The Pittsburgh Press (May 11, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
Well, girls, the silver lining is beginning to shine through the dark cloud of shortages. Our new washing machines, vacuum cleaners, autos and refrigerators are already in the blueprint stage.
And they say the new refrigerators will have large compartments for freezing meat. Of course, the government says it will be about a year before we can get any. I wonder, which they mean – refrigerators or meat?
But it’s wonderful how one thing compensates for another. I don’t miss a vacuum cleaner with no cigarette ashes to pick up, anyway. And what would I do with a new car with no tires? I don’t even mind waiting a year to get my clothes washed. The laundries have made me get used to it.
But there’s one thing we don’t have to wait a year to buy. That’s War Bonds. Let’s do it right now.
The Pittsburgh Press (May 14, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
It looks like the racehorses are going to be among the first to get their old jobs back. Peace in Europe has lifted the ban on horseracing.
I’ll bet those horses were plenty nervous… what with their jobs gone, and the meat shortage. But those thoroughbreds may find racing a little more strenuous than in the past. With the gas and tire shortage still on, they may have to carry the fans to the track before they can run for them. Of course, they can let the fans walk home… they’re used to that.
Bing Crosby got a telegram saying that the government would let his horses run… It gave Bing a lot of respect for the government because that’s more than he’s ever been able to get them to do.
The Pittsburgh Press (May 15, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
HOLLYWOOD – When our soldiers went abroad, the government gave them little dictionaries to help them get along in strange countries. Now that they’re beginning to come back, I think they should be issued a little book to help them understand things here. For instance:
“Don’t you know there’s a war on?” – stock phrase used by waiters, meaning “there isn’t any butter.” Also used by clerks too lazy to find what you ask for. Then there’s a sign which you soldiers will see frequently which says “sorry, no cigarettes.” Properly interpreted, this means “if we know you, you can have as pack from under the counter.”
Another sign, which may be very misleading to you boys who have been away, reads “butcher shop.” This simply identifies an establishment whose proprietor has been too busy to change the sign to “fish.”
The Pittsburgh Press (May 16, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
HOLLYWOOD – My goodness, pretty soon we may have auto-planes with folding wings that can both roll and fly. The Department of Labor Statistics Bureau told the Senate so.
Of course, the traffic cops will have to have wings then, too. How are they going to stop you up there in the sky? What will they say – “pull over to the next cloud?” And think of the problems a girl will have who goes for a ride with a fellow. She’ll have to take a parachute along with her “mad money.”
And I’ve just read that through electronics post-war autos will have stop-and-go signals right in the car itself. Also a gadget that makes a shrill noise to tell you when to stop. But I won’t need any of those things when I’m driving; not when George is along.
The Pittsburgh Press (May 17, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
HOLLYWOOD – My goodness, I just had a thought. With all the babies being born in hospitals these days, what are we going to have for national shrines in years to come?
Millions have thrilled at the sight of the humble log cabin where Lincoln was born. The birthplaces of many famous men have become national shrines. But I can’t imagine them putting a picket fence around some big hospital with a plaque reading “On this site were born 10,000 famous Americans.” It would have no individuality. I don’t think it would attract sightseers.
And many other babies are first seeing the light of day in apartments. Can you imagine thousands of people crowding in to look at an apartment?
On second thought, though, that’s a very common sight these days.
The Pittsburgh Press (May 18, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
I suppose you’ve all read about the escaped German war prisoner who wandered around the streets of Los Angeles for ten days in his prisoner’s uniform before he finally got tired and persuaded a policeman to arrest him. No one paid any attention to him, which may seem odd to the rest of the country.
You see we’ve been taken in too many times before out here. We’ve grabbed prowlers creeping around on all fours with magnifying glasses. And they turned out to be press agents advertising detective movies. Nowadays if you turn around to look at a hermit or a swami it simply proves that you’re a tourist.
As for the prisoner having letters “PW” printed on the back of his uniform, that wouldn’t excite a Californian. Most people probably thought he was a chamber-of-commerce hireling and that “PW” stood for “Perfect Weather.”
The Pittsburgh Press (May 21, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
Well, lucky us, I understand the WPB says it’s all right to manufacturer jukeboxes and pinball machines again. I’ve been waiting three years for a washing machine but I suppose I can put the clothes in the pinball machine just as well. Maybe if they don’t come out clean the machine will light up and say “tilt.”
And what could be nicer than jukeboxes in all the restaurants again? I’ll tell you what can be nicer – a little food. I love Harry James’ records as much as anyone, but when I order “one meatball,” I’d like it to arrive on a plate.
