The Pittsburgh Press (January 29, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
HOLLYWOOD, California – Goodness, it’s certainly amazing the way women will fall for a uniform!
Have you been reading about the little San Francisco streetcar conductor who outdid tommy Manville and got himself some 11 wives or so and no divorces?
Manville may not be a streetcar conductor but at least he gets a transfer now and then.
How times have changed! It used to be every woman dreamed of a handsome Lochinvar who came riding out of the West on a big white horse. Now they seem to prefer a San Francisco motorman who comes clanging down Market Street in his little yellow trolley.
I don’t know how many of these fellows are hoarding large pools of women, but at least we know one answer to why the streetcars are so crowded these days. It’s probably just the conductor taking his wives out for a ride.
The Pittsburgh Press (February 2, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
Mark Twain once said “everyone talks about the weather, but no one ever does anything about it.” That’s not true. Here in glorious California, we always fib about it.
Fortunately, I’m glad to say we don’t have to tell any untruths about the month of January that just ended as it was one of the driest Januaries in Weather Bureau history here. Of course, several hundred people almost froze to death but they all lived on the shady side of the street.
It was so cold here that Betty Grable was getting gooseflesh instead of giving it. And there was a rumor that every morning, frost would form on the windows of the Los Angeles weatherman’s bulletproof car.
Ah! But it’s still the most wonderful climate in the world. You never have to get up in the middle of the night to fire your furnace. You’ve already been up all night taking care of the smudge pots.
The Pittsburgh Press (February 5, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
Well, ladies, in case you haven’t already heard it, let me warn you – they say that men’s beards are about to sweep the country. And with the shortage of vacuum cleaners, it’s possible.
It seems the fad started with our submarine crews and soldiers stationed in northern climes and now it’s spreading to civilians. In fact, a salon for the exclusive care of beards has just been opened in New York. I hope it doesn’t catch on.
Somehow, I can’t picture Sinatra crooning “Amor, Amor” through a bushy beard, and you know what Crosby would do. He’d dye his red, blue, green and yellow and wear it for a shirt.
Why, if the men grow beards, they’d all look alike. It’ll be terrible. I won’t be able to tell George from Charles Boyer.
Wait a minute; that’s not so terrible.
The Pittsburgh Press (February 6, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
I’ve always heard that Molly Pitcher and those pioneer women were much braver and hardier that we women today. Don’t you believe it. True, they had to fight off Indians and wolves, and they took ordeals like having babies during Indian skirmishes right in stride.
Well, we may not have the Indians to fight, but the wolves today are much faster – they have cars. And just a week or so ago a woman in Los Angeles had a baby during a traffic jam.
For your information a Los Angeles traffic jam is much more bloodthirsty than any old Indian attack, and as for fighting ability, did you read about those women in Everett, Washington? They were attending a sale of sheer stockings and the store caught on fire. Well, those women stood off the firemen until every last pair of stockings had been sold.
Molly Pitcher… huh.
The Pittsburgh Press (February 7, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
Well, the latest rumor has Hitler seeking refuge in a Bavarian monastery and looking very innocent about this nasty old war. Believe me, you’re going to see some a real academy-award acting all over Germany from now on.
Goering probably will appear as Little Eva in Uncle Tom’s Cabin and Heinrich Himmler, with a shawl over his head and a kindly twinkle in his eye, will do his best to look like Whistler’s Mother.
Then all the big Prussian generals will point after the Nazis and say to the Allies: “They went thettaway, sheriff.”
Believe me, factories in Germany are working overtime these days, but they aren’t producing planes and tanks. They’re all busy turning out halos for the Nazis to wear.
The Pittsburgh Press (February 8, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
I’ve always thought that the California Chamber of Commerce did a pretty good job of attracting travelers, but apparently our local boys can’t hold a candle to those Berlin ballyhooers.
Why, every single newspaper I pick up has a story datelined Stockholm, or Madrid, or Lisbon which starts like this: “Travelers arriving from Berlin report that – etc., etc.” Honestly, that is the most visited city I have ever seen.
You just watch your newspaper – you’ll see story after story credited to “travelers arriving from Berlin.” Now honestly, if they can attract tourists to that bombed, battered, overcrowded spot, then Californians should hang their heads.
But, as usual, those Germans have done too thorough a job. They’ve gone and made their capital so attractive that about eight million Russians have decided to move in for the season.
The Pittsburgh Press (February 9, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
Today I’m going to dispense a bit of advice to all the nice young war brides our boys have been sending home from Australia, Scotland, Ireland, Egypt and all the other countries overseas where we have bases.
I’m afraid you girls will find America a bit different from your homeland. Those of you from Egypt will miss the camels, both for riding and smoking purposes.
You lassies from Scotland may be surprised to find that men don’t wear skirts here, but in our part of California neither do the women.
