The Pittsburgh Press (November 16, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
George and I are having the most wonderful stay in Boston. They made me honorary mayor so I immediately lowered taxes, raised salaries and declared St. Patrick’s Day a legal holiday for the police force.
That handsome Mayor Tobin – who is Boston’s mayor in my absence – was very complimentary. He said my lawmaking was so progressive it would take years for them to figure out what I had done.
At the Greatest Boston United War Fund rally, I played my Concerto for Index Finger with Arthur Fiedler and the Boston Symphony “Pop” Orchestra. They told me I was going to play before Governor Saltonstall but I guess I was so good I scared the Governor. He didn’t play at all.
The Pittsburgh Press (November 17, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
I see by the paper that pre-war girdles are back… and not a moment too soon either. The wonderful hospitality and food we enjoyed in Boston are expanding George right out of his old one.
Our radio sponsors gave us a real old-fashioned Irish shindig. Sure, ‘twas a bit of the Ould Sod with the beautiful songs and blarney bringing tears to the eyes of the good Boston folks. As usual, George’s singing was the hit of the party. That man does a song convincingly. All the Irish agreed that when George sang “My Wild Irish Rose” they could actually smell it.
Now George and I are moving on to sell more war bonds. They tell us to expect rain, sleet and fog on this trip. Pity us poor Californians – we came east for a change.
The Pittsburgh Press (November 20, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Well, here we are in New York and, my goodness, what a time we had getting hotel accommodations. Why, it’s worse than Washington. But George and I finally got a cozy little single room with hot-and-cold-running strangers.
The lineup of people waiting to brush their teeth in our room alone reads like a “Who’s Who.” We haven’t had time to unpack, as we’ve been introducing ourselves all morning.
Come to think of it, I haven’t seen George in some time, but I know he’s here in the room. We promised to meet over near the bridge lamp at five o’clock for coffee.
George was upset about all this and asked to see the manager. But it turned out the manager was in Albany. He lives there. It’s the only place he could find a room.
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The Pittsburgh Press (November 21, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Well, the Christmas shopping season is underway here in New York and if I were Gen. MacArthur and the rest of the boys, I’d stay down in the nice, quiet Philippines until this thing blows over.
I never thought I’d be a war correspondent but this morning I witnessed the battle of Macy’s basement. A contingent of Brooklyn women launched a frontal assault on the pantie-girdle counter but found it strongly defended by the Bronx 176th Street Infantry who fought bitterly from behind previously prepared positions.
One sniper from Flatbush managed to pick off two girdles before he was located and brought down. She retreated hastily to the ladies’ room to regroup her left flank, it having been partially exposed.
When the smoke of battle cleared away, it was discovered that one carnation had three floorwalkers blasted out from under it.
The Pittsburgh Press (November 22, 1944)
Gracie Allen Reporting
By Gracie Allen
More communiqués from your war correspondent on the battle of the New York Christmas shoppers. Today’s action centered around the toy department on the second floor better known as the “Bloody Second.”
It all began when a lone mother on reconnaissance patrol sighted some pre-war electric trains in the toy department. Word quickly spread and the battle was on.
The action was paced by what appeared to be jet-propelled stout ladies who came through the entranceway in short bursts. They were quickly and vigorously engaged by an armored group of mothers using costume jewelry, hat pins, and brass-cornered pocketbooks.
Floorwalkers were rushed in from kitchenware in an attempt to straighten the lines but they lost their trouser creases and were led away to receive their Purple Hearts.
The Pittsburgh Press (November 24, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Well, today George and I went to Brooklyn. George’s ancestors came over from there a couple of generations ago and he’s always wanted to see the motherland.
I love Brooklyn, especially the food. We had a rare delicacy known as “ersters,” similar to our own North American oyster.
I was particular anxious to have George show me the famous indoor baseball team they have there. He said the Brooklyn Dodgers aren’t an indoor team. But I distinctly remember reading they spent the season in the cellar.
And speaking of that, I hear that Noël Coward, the famous English playwright, may become a Brooklyn Dodger himself. People say after his recent disparaging remarks about the fighting qualities of the Brooklyn soldiers in the war, he’s going to be dodging Brooklyn for the rest of his life.
The Pittsburgh Press (November 27, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Well, our bond tour today takes us to Philadelphia, “The City of Brotherly Love.” Incidentally, Philadelphia boys have knocked off so many Nazis and Japs in this war that Hitler and Tojo would like to sue the city for false advertising.
I’m launching a ship today at one of the great Philadelphia shipyards. That’s a strange custom – breaking a bottle of champagne over the bow of a ship. But it’s lucky the custom started with champagne and not Scotch or we’d have a mighty small Navy.
