The Pittsburgh Press (August 6, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
My goodness, Clare Boothe Luce has picked a fine way to spend her vacation from Congress. She’s going to do the starring part in George Bernard Shaw’s Candida and if that isn’t a mailman’s holiday, I don’t know what is.
There’s not really much difference in being in Congress and on the stage, except in Congress you’re in for a two-year run no matter how bad you are. Of course, if you’re in Congress you don’t have to show up for every performance. If actors did that, too, it certainly would improve a lot of plays.
I think Mrs. Luce will find that Congress is even stagier than the stage. Why? A good congressman, one who can keep on getting elected, can put more tears into his plea for a new post office than Eliza ever drew crossing the ice.
The Pittsburgh Press (August 7, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
HOLLYWOOD – I’ve been reading about the Petain trial and I honestly think the French way of trying people is better than ours.
Take the jury, for instance. When members of the Petain jury got bored with the testimony, they read newspapers or worked crossword puzzles or just plain went to sleep. Over here the poor things have to listen, even if they don’t know which end of the plaintiff to mark with their ballots.
George says that in our courts only the lawyers can yell and I believe him, because George, like most husbands, is an authority on yelling. But in those French courts anybody – judge, jury, witnesses, spectators – can get into it and yell. We talk about justice being blind, but in France it must be deaf, too.
Anyhow, I like the spirit of everybody joining in the game and if the prisoner is found guilty, he doesn’t mind so much going to jail where things are quiet.
The Pittsburgh Press (August 8, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
HOLLYWOOD – Nowadays, with the nations of the world settling their differences at the conference table I don’t see why California and Florida can’t do the same and make a gentleman’s agreement. Goodness, it shouldn’t be any more difficult than the lion and the lamb lying down together although I’ve always wondered if the lamb was inside or outside the lion at the time.
For instance, I notice that Florida admits the mosquitos are pretty heavy there now. Ordinarily Californians would make a sarcastic remark but under the new gentleman’s agreement they couldn’t take advantage like that. They’d have to be polite and report that a Laguna Beach farmer had caught 140 skunks in one week in his corn patch. More gentlemanly, isn’t it?
And if the Golden State had any mosquitos its inhabitants would admit that too, but you never find them in California.
The Pittsburgh Press (August 9, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
HOLLYWOOD – Well, it looks as though science has gone and invented something almost as destructive as the little boy next door. It is something called an atomic bomb and there is a rumor that the Japanese generals refer to it as the “atom’s apple.” Guess this is because they get a lump in their throats every time they think about it.
But science claims the atoms can be useful in other ways, and that someday atomic energy will do all our housework. Why, they say a little bit of it the size of a pea can drive an ocean liner around the world. Can you imagine!
No one used to believe me when I said my husband, George, was so strong even when he had muscles the size of a pea, and George was always too proud to prove it to them.
The Pittsburgh Press (August 10, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
HOLLYWOOD – Goodness, they simply can’t stop talking about the atomic bomb at our house. Even the cook spends more time gossiping about splitting the atom than she does about breaking up of Hollywood marriages.
Why, it seems once you crack an atom, you get so much power you can do anything. I wouldn’t be surprised if we’ll soon be able to get the tops off aspirin bottles and open windows in railroad cars.
I suppose the song writers and movie companies will get in on the atom idea, too. We’ll have songs like “Ah, Sweet Molecule of Life” and “Explodable You.” In the movies, poor Errol Flynn will have a lifetime career of keeping villains away from the atom secrets. But personally, I think any picture about atom-smashing should include Van Johnson. He’s already made plenty of us girls go to pieces.
The Pittsburgh Press (August 13, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
Well, I see they may put the capitol of the United Nations here in California next to Stanford University. It’s also close by the home of ex-President Hoover who has practically retired from public life since he’s been having trouble getting his collars back from the laundry.
George says it’s too bad the United Nations’ capital isn’t in South Bend, Indiana. If you’re looking for cooperation among nationalities, he says, did you ever look at the lineup of a Notre Dame football team?
Goodness, I hope the collegiate atmosphere doesn’t affect the diplomats. It will be funny to see them in top hats and striped trousers riding around in a jalopy with “Hi, Babe!” painted on the fenders. And I hear the United Nations are trying to avid “economic hazards.” If that’s the case I’d advise them to look out for those Stanford co-eds.
The Pittsburgh Press (August 14, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
HOLLYWOOD – Goodness me, I can remember when little boys all wanted to grow up to be either firemen or baseball players. But since the atomic bomb, I’ve found out they all want to become scientists. If that keeps up, some day we won’t have anything but women for firemen, and the pitcher for Brooklyn will be someone by the name of Gwendolyn. George says she would be an improvement.
