The Pittsburgh Press (October 19, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Hollywood, California –
Lots of people are saying this political campaign isn’t being handled right, and I, for one, certainly agree with them.
For instance, I haven’t seen a single news photo of a candidate holding a baby. Goodness knows, it would be especially helpful this year, what with so many of the mothers working in war plants.
And why doesn’t one of the candidates take advantage of the cigarette shortage? Many a long face would brighten up with a cigarette in it. If they can get votes by promising “a chicken in every pot,” they should be able to start a landslide by promising “a cigarette in every pan.”
The Pittsburgh Press (October 20, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Hollywood, California –
I have to laugh at the way Germany and Japan try to boost each other’s morale. When the Germans were retreating pell-mell across France, Tokyo sent congratulations on the magnificent “advance,” and now Berlin has sent congratulations to the Jap fleet for its “victory” off Formosa.
If anyone deserves congratulations, it’s the messenger who was able to find the Jap fleet to deliver the message. There’s a real Sherlock Holmes.
Radio Tokyo says that Adm. Halsey’s fleet has been “annihilated.” This makes the fourth or fifth time that they have “annihilated” the Admiral’s fleet. I’m waiting for the day the Jap messenger rushes into Hirohito’s throne room to deliver that message and finds Adm. Halsey sitting there.
The Pittsburgh Press (October 23, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Hollywood, California –
It’s really a little early to worry about Christmas, because we’ve got the election to worry about first. Of course, even that isn’t as bad as the year we had two Thanksgivings, and nonpartisan voters got indigestion from eating both Republican and Democratic turkeys. But someone has alarmed our children by telling them the Office of Defense Transportation is going to ask Santa Claus: “Is this trip really necessary?”
And another branch of the government has warned housewives to use their ingenuity because the usual type of Christmas tree ornaments won’t be available this year. Well, I’ve used mine. I’ve found some wonderful ornaments for George to hang on our tree – a wristwatch, a necklace, a new pair of shoes, a fur coat…
Why, I won’t miss the tinsel and glass bulbs one hit.
The Pittsburgh Press (October 24, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Hollywood, California –
With Gen. MacArthur back in the Philippines and the hara-kiri knives are really flashing.
What a general! But, believe it or not, there are still millions of people who wish that he would drop everything he’s doing and come back here to run for President. Of course, these people couldn’t vote – they live in Japan.
Gen. MacArthur has really become the symbol of fear to the Japs. I read where their government issued free sake wine to boost home-front morale. But it didn’t work. Everyone got drunk and saw little pink MacArthurs.
This must be an awfully confusing war to the Japs, anyway. They call themselves the “sons of heaven” and our boys are sending so many of them to the wrong address.
The Pittsburgh Press (October 25, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Hollywood, California –
Well, officially, Halloween is supposed to be next Tuesday, but if you ask me, it’s been here too long already. The Democrats have been trying to frighten the Republicans, the Republicans have been trying to frighten the Democrats, and the voters’ polls have been frightening both of them.
And another nice little Halloween touch is furnished by the politicians who run around putting soft-soap on people’s windows so they can’t see what’s really going on.
Of course, the most frightening thing is the booing at the newsreels these days. I wish they’d stop that. George and I were sitting in a theater the other night when the audiences started booing. Poor George – he jumped up and started into his old vaudeville act.
The Pittsburgh Press (October 26, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Hollywood, California –
Goodness, I wish those radio commentators would be a little more careful about their pronunciations.
Our cook was upset enough when Crosby stayed in England so long, but last night she really had a fit. She heard a commentator say that the British were going to take Sinatra. It wasn’t until this morning that George explained that it wasn’t Sinatra but an island called Sumatra.
It’s a blessing the Allies chased the Nazis out of France so quickly too. The only French town most commentators could pronounce was Paris. And heaven help them now that they’ve got to pronounce cities like Düsseldorf, Kassel, Kissen and Essen. That will really make them sound like they’ve got upper-plate wobble.
The Pittsburgh Press (October 27, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Hollywood, California –
Well, if you ask me, what the field of international diplomacy really needs is a woman here and there to put some real common sense into it.
For instance, our country had been having a lot of trouble recognizing Gen. de Gaulle. Goodness, I’d know that big, handsome fellow anywhere.