You might say that newspaper gossip columns got their start here. This is the home of the great Benjamin Franklin who, among other things, was the Walter Winchell of his day. Mr. Franklin, as you know, wore square spectacles. My goodness, they must have had square keyholes in those days.
The Pittsburgh Press (November 28, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Well, I’ve been taking a stroll about the beautiful city of Philadelphia and looking at such famous historical institutions as Independence Hall, the Betsy Ross and Connie Mack.
Congress used to meet here in the old days and I don’t blame them. They came to Philadelphia for the traditional good cooking and to enjoy the sports. I think it was about that time that Philadelphia won the pennant.
I saw a picture of one of those early Congresses and what strange costumes they wore! Believe me, unusual hats were being worn in Congress long before Clare Boothe Luce came along.
Some of the nation’s first families have their roots in Philadelphia and if you ask me, they’re ready to trade in the roots for a few tobacco leaves. The cigarette shortage is really bad here. Nightclub patrons who used to cry when the orchestra played “Danny Boy” or “My Old Kentucky Home” now burst into tears when they hear “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes.”
The Pittsburgh Press (November 29, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Well, the eastern portion of our War Bond tour is over and we head back to California tomorrow. I’m a bit disappointed not to have seen any snow, but New York is so crowded this season they just couldn’t find room for it.
However, the hotel people have arranged a white Christmas for us. They promised to mail our laundry home before the 25th.
We’re a little nervous about the trip home. The railroads are doing a wonderful war job but there’s no experience like being wedged into a railroad coach for 3,000 miles. Maybe travel used to broaden one, but now it’s just the opposite.
No matter who gets on the train in New York they get off in California looking like Sinatra.
So, Susanna, I’m off to California, but it isn’t with a banjo on my knee. It’s George. We got the last seat available.
The Pittsburgh Press (November 30, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Well, there seems to be a sudden trend toward using good-looking men in politics and if you ask me, it’s a healthy sign. Take Junior Stettinius, our new Secretary of State: He’s ruggedly handsome.
Governor-elect Tobin of Massachusetts is suavely handsome, Governor Green of Illinois is boyishly handsome, and Mayor La Guardia of New York wears large, handsome hats.
Washington society ladies aren’t exactly members of the bobbysock set, but you should have heard them sigh when wavy-haired Paul McNutt whispered “All or nothing at all” regarding his control of manpower. I can just see him now in a double-breasted blue suit competing with Walter Pigeon for Greer Garson’s affections.
Goodness, with all the good-looking devils going into politics, the newsreels have more dimples than the main feature.
The Pittsburgh Press (December 1, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Well, last night, we stayed over in Chicago getting our reservations straightened out. I was particularly impressed with Chicago’s share-the-taxi plan. Of course, it’s nice for girls, as we usually sit on the lap on some handsome office. In fact, today, I received one of the fastest promotions in the history of the U.S. Navy. While turning a corner on State Street, I went from an ensign to an admiral in about two seconds.
During our stay, I ran into a Republican delegate who has been trying to get home to Maine since the convention. As he had sworn not to shave if Dewey lost, he now had bleached his beard and was working as a Santa Claus at a department store.
It was fascinating to watch him bounce the little boys on his knee and ask if they wanted to be President. Those who answered “yes” were immediately referred to the Republican National Committee as possible future candidates.
The Pittsburgh Press (December 5, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Until I looked it up today, I thought the Secretary of State was the person who typed the letters that California writes to Florida, etc. But I found out that he handles our diplomatic relations with foreign countries, and that’s some job.
I always thought actors were temperamental, but, believe me, countries are real hams. They insist on such etiquette and protocol. For example, every Ambassador has a diplomatic pouch which no one can touch. Well, I can understand that, George is sensitive about his, too.
Personally, I hope our new Secretary of State will invite Sumner Welles to rejoin the Department. Now there’s a man who could talk me right out of the Panama Canal – so brilliant and yet so handsome and well groomed. You might almost call him an Einstein in Menjou’s clothing. In fact, I understand they’ve uncovered an international spy ring in Washington that has been trying for 10 years to find out where Mr. Welles has his clothes made.
The Pittsburgh Press (December 6, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Well, while the folks here in this country are waiting for the Rose Bowl, the Cotton Bowl and other famous football classics, the biggest bowl game of all is taking place. It isn’t really a bowl; it’s a basin – the Saar Basin, where Gen. George S. Patton’s team is on the move again.
Gen. Patton is the American general who likes to use football tactics and, believe me, the Nazis are learning about our great college sport the hard way. Gen. Patton has already done an end run around Rommel, punted Von Rundstedt through Paris, and kicked the whole German Army in the Ruhr.
