second one and then jumped on him when he got there. But—but I was the only one he hugged back. M-my Dad calls him a loser. How come I don’t believe him anymore?
Q: We can stop now, Joey. Do you have a handkerchief?
A: N-no.
Q: Here. Use mine.
A: Thanks.
Q: Know what I see?
A: What?
Q: A Rorschach blot.
A: You mean I was right?
Q: I’m beginning to wonder….
* * *
Man About Town
by Winchell
Merman Kayos MacKay
The latest shot in the Ethel Merman-Hazel MacKay feud was fired yesterday when the Merm snapped up the title role in Cole Porter’s new tuner Panama Hattie, checking in at the 46th Street in October. According to the rumor mill, the part was scripted with MacKay in mind when Broadway wags predicted that Merman’s current wow, DuBarry Was a Lady, might run into next season.
Battle lines were first drawn four years ago when MacKay landed a small role in Merm’s Red, Hot and Blue!, held a high C for sixteen bars, and the walls came a-tumblin’ down. By the next a.m., the boys on the aisle had dubbed her “the new Ethel Merman.” The old one didn’t agree.
“I’ve got nothing against her,” said Eth at the Stork Club shortly after MacKay was fired. “She’s a talented dame.”
Meanwhile MacKay—who’s not a fiery-tempered redhead for nuttin’—continues her engagement with the Benny Goodman Orchestra at the posh Manhattan bistro Tuxedo Junction. Her on-again/off-again romance with New York Giants rookie sensashe Charlie Banks appears to be back on track—at least for now. Can we blame her? Sech muscles!
* * *
* * *
Miss Hazel MacKay
c/o Tuxedo Junction
5 West 49th Street
New York, New York
Dear Miss MacKay,
I am a 12-year-old boy and I have gangreen in both of my legs. I used to play third base like my hero Charlie Banks, but if they have to amputate I will only be 2½ feet tall and nobody will ever let me near an infield again.
The reason I am writing to you is really two reasons.
I wrote to Charlie Banks at his house on Riverside Drive (Mayor LaGuardia got me the address when he visited me in the hospital) and I asked him if he could hit a home run for me the way Babe Ruth used to do. Well I guess he thought I was a fibber or something because when he wrote me back he called me a “little pisser” and told me never to write to him again.
The other reason is because when my fever came down to 105°, the first thing I heard was you singing “Give Him The Ooh-La-La” on the radio. So you are good luck to me.
Miss MacKay, I do not want to lose my legs. Since Charlie Banks doesn’t like me very much, could you instead sing a song for me the next time you are on the Chase and Sanborn Hour? It would make me so happy.
Your friend,
Joey Margolis
* * *
* * *
Dear Chiseler,
Look up in your dictionary the word cheat. Next to it you will probably find a picture of your face. Also swindler and phony and double-crosser and blackmaler and fake.
One thing you better wise up to PDQ (pretty fuckin quick) is that you don’t ever get something you don’t earn just on account of asking. And earning it takes alot more than making up some load of crap about dying or getting snot in your eyes or whatever the Hell. Ask that Noodlemouth in the White House. He wanted something for nothing too. Just because everybody felt sorry for him from polio and his brother or somebody was Theodore. Know where he was headed for? Nowhere. And he would of gotten there safe and sound too, if it wasn’t for his wife. On account of she was the one who nearly killed herself making people want to vote for him. She was the one who climbed into the coal mines from worrying that the guys down there might someday not come back up alive. She was the one who went into the slums and talked to the Negroes in person and tried to get them a better deal even though you would of thought that her husband heard of Lincoln and all, what with both of them being Presidents. FDR is a waste of my time. Eleanor is okay I guess.
Read the newspaper kid. And not the Brooklyn Eagle either which it is clear to me is only good for a laugh. Poland’s gone. So is Denmark. France is halfway there. And the Brits were damn lucky to get off of Dunkirk Beach last week with their butt in one piece. So you can bet that if Mr. Franklin Delano Biscuithead isn’t careful, there is a good chance we will be eating sour kraut in November instead of turkies and etc. Up in Cooperstown NY there is a place they call the Hall of Fame. Maybe you heard of it. In it you will find C. Mathewson from Factoryville PA who so what if he had a fade-away? He went to fight in The World War though he did not have to, and breathed some gas that somehow turned into TB and he died. When he was still practically young. And you think people will call you special just on account of getting a home run hit for you? You kick that around for a while and if you start feeling a little lousy, good.