And speaking of recognition, take Turkey.
If you’re talking about fancy diplomacy, there’s a smooth one.
In fact, Turkey has been so clever about being neutral during the entire war, that it’s hard to tell whether the Allies or the Nazis are getting the part that comes over the fence last.
The Pittsburgh Press (October 30, 1944)
Hollywood, California –
We housewives don’t mind rationing, and we smile cheerfully when the clerk sneers and says, “No face tissues.” But one byproduct of this war that’s driving us crazy is the husband who has become a military expert… a parlor paratrooper… an armchair admiral.
I must admit that my husband, George, is one of the charter members of the “Kibitz with Nimitz” and “I’m Palsy with Halsey” clubs. But I will say that George is one of the few coffee-table colonels to be wounded by enemy action.
It was during the fierce fighting around Aachen last week. He was moving the pin representing the Germans when it slipped and jabbed his thumb. We’re giving him the Purple Heart.
The Pittsburgh Press (October 31, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Hollywood, California –
Have you seen the bulletin just issued to employers by the Office of Defense Transportation? It warns them that men and women are different. Now there’s a piece of news. Thank goodness they’ve made it official. I’d hate to go through life thinking of George as a sister.
The bulletin concludes by advising women to “wear long underwear when working outdoors in winter, and behave in a businesslike manner.” Well now, make up your mind. Personally, I’m still going to wear an overcoat and galoshes.
The Pittsburgh Press (November 1, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Hollywood, California –
Goodness, there’s a desperate naval recruiting drive on in Japan right now. The slogan is: “Join the Navy and bring your own ship.”
Adm. Nimitz has got them so scared that Japanese admirals are refusing to get into the bathtub without a convoy.
The Japanese diet consists chiefly of raw fish, and our sailors are certainly putting them where they can get them.
But don’t think our own Navy isn’t having trouble, too. It reports a shortage of cigars and chocolate-covered raisins. Well, if someone else will send raisins, I’ll be glad to send a couple of boxes of George’s cigars. But boys, if I were you, I’d smoke the raisins.
The Pittsburgh Press (November 2, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Hollywood, California –
Well, let’s have no more complaints about food shortages in this country. A German news agency has just announced that the Japs have created a “wonderful new food concocted of rotten wood, sawdust and starch, seasoned with sunshine.”
Now there’s a tasty little dish. Being naturally curious about new recipes, I decided to trey this one. But living in California makes it difficult. How long can I wait for sunshine?
The Germans go or to say that one week of this diet and the persons eating it… “No longer complain of hunger.” Guess why?
The Japs should have no shortage of rotten wood – sea water rots it quickly. But it must be a funny sight to see those Nip cooks in diving suits following their fleet around to do their marketing.
The Pittsburgh Press (November 3, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Hollywood, California –
Well, I’ve never heard of so many election bets. Why, even Ann Sheridan has promised to go down Hollywood Boulevard made up in blackface if her candidate is defeated. But if she loses the bet, she won’t lose any “oomph.” It’s not the color of her skin that interests the men; it’s the way it fits.
President Roosevelt bets a quarter on each election and admits that he loses every time. My goodness, if he bets a quarter every time he runs, that could run into big money.
George and I have a bet on which candidate will carry California. If I win, George has to give me the money for a new hat. If I lose, I’ll just charge it.
The Pittsburgh Press (November 6, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Hollywood, California (UP) –
Well, tomorrow is Election Day and I’m going right out on a limb and make a prediction. The Democrats will carry three states. the Republicans will carry three states. The other 42 I can’t be sure of. But that’s the trend if you want to place a bet.
The important thing is that we all get out and vote tomorrow. George and I have our morning all scheduled:
- 6:00 a.m.: George leaps out of bed and turns on cold shower.
- 6:02 a.m.: I go in and take it.
- 6:30 a.m.: Breakfast.
- 7:00 a.m.: We vote.
Won’t it be restful next week when the political campaigns are over, and we can pick up a newspaper again and just read those quiet, peaceful descriptions of the battles in the Philippines?
The Pittsburgh Press (November 7, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Hollywood, California –
Well, so far as I’m concerned, the election is already a success. The official at the polls this morning asked me if I was old enough to vote.