According to rumors, Head Coach Hitler has just about lost his job with the Junkers Alumni Association. In fact, it is reported they’ve already named Heinrich Himmler to be quarterback to call the plays for the Nazi team. And that’s the best definition of the term, a quarterback sneak, I ever heard.
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Punted? Punting is not a good analogy. The rest of the article is awesome.
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The Pittsburgh Press (December 7, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Now that German morale is getting to the stage where they can’t remember whether Bismarck was a hero or a herring, along comes Congresswoman Clare Boothe Luce to Europe and confuses them still more. I hear that two Nazi companies surrendered when they got a glimpse of her hat, thinking it was a new secret weapon.
It takes a lot of nerve for such a brilliant and beautiful woman to get that close to the front. Mrs. Luce well may be the Allies’ answer to the V-2. She uses 88mm adjectives, has a short firing fuse, and is liable to explode in any direction. The only trouble is the generals don’t know which way to aim her – the same trouble the Republicans had during the election.
Goodness, if she should happen to run into Secretary Harold L. Ickes, both armies are going to hear a verbal battle that will make the struggle for the Saar Valley look like a maypole dance at Bryn Mawr.
The Pittsburgh Press (December 9, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Well, beginning Sunday we celebrate “Bill of Rights Week” and I’d like to stop a moment and think about it. The Bill of Rights gave us freedom of speech and so many other advantages. Goodness, in the old days, through certain parts of New England, women who went about mumbling strange incantations and making predictions about the future were burned as witches. Today they gave us typewriters and call us newspaper columnists.
As long as next week will be “Bill of Rights Week,” I’d like to have them change it to apply to husbands and wives – especially the part about the right of persons “peaceably to assemble without being unreasonably dispersed,” and also the restrictions on “search and seizure.” Many was the time I had been ready “peaceably to assemble” myself in a new hat and dress only to find that George has “searched” the closet, “seized” the clothes and “unreasonably dispersed” them back to the store.
The Pittsburgh Press (December 11, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Well, the Japs have finally admitted they had an earthquake. Personally, I don’t know how they noticed they had one at all, what with the heavy B-29 bombings and violent tremors that have been coming out of the Japanese Admiralty in the past few weeks.
In fact, there’s been so much quaking going on among the officials that it wasn’t until one of the admirals stepped out for a breath of fresh air that he noticed there was an earthquake going on in the rest of the country.
The whole situation brings up a very interesting problem. The Japanese warlords plan to escape to Germany in a submarine if things go bad. The Nazi warlords plan to escape to Japan in a submarine if things go bad. Say, it might be good business for someone to open an underwater drive – somewhere up in the Arctic Ocean.
The Pittsburgh Press (December 12, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
My goodness, the post offices are crowded these days, and poor Postmaster General Walker! I understand he objected to Esquire Magazine sending certain pictures of pretty girls through the mails. Well, yesterday, he almost got a pretty girl in person sent through the mails when the crowds pushed me halfway through the parcel post window.
All I hope now is that Secretary Ickes doesn’t get mad at something the Republicans do and refuse to give Santa Claus a priority for his trip this year. As it is, Santa’s schedule is so jammed, I understand he is asking Mrs. Roosevelt to drop off a few packages for him that night.
The Pittsburgh Press (December 13, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
Well, unless the members of Congress hurry a bit, it looks as though they’re going to have to hang their Christmas stockings on the speaker’s rotunda. That is, if Speaker Sam Rayburn doesn’t mind. Those poor Congressmen have been trying to adjourn so they can get home for Christmas, but no luck.
I can just see all the Republicans and Democrats around the tree hanging tinsel on one another. My husband George says they’ve been trying to hang things on one another for years. I guess he meant tinsel.
Anyway, when Santa arrives, it may clear up that long-standing argument about whether Santa is a Republican or a Democrat. The Democrats claim Santa is one of them because he is so generous in giving things to people. The Republicans claim he is a Republican because he spends so much of his time out in the cold.
The Pittsburgh Press (December 14, 1944)
By Gracie Allen
They say that at Christmas time you should remember even your enemies. All right, I hope Santa Claus brings Hirohito one of those Japanese vases large enough for just one blossom – to hold Tokyo Rose.
But I’m afraid Santa is going to be late with those gravel-filled water wings for the Japanese admirals. Most of them have gone to join their ancestors.
As for Hitler, who used to have such a good time sticking pins in wall maps, I hear he is now sticking them in himself. I hope someone will send him a box of large hatpins. I’d hate to think of him skimping along on little thumbtacks.
And Mussolini – I’m afraid he isn’t going to be remembered very well this year. I doubt that even Santa Claus has his address. But Benito loves balconies, so maybe Santa will find him and give him one. One about jump-size would be just right.