Now look. I know your full of shit and you know I know your full of shit but my girl doesn’t know how full of shit you are yet and in the meantime she just had dinner with Tyrone Power who she hates but told the Herald Tribune about it anyway just to burn my ass. So one way or another we’re going to figure out a way for you to get me out of this mess. If it works I don’t put the slug on you. If it doesn’t you better hit th
e dirt running because you don’t get much of a head start. You owe me one, Bucko.
Chas. Banks
3d Base
P.S. And what the Hell do you know about Roger Bresnahan anyway? You weren’t even alive yet.
* * *
* * *
Dear Mr. Banks,
Big deal. You weren’t alive yet either. They got him for a couple thousand dollars from the Baltimore Orioles and people called him the Duke of Tralee. He was the only one who knew how to catch Matty the right way and if you turn out to be even half the man he was, you’ll be lucky. But I doubt it.
Another thing. If you ever call Roosevelt a Noodlemouth or a Biscuithead again, you’ll wish that you never left Springfield, Illinois, which by the way doesn’t have an “e” on the end of it. I mean it, Charlie. How do you know I’m not really 8 feet tall? How do you know I don’t have fists of iron? You don’t scare me. Did you ever get an inauguration? Did you ever tell Hoover he was an “ass hole”? Do you have an Oval Office? You bet you don’t. You’re just some dumb ball player. Who won’t hit a home run for me.
Know what I wish? I wish that I played third base for the New York Giants and your last name was Margolis and that you lived in Flatbush next door to the Hitler Youth. Then we’d see how fast you’d be writing to me. Only I’d have my secretary send you a greeting card or some such that said “Many Happy Returns” even if yours said “Help”. Maybe you think I’m just some knucklehead, but I don’t have enough time in my life to worry about Bierman and Delvecchi and The Third Reich and neither would you. Okay, I guess I shouldn’t have said those things about the Marine Corps and KP and all, and it was probably a dumb thing to do and if it was I guess I’m sorry. But smokes, Charlie. How many times can I tell my Mom I fell off my bike?
Joey Margolis
P.S. When are we going to Tuxedo Junction to see Hazel?
* * *
* * *
Dear Iron Fists,
How does a week from never sound?
Maybe you didn’t get me. We aren’t going anywhere. Your going to sit your ass down and pick up a pencil and tell her you made it all up. Then your going to put it in an envelope and mail it. Loud and clear?
So don’t get the wrong idea and think we are friends. Or anything like it. The only reason I am even writing back is on account of it being 2:00 in the a.m. in Philly and they just traded my roommate Gridley Tarbell to the White Sox, a fate I would not wish on a dog. (That is the same team that gave us the 1919 World’s Series and people like Eddie Cicotte and Swede Risberg and Chick Gandil and Al Capone.) I asked Mr. Terry if I could room with Jordy Stuker who is even worse at 5 card stud than Gridley was, and Mr. Terry said yes. So instead he gave me Carl Hubbell by saying “He will be a good influence on you Charles.” The Good Influence never says “shit” and he only plays bridge and he eats hot dogs with a fork and he right now is fast asleep in the next bed in this damn hotel room but he is still talking anyway. I think he is giving an interview—he just said “Couldn’t of done it without the team.” Oh, yeah? Let’s see how fast he wins another 200 games with a towel in his mouth. Stuke would of been a much better deal all the way around. He can fart the first part of “God Bless America” good enough to sing along with it, and he also thinks Lucille Ball is going to marry him. Even though she won’t answer any of his letters, including the one with the malt balls in it.
You don’t know everything Kid. Maybe you think you do, but batting averages and etc. are only the gravy on the tip of the iceberg. There are other things that count for alot more: like Church-hill and Anshluss and Kristal Nacht and people who are always on your side no matter what. The trouble with you is thinking because your a Jew you have got the World Market cornered on hard knocks which really hands me a laugh from not noticing you doing anything about it. If you ever once found the guts to stand up for yourself, you would realize that it doesn’t matter if your a Cathlic or a Gentle or one of those people from India with holes in their farhead. I don’t take any of that crap serious which is how come I know your full of it. But I’ll tell you something. Third base belongs to me—nobody else—and anyone who tries to take it away better be ready for a good fight. You included. So maybe it’s time you found a place of your own in the infield. You need alot of work. And it’s a cinch your old man isn’t minding the store.
Charles Banks
3B
P.S. And by the way. Your not suppose to put quotion marks around asshole. And there’s no space in the middle. Two can play at this one, Kid.