Anyhow, I don’t believe that a country full of scientists would be much fun. Husbands would spend all day looking at tiny things like atoms and molecules and when they came home, they’d be sure to notice if their wives had put on an extra ounce of weight. And if everybody was a famous scientist, just think how hard it would be on Don Ameche. He’d have a nervous breakdown trying to play them all in pictures.
The Pittsburgh Press (August 15, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
HOLLYWOOD – Dear me, it looks as though the throne room isn’t the only place where kings get into trouble. I see where King Gustav of Sweden just fell down in his bathtub. It must have made an awful big splash, because he’s way over six feet tall – a real king-sized king. Not a bit like that tiny Victor Emmanuel of Italy. When that one gave the Fascist salute, he looked like a little boy asking for permission to leave the room.
I hope that business of a slippery bathtub doesn’t give enemy agents ideas for a new system of accidental assassination. The old-fashioned way of throwing a bomb at royalty looks pretty suspicious in the eyes of police. But they wouldn’t get suspicious if you just stood outside the palace door with a banana peel in your hand.
The Pittsburgh Press (August 16, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
HOLLYWOOD – With peace, the housewives of America already are thinking about post-war problems.
For instance, what to do with their old ration books.
Goodness, you could shove them under a chair that has a short leg, or doodle on them while you’re making a phone call, or line your pantry shelves with them.
Probably the best idea is to use them as a cure for insomnia. People who can’t sleep are supposed to count sheep. But when you think of sheep, other things like old gin rummy scores or new dresses keep sneaking in.
It would be easier to count red ration points which represent meat, because, after all, that’s what sheep are.
I asked George what to do with the old ration books and he said, “Burn ‘em.” Men have absolutely no imagination.
The Pittsburgh Press (August 17, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
HOLLYWOOD – Well, goodness, the excitement is starting to die down enough so I can catch my breath.
My husband, George, was so emotionally carried away, he snapped his fingers right under the nose of our neighborhood butcher. Fortunately the butcher didn’t hear it, as George hadn’t eaten enough meat lately to be able to snap his fingers very loud.
Anyway, that poor butterfly in Japan can stop singing about her sailor now. The American Navy is not only coming back, but the Army, the Air Force and General MacArthur are coming along, too.
And if Tokyo housewives think they’ve suffered already, wait until they get a phew-wiff of the General’s corn-cob pipe.
But do you realize what General MacArthur has achieved? He’s the first Republican in years to get a steady job running a country.
The Pittsburgh Press (August 20, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
HOLLYWOOD – Well, even after they surrendered, those tricky Japanese figured out a way to make us suffer. By telling us the war is over and then waiting for days to make it official, the Japs have forced us into a long celebration that is taxing the strength of many fine Americans.
If it doesn’t stop soon, we’ll be too weak to wave a flag. In fact, one more week-long celebration like this past one and the United States would be too exhausted to defend itself against an invasion of midgets with bows and arrows.
Each morning, citizens get up and stagger out to see if the Armistice has been signed. Finding it hasn’t, with a moan, pitiful but patriotic, they prepare for another day of celebration. And if you think the atomic bomb was frightening, folks, wait till you live through what will probably go down in history as an atomic hangover.
The Pittsburgh Press (August 21, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
HOLLYWOOD – Girls, did you hear what I heard? They say that by January we’ll be able to buy nylons again and I can think of no better way to start the new year off on the right foot, or the left one either. It’s been so long since nice looking legs were legal. Wen’s legs are like bridge prizes. They should be both useful and ornamental, but seldom are.
With nylons coming in, now I can use my last bottle of leg makeup to finish panting the lawn furniture. Leg makeup – I’ve seen women who looked as if one leg had stayed home while the other one went to the beach for a sun-tan.
I’m sure the men will like the idea of nylon being used for stockings instead of parachutes. Not once during the war did I see one of them straining their necks to look at a parachute.
The Evening Star (August 22, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
HOLLYWOOD – Well, I see that Mr. Henry Kaiser who used to build almost as many ships a day as Japan lost in a day, is going to build automobiles soon. He plans to turn out a complete car for about $500 and send it through the mail. It’s really something new in the mail order business and I’ll bet Mr. Sears and Mr. Roebuck are still glaring at each other for not thinking of it first.
I’ll tell you one thing, though. If all these cars are coming by mail. I’d suggest that Mr. Kaiser better design a new type of feet for the mailmen who deliver them. As it stands now, Mr. McGuiness, our postman, is already so worn out he barely has time to read over the postcards in his mailbag anymore.
The Pittsburgh Press (August 23, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
HOLLYWOOD – Well, the OPA, which is evidently celebrating the end of the war in its own little way, has caught me flatfooted again. I woke up this morning and found they’ve gone and taken the price ceilings off birdcages, spinning wheels, glass furniture, wigs, magicians’ tricks and other useful things. Goodness, the spinning wheel item surprised me. I didn’t know we had an OPA during the Revolutionary War too.