You girls from England and Australia will find that bobby sox aren’t worn by policemen but by members of a strange cult given to the practice of swooning and collecting autographs.
And you will certainly be at something of a loss in a domestic argument as you can’t threaten to go home to mother, particularly if she lives in Sydney, Australia. But your husband will be happy because it will mark one of the first times the mother-in-law can definitely be said to be down under.
The Pittsburgh Press (February 12, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
I’ve been doing a lot of serious thinking about those new statistics that show there are three and four-tenths women for every man in the country. I’m especially worried about that four-tenths woman because my husband George always did go for tiny girls.
The shortage of men is annoying but it does have its advantages. Nowadays when a woman is kissed, she gets a double thrill. Not only does she enjoy the kiss but also the fact that she’s beating the law of averages.
And another thing, think of the political power we girls could wield if we all voted together. We could pack the halls of Congress and pass whatever laws we thought nice, such as “A Mink Every Monday,” or a “New Frock Every Friday.” The government could save money, too, especially on its old-age pension laws. What woman would admit she is old enough to receive a pension?
The Pittsburgh Press (February 13, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
Well, this is about the time of year that everyone in Hollywood starts to get excited about the nominations for the Motion Picture Academy Awards.
Speaking of awards, I’d like to hand out a few Oscars myself, for the best dialogue writing of the year: the American General who said “Nuts” at Bastogne; for the best sound effects: the roar of B-29s over Tokyo; for the best story of the year: MacArthur’s reconquest of the Philippines; for the best screamplay: Joseph Goebbels; for the best comedy writing: almost any communiqué from the Japanese Propaganda Office; for the best travelogue: “My Trip Through Poland,” by Gen. Zhukov.
Oh yes, and as a grand booby prize, for the worst supporting performance of the year – Benito Mussolini.
The Pittsburgh Press (February 14, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
Well, happy valentine greetings to all and in particular here are a few special ones:
To my husband George: Don’t fence me in, come turn me loose to buy a hat likle Clare Boothe Luce.
To an American general: George Patton, pudding and pie hit the Nazis, and make them cry.
To my grocer: My love for you I cannot utter when you produce a pound of butter.
To the Senate committee: A loving cup of lots of solace to Jesse Jones and Henry Wallace.
To the Nazis: Russians are red, Hitler is blue; victory is sweet, but it’s not for you.
The Pittsburgh Press (February 15, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
Well, the flags are flying at half-mast over all Chamber of Commerce offices in California this week. California has landed the next United Nations Conference. If Churchill, Stalin and Roosevelt are coming to San Francisco, I hope they have a little influence as rooms there are awfully hard to get.
Of course, we’re a little blue here in Los Angeles as we would have liked to have it, too, maybe it’s lucky, as the United Nations are going to have enough real estate problems without some local lot salesman trying to sell them view of Catalina Island on a clear day.
Then, too, officials are probably worried that the delegates to the conference might spend more time here trying to get Betty Grable’s autograph than they would each other’s.
The Pittsburgh Press (February 16, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
If you ask me, Jack Benny and Bob Hope need never worry where their next comedy writers are coming from, as long as the Japs keep up their standards of humor.
The leading laugh-getter among them is Gen. Yamashita. He’s the one who said: “The enemy, retreating northward, has advanced south.”
But his latest bon mot is what my husband George, an employed radio personality, calls a belly-laugh.
Now the general says: “I have pursued Douglas MacArthur all over the South Seas. Now I have him in my iron trap.”
George says the enemy propaganda boys remind him of the prize-fight manager, whose man was taking a big heating. Said the manager between rounds: “You’re doing fine. Think how his hands must hurt.”
The Pittsburgh Press (February 19, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
Well, girls, I’ve just seen a showing of the new spring hats, and I’m happy to report they’re not silly this year. They all carry a serious message. For example, there’s a little number called “OPA… How Could You?” decorated in cancelled red and blue points.
Another, called “Breakfast at Berchtesgaden,” has little strips of Persian rug on Russian rye toast. The one everybody was scrambling for was a little off-the-face number built like an ash tray. It had a real cigarette butt in it.
My husband, George, says that women’s hats are ridiculous. Just to make me mad he took his derby hat – painted it purple, stuck an egg-beater through the crown, and hung link sausages from the brim.
It made me mad all right. He wouldn’t let me wear it.
The Pittsburgh Press (February 20, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
Well, I see that Congress wants to raise its own pay, but is a little timid about it, remembering the “Bundles for Congress” movement that sprang up the last time a hint was dropped.
Personally, I think they could get the raise if they dramatize their plight the way it’s done in the movies. The pleading Congressman should appear before the Ways and Means Committee clasping a tiny ragged urchin in either hand while a hidden hundred-and-ten-piece orchestra plays Tchaikovsky’s Pathetique.