P.S.2. How do you know about Harlan?
P.S.3. Don’t waste your time writing back. I found another place to move to and only 3 people in the world get the address. Your not one of them.
* * *
* * *
Miss Elsie McKeever
Bureau of Vital Statistics
964 Marquette Street
Racine, Wisconsin
Dear Miss McKeever,
I do not know if you remember me, but I wrote to you in April and you helped me find my family.
I have some sad news. My Cousin Ivy got hit by a train and died. She was very close to our Cousin Charlie and we sent him a telegram on Riverside Drive, but Western Union says he doesn’t live there anymore. Do you know where he moved to?
Thank you.
Very truly yours,
Joseph Margolis Banks
* * *
* * *
Mr. Joseph Margolis Banks
236 Montgomery Street
Brooklyn, New York
Dear Joseph:
Of course I remember you! And I am so sorry to hear about your cousin. We have, of course, changed our records to reflect her unfortunate passing.
I have checked with the post office and am happy to report that Charles is now living at 227 West 94th Street, Apt. 14-A, New York, New York.
My deepest sympathies to both of you and the rest of your family. Please let me know if there is anything else I can do.
Sincerely,
Elsie McKeever
Archivist
* * *
* * *
Dear Kid,
Do you hire people such as Flash Gordon and The Batman to follow me? I would report you to the FBI for knowing such things as West 94th Street and thinking I have a brother named Harlan and etc., except for the part of me that thinks maybe you are working for them. Maybe your not really short and 12. Maybe your really 38 and look like Rock Nuteny or somebody. I dropped two pop-ups today due to wondering.
Now look Iron Fists. She changed her telephone number again so when I called and said I Love You, I was really talking to a pissed off Negro with a dick. And when I stood under where she lives and played “In the Mood” on my sax, instead of her opening the window to listen like she always does, all I got was hit in the face by a shoe.
Okay. Maybe I said some things in my previous letters that I shouldn’t of. But the Mirror says that Clark Grable saw her show twice last night so I am running out of time. I will give you one more chance to tell her the truth. Otherwise I will have to break your neck.
Charlie Banks
P.S. Your old man must punch one Hell of a time clock on account of being a sub commander and a senator, huh? Gotcha you little goop.
P.S.2. But at least he took you to the Worlds Fair, right?
P.S.3. The way I figured it on the train to Philly, you are still not telling me why they put you in the Juvenile Pokey for three reasons: (a) you are punishing me (which if you are good luck and fuck you), (b) they are going to send you to the chair for it (but your still a miner so I doubt it), or (c) you think that whatever they put you there for was the worst thing in the world and your ashamed (which is the way everybody in there feels). Since it couldn’t be (b) and it better not be (a), chances are it is probably (c), so I am inclosing something from my own scrap book, which if you show it to anybody I will pull your arms off.
This is me when I was 15 yrs. old before I had stats. In the back ground is the mes
s hall at Father Flanagans. They sent me there for armed robbery after I stuck up a candy store with a pop gun, even though all I got out of it was two sticks of spearamint gum and some Hershey Kisses.
Your not the first one to get in trouble, you know? And it’s nothing to feel bad about.
* * *
* * *
Dear Charlie,
You never held up anybody in your life. That’s a picture of Mickey Rooney in Boys’ Town just after Spencer Tracy yelled at him for the first time and he was going to run away, except there was lunch. You must be pretty stupid even for a ball player if you think I would fall for that one. I saw it nine times, not counting once when it was playing with The Roaring Twenties only they threw me and Craig out of the theater before Bogey even croaked. And all we did was accidentally sneak in through the fire door without paying. Brooklyn stinks.
Nana Bert didn’t want to wait in line for the Perisphere because of her high heels and also because they were having dinner with the Shiffmans at Twenty One and had to leave. So instead they put me on a ferris wheel but I got stuck at the top when it broke. The only thing I could see when they got into their limousine was Nana Bert’s fingernails. But my Dad gave the ferris wheel guy $20 for me to take a cab home in case I ever got down again. Instead I bought some dirty postcards and took the subway.
My Mom said I could go to Tuxedo Junction with you to see Hazel as long as you’re the real Charlie Banks and not just some imposter who wants to kidnap me because of my father’s money. Aunt Carrie says we don’t know if you have any diseases and besides you’re goyim.
So how come you won’t let me go?
Joey Margolis
P.S. My Dad makes parachutes for the Army and stockings for girls. If you tell anybody that, I’ll say you’re making it up.