I was heartbroken to find the ceiling was off glass furniture. If I’d only been smart while the price was low, I’d have bought some entirely glass beds, so the maid couldn’t sweep dust under them.
But I’m not as unlucky as some folks. I can imagine how Jack Benny will suffer when he sees that the ceiling price has been taken off wigs and toupees.
The Pittsburgh Press (August 24, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
HOLLYWOOD – Well, Emperor Hirohito’s white horse is getting to be even more famous as an animal than Mary’s little lamb. Which is only fair, since it was discovered the horse was born in California, and the lamb wasn’t. At least, not recently, according to my butcher.
It just goes to show that you can’t keep a native Californian down. They took this one clear across the ocean to a foreign country where he didn’t know a word of the language, put a harness in his mouth, and a son of heaven on his back, and he still got most of the newspaper notices.
Goodness knows, I don’t know what the horse’s post-war plans are, but they’re undoubtedly brighter than his Japanese master’s. My guess is, being a blond, the horse will probably turn up at Mr. Zanuck’s movie emporium with Betty Grable and my friend Flicka.
The Pittsburgh Press (August 27, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
My, I’m afraid the post-war future of us human beings won’t be half as exciting as that of chickens. Last week, I read that atomic energy would make chickens lay eggs faster. Now, today, I read that clothes can be made out of chicken feathers. The soft part of the feather is used and George has already made a tiny joke about a “down” payment.
Ladies, now we’ll be able to buy suits in hen, spring chicken and bantam sizes with colors from Plymouth Rock to Rhode Island Red. They say the new material will be softer than wool. Goodness knows that I’ll do with my old woolens. Probably the only fair thing is to make little overalls out of them for chickens who might catch their death of cold without feathers. Anyway, now I know why a chicken crosses the road. It’s to get away from all these post-war plans.
The Pittsburgh Press (August 28, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
Well, Congress is going back to work almost a month early, and I’ll bet they’re pouting. I know how children would feel if school started ahead of time. And Congressmen are just grown-up children. That is, some of them are grown-up.
Furthermore, I guess they know what’s coming. The Nazis and Japs are defeated, leaving nobody left to yell at but Congress. And Congressmen are even better targets than baseball umpires. You can call them names without paying for a seat in the grandstand and getting mustard on your best pair of gloves.
Anyway, the poor things had a nice vacation playing guitars and appearing in plays before it was time to answer the roll call and put an apple on President Truman’s desk. Good luck, folks, and don’t stand up going around the curves.
The Pittsburgh Press (August 29, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
Well, goodness knows I don’t know much about this reconversion thing. But I’m having fun watching the people who run the gas stations frantically trying to retool their etiquette to peacetime use. All of a sudden the customer is so right it makes you dizzy. I’ve had my windshield wiped until the glass got thin, and water poured in my radiator until the car almost floated down the street.
It’s not much like the old days when the attendants let you sit there for hours while they studied the racing form. Some of us find the change a little hard to get used to. For instance, George went into a station yesterday for a quart of oil and the owner said, “Please, Mr. Burns, get up off your knees.”
Yes, you can well tremble, Mr. Butcher. Your turn is coming next.
The Pittsburgh Press (August 30, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
HOLLYWOOD – I see the Japanese call their Congress the Diet, which is even funnier than the names we call our Congress. I don’t envy the Diet one bit because they have to meet and try to explain the surrender nicely to the people.
It reminds me of the time I happened to run into a parked car. I explained to the owner that nobody would try to steal it now that the fenders were such a mess, but he didn’t think much of the explanation.
Maybe the Diet could tell their people there really wasn’t a war at all, and the whole thing was just something they ate. Anyway, for a ticklish job like this, the Diet ought to get in touch with the Los Angeles Chamber of Commerce. Anyone who can explain California weather can explain anything.
The Pittsburgh Press (August 31, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
HOLLYWOOD – Dear me! I’d say it’s just as well that tall, handsome General De Gaulle ended his visit here when he did because he was beginning to upset two classes of people in this country – the men he was kissing and the women he didn’t. as a woman of the world, I realize that when one Frenchman kisses another, it’s a mark of respect, but it’s hard for Americans to get used to the idea. George respects Jack Benny, but he’s never dreamed of even holding his hand.
It’s fun to see the newsreels of the men to whom the general paid his respects. Poor General Marshall looked like he was signing the terms of surrender after we’d lost a war to Switzerland.
And did you notice the one person the general didn’t kiss when he met him was Mayor La Guardia? I guess the general was too dignified to kneel down.