I was so eager to cast my ballot that I told a little white lie and said I was.
George is terribly nervous waiting for the election returns to come in. And when he’s nervous he likes to smoke one cigarette right after another. Today he’s already gone through three cartons… But he didn’t find any cigarettes.
According to early reports, the Solid South is going the same way it has for the last 70 years… it still prefers Boubon.
The Pittsburgh Press (November 8, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Hollywood, California –
Well, the election is over and it’s high time we started thinking about who our next President is going to be. I’m in a hurry because Professor Hooton of Harvard says that it is entirely possible that a woman might become President of this country.
Let’s get started, girls, there are only 1,461 shopping days until the next election.
On the other hand, maybe we shouldn’t be too flattered. Professor Hooton is an authority on apes.
Besides, where are we going to find a woman with the brain, ability, personal charm and integrity necessary for the job of Vice President? And after that, where are we going to find a Vice President to run with me?
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The Pittsburgh Press (November 9, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Hollywood, California –
Well, today George and I leave on a trip to campaign for the Sixth War Loan Drive and I hope we sell a hundred million billion dollars’ worth of bonds. We are going to visit Boston, New York, Cleveland, Philadelphia, and a lot of other towns on our old vaudeville circuit.
Goodness, if audiences throw half as much money at George as they used to throw other things, the financial part of the war is won.
I have to hurry now and repack some of George’s luggage. He’s complaining because I put his long underwear on top. He says he would be embarrassed on the train if he had to lift out the longies to get his shaving things.
Well, so long for now, folks. I’ll let you know how we make out on the road. I’m a trouper again – this time for Uncle Sam.
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The Pittsburgh Press (November 10, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
En route across the country –
Well, here we are going to Boston to start our bond tour. Before we left, we heard a lot of scary stories about how crowded the train would be, but George and I are in a great big drawing room – where seven people have a drawing to see which one gets the berth.
The other six go to the club car to sleep. But it’s very hard to sleep there because it’s full of Republicans reading the “Business Opportunity” ads out loud.
Everyone said we wouldn’t be able to get food on the train. But so far, we haven’t missed a single meal. We just wire ahead to the next town and have a man stick a sandwich through the window.
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The Pittsburgh Press (November 13, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Heading East on our bond tour, George and I are now passing through the Indian country. It’s amazing how these simple people cling to the quaint customs of the past. Why, some of them are still wearing Dewey-Bricker badges.
But in most ways our Red brothers are becoming thoroughly modernized. They’re working in defense plants and have plenty of money to spend. It’s certainly a strange sight to see the squaws crowding around the incoming trains and trying to buy Pullman blankets from the passengers.
And these young squaws are real bobby-blanketers – they’re mad about Frank Sinatra. In fact, they’ve made him an honorary chief – “Leaning Bull.”
Of course, they like Bing Crosby, too. They call him “The Great White Father.”
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The Pittsburgh Press (November 14, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
George and I have just arrived in Chicago en route to our eastern War Bond appearances. I thought at first that Chicago men had become very fresh. I must have turned around and smiled half a dozen times before I realized it was the wind whistling at me.
We paid a flying visit to the famous Pump Room where I used to gather my inside information during the political conventions. The talk was all about the reelection of Illinois’ handsome Governor Green. That man is to politics what Lana Turner is to sweaters. He has Robert Taylor’s eyes, Alan Ladd’s smile, Cary Grant’s chin and a necktie like my husband’s.
In fact, George is a little upset about my feelings for Governor Green. My goodness, I’ve heard of making husbands green with jealousy, but this is the first time I ever made one jealous with Green.
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The Pittsburgh Press (November 15, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Well, here we are in historic Boston where, according to some poet, the Lowells speak only to the Cabots. My dear Irish mother was born here but we aren’t exactly Beacon Street society. In our case, the Allens spoke only to the Sullivans – no one else would talk to us.
My husband has been telling me the fascinating history of New England. George is so smart; he knew the history of every state in the union when he was just a boy. Of course, when George was a boy, there weren’t so many states.
We’ve been seeing the historical sights here in Boston. We stood before the Old North Church from whose tower Paul Revere got his signal. We walked up Bunker Hill. And we peeked into the Harvard Club where are preserved the remains of some actual cigarettes.
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