I’ll bet my husband George will have something to say when he hears about this. I’m going to tell him just as soon as he comes back from the corner where he’s playing the pinball machine.
The Pittsburgh Press (May 22, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
Just leave it to the merry little Japanese to cash in on the silver linings of their dark clouds. Radio Tokyo, the Japs’ leading humor factory, has just announced that Premier Suzuki is looking forward to a bumper crop of sweet potatoes as the result of his lawns being plowed up by our bombs. He forgot to mention that we’ve also built the fires to roast his sweet potatoes.
Well, I suppose now that our planes have plowed their land for them the Japs will expect our tanks to harvest the crops. And I don’t think they’ll be disappointed.
Of course, I don’t know how Suzuki’s bumper crop of sweet potatoes is going to hatch out, but I’ll wager that he has plenty of hot potatoes on his hands right now!
The Pittsburgh Press (May 23, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
Well, the California State Assembly is against giving the vote to 18-year-olds. One legislator feared that lowering the voting age would give hep-cats and bobbysoxers the balance of power in California.
My goodness, I should think it would be a good thing to give them any kind of balance. Of course, it’s quite a long way politically from “vote for the rail-splitter” to “vote for the rug-cutter.” And those legislators probably thought that if teenagers voted, they’d try right away to “send” Frankie Sinatra to the White House.
But why am I so excited about all this? Why, because I think it’s unjust that we teenagers can’t vote along with our eiders. I’ve waited long enough for my vote as it is.
The Pittsburgh Press (May 24, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
Well, as near as I can understand that Supreme Court ruling, one state can say to a couple, “You’re divorced,” and another state can say, “You’re not; you’re still married,” if it wants to.
It seems that according to this ruling, people who get one of those quick Reno divorces may find that they’re divorced when in Nevada and still married when they’re in some other state.
This can lead to a whole new cycle of popular songs. In fact, I’ve composed a few lines as a starter:
Oh, we’re free in Ol’ Nevada but still spliced in Caroline…
We are strangers up in Reno but in Texas you’re still mine.
And think what this situation could do to a man like Tommy Manville! If his divorces become valid only in Nevada, he might have to make that state his permanent home.
The Pittsburgh Press (May 25, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
Well, Gen. Hershey lowered the draft age just in time to keep the motion picture industry from being taken over by the animals. Practically the last of the actors were on their way to Ft. MacArthur when the announcement came through.
Things were really slim in Hollywood with stars like Lassie, Daisy, Flicka and Thunderhead about the only ones left besides the actresses. Not that they’re not capable players, but I don’t think Betty Grable would have looked very glamorous dancing with Lassie.
Even the Motion Picture Academy had its worries. They didn’t know whether they’d be presenting this year’s Oscars in the form of a gold-plated bone or a silver bag of oats.
And the Hollywood gossip columnists were getting pretty desperate for material. How exciting is it to say – “Flash: What mare’s that way about Thunderhead?”
The Pittsburgh Press (May 28, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
I received a letter the other day from three salesgirls who feel that the current wave of criticism about the service in stores is unjustified. The girls point out that it’s no fun standing on your feet 45½ hours a week trying to explain to a short-tempered public that there are no cigarettes, nylons, etc., to be had.
Well, if you ask me, it’s about time we gave a little thought to the person on the other side of the counter – the harassed clerk.
I used to work as a salesgirl and when payday rolled around, I didn’t get much. Now of course I’m in radio and married to George Burns. So-o-o – when payday rolls around now, I don’t get anything.
The Pittsburgh Press (May 29, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
This is Memorial Day, sacred to the memory of those who offered their lives for the nation in war. This year there are graves to remember in strange, far places of the earth, where the Stars and Stripes had never flown before. We shall visit the graves of our heroes – where it is possible – and heap them with flowers, according to our custom, but this year we can and must do something more.
We must buy that extra war bond, no matter how we have to strain to do it. For the more bonds we buy, the fewer graves there will be next year.
And what greater service can we render to those who have fallen than to preserve the lives of their comrades-in-arms?
Flower for our heroic dead! War Bonds for our heroic living!
The Pittsburgh Press (May 30, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
Well, I see where Jeff Davis, the “king of the hoboes,” has asked all his followers not to ride the rods on our trains until after the war. That was thoughtful of Mr. Davis, but I don’t think he needed to bother. The rods are so full of businessmen who couldn’t get reservations that I don’t know where a hobo would ride.