And no wonder we see so many Congressmen nowadays who play banjos and guitars. Probably the only way they can exist is to make a little on the side at chautauquas and club smokers.
In the early days of our republic, some of our backwoods Congressmen used to live by trapping small animals and eating them. If conditions keep up today, I’m afraid the squirrels in Potomac Park are in for a nasty surprise.
The Pittsburgh Press (February 21, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
Well, tomorrow is George Washington’s birthday, and I can’t help wondering what the Father of our Country would think of it today.
For one thing, he probably wouldn’t enjoy asking the ration board for gas – that’s a terrible ordeal for a man who can’t tell a lie.
He was always first in the hearts of his countrymen, but if it were possible, they’d love him even more today. He was a tobacco grower, you know.
It’s funny, but no one seems to know for sure whether Washington even threw that dollar across the Potomac. One thing I do know, he couldn’t do it today. Not with Mr. Morgenthau hanging on to most of it.
The Pittsburgh Press (February 24, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
Well, that new 12 o’clock curfew is really stirring up a hornet’s nest. People are saying: “If they close the nightclubs and theaters, at midnight, where will we go?”
Well, I have a suggestion. It may seem terribly old-fashioned, but how about going home and getting some sleep?
Of course, I do see a problem if they close the movies promptly at the stroke of 12. Maybe the picture won’t be ended, and it would be awful to have the screen go dark just as Charles Boyer was about top reach his objective, or to leave Errol Flynn with two Japs still alive.
Now I have a suggestion for Mr. Byrnes, too, if the nightclub proprietors raise too much fuss. Since this is a fuel conservation measure, he could allow them to stay open if they didn’t use any heat.
But no, that wouldn’t work. The cocktails on the tables would freeze solid. And if you’re about to say that the alcohol in them would keep them freezing, then you haven’t been to a nightclub lately.
The Pittsburgh Press (February 26, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
My husband, George, who reads the political news, tells me that a Congressman named Gallagher has made quite a startling statement. This Congressman says that if the Republicans aren’t careful, they might not have any party in four years.
My goodness! I think this would be a terrible country without Republicans.
Who would make up all the Roosevelt jokes? Who would keep track of Eleanor’s travels? Elections wouldn’t be any fun at all without Republicans. Why, Roosevelt would just become president automatically.
Wait a minute – what am I so concerned about? – he’s been doing that for sixteen years. Anyway, I got interested in this fellow, Gallagher, so I checked up on him. And what do you know! He’s a Democrat.
The Pittsburgh Press (February 28, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
I certainly got a fright when I picked up a newspaper and saw the headline, “Hair Pulling in Congress.” I thought that long-awaited tiff between the women members there had happened at last.
Thank goodness, it turned out the fighters were men. But having seen some of the scalp arrangements on congressmen, a Gracie “hair-pulling” match didn’t seem possible,
Right now, it seems there’s also a scuffle in Congress because the Rules Committee says all members must be addressed as “gentlemen.” A member stood up and said lady members should be called “ladies.” Another member said he didn’t think they should be called “ladies,” and that got some of the chivalrous Southern congressmen mad.
But the worst thing was that not one of the nine lady members of Congress even opened her mouth during the argument, and I was beginning to lose faith in my sex. Then it turned out that none of them was present.
The Pittsburgh Press (March 1, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
I see they have Nazi prisoners of war helping out with the citrus crops in California. Well, they’ve certainly had the right experience for the job after picking a lemon like Hitler.
Just imagine those mean old Nazis living in this famous California climate. Well – it serves them right. Of course, if the Los Angeles Chamber of Commerce reads this, I’m only kidding. You fellows write some beautiful weather. Maybe you should write some propaganda leaflets to drop behind Nazi lines.
Think of the allure in a folder with the lines: “see our Sunny California prison camps. No rains, no fog, no Himmler.”
Goodness knows the Germans should be used to unusual weather themselves what with the current Berlin weather reports reading: “moderate showers of incendiary bombs, heavy cloud formations of American bombers – complicated by advancing Russians and departing government officials.”
The Pittsburgh Press (March 2, 1945)
By Gracie Allen
Girls, have you tried to buy your husband some underwear lately? It seems there’s a terrific shortage of shorts.
I couldn’t find a single pair for George. And when they’re out of George’s size that’s something, because there’s little demand for his peculiar dimensions. From the waist down, George is what we women would call a “stylish stout,” and from the waist up, he’s more of a “junior miss.”
Anyway, the situation at our house is so desperate that I started to make George a pair of shorts out of a sugar bag, but along came the paper bag shortage and now I have to use it for groceries.
So, today, I searched the house over for some good, strong pieces of material that I might sew together to cover his little tummy, and I found just the thing – pot holders. Appropriate, don’t you think so?