In spite of being overcrowded, the railroads are doing an unbelievable job of maintaining their high standards. Why, you can still get wonderful meals on some trains! Say, maybe that’s why so many people are trying to get on them. They don’t want to go anywhere – they just want a square meal.
I understand the Santa Fe is considering changing the “Chief” to the “Squaw.” After all, she was the one who did the heavy carrying.
The Pittsburgh Press (June 1, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
I guess that pretty soon they’ll be reporting the Washington news on the story pages. There’s been another fistfight in Congress, the second in a few weeks.
Three Democrats and one Republican are now entitled to wear combat zone ribbons. One of the men got his mouth hurt. I support that’s about the worst thing that could happen to a Congressman.
This fight was about the members of the House voting themselves a $2,500-a-year tax-free allowance for expenses. The way things are going they’ll need that money. Trainers and boxing instructors get high salaries.
A while back when Congress tried to pension itself, some people started a “Bundles for Congressmen” movement. My goodness, I think we need another one right now – “bandages for Congressmen,” or “liniment for legislators.”
The Pittsburgh Press (June 4, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
It’s hard to realize that this is June, the month of brides. I guess it’s because so many of our beautiful and charming wedding customs are falling by the wayside. Like the throwing of rice and old shoes, for example. If people have any rice now, they throw it in a cooking pot and no one will throw an old shoe any farther than his closet.
Even the ancient custom of carrying the bride across the threshold has suffered. Just the other day a bridegroom asked George and me if he could borrow our threshold to carrying his bride across. It seems they were going to live in a tent.
And remember how the pranksters used to let the gas out of the newlyweds’ car so they couldn’t drive away? Now the OPA takes care of that angle.
The Pittsburgh Press (June 5, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
Well, I see that a United States Senator has introduced a bill to do away with the Navy’s bell-bottom trousers. Now I don’t want to take sides in this thing. But judging from some of the senators I’ve seen, they could spend a little time improving their own getups.
On the other hand I must confess that I’ve always wondered why the Navy didn’t take some of the material from the bottom of the sailor pants and move it up to where it’s obviously more badly needed.
I don’t want to alarm you girls but if Congress is going to start dictating styles, then we’d better get busy and get the right people elected. How about Adrian for senator? Or Schiaparelli for congresswoman?
Let’s face it, girls. Either we get into politics or we’ll get into some terrible looking clothes.
The Pittsburgh Press (June 6, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
Treason is a harsh word, but when our own Harry Hopkins says that Russian women are really beautiful while American women are merely pretty – well! I predict that Mr. Hopkins is going to have to do some fast talking when he returns from Moscow. In fact, I’ll bet he had to do some fast thinking when he returned to his Moscow hotel and faced Mrs. Hopkins.
The Russian delegates to the San Francisco conference have also expressed disappointment in the beauty of American women. They say that we are too slim, that our teeth are good but our mouths are too big.
Cheer up, girls, the Russians also didn’t like beefsteak. Say – maybe that’s why our mouths are so big. Our husbands do like beefsteak, and we have to do plenty of talking to get it for them.
The Pittsburgh Press (June 7, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
I suppose you children are wondering what to get daddy for Father’s Day, June 17. How about some war stamps or a war bond? Our two children, Sandra and Ronni, are putting every penny they can into their piggy bank. By the time Father’s Day rolls around, they’ll have enough to buy him a war bond – if they can keep father away from the piggy bank long enough.
Anyway, it will be great relief to father not to be getting the usual frightening neckties. George used to say there was something diabolical about spacing Father’s Day six months from Christmas. As soon as one batch of ties started to wear out, another came on.
Buy war bonds or stamps! Then you’ll be giving dad something to put away for a rainy day and you’ll be hanging something around the Japs’ neck, too.
Youngstown Vindicator (June 8, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
Tomorrow, Los Angeles welcomes home two famous native sons – Gens. Jimmy Doolittle and George S. Patton Jr. These two men have extended the city limits of Los Angeles farther than anyone ever did before.
They’re flying in tomorrow and that Japanese maple tree in my backyard comes out tonight. I don’t want Doolittle to get any wrong ideas about where he is.
Surely they’ll ask the famous generals to put their prints in the cement at Grauman’s Chinese Theater. They won’t even have to have the cement soft for Patton – considering the way he went through the Siegfried Line.
And incidentally, I’ll bet Doolittle and Patton won’t have any trouble getting hotel rooms here. The Germans tried refusing accommodations and look what happened to them!