The Pittsburgh Press (February 7, 1942)
I DARE SAY —
Parrygraphs
By Florence Fisher Parry
The New Yorker cartoon of the one dowager pouring tea and asking her guest: “One lump or none?” puts it in a nutshell.
…Mayor La Guardia is finally resigning from the Office of Civilian Defense. Other resignations in order?
…Saddest picture of the week: Life’s view of the graveyards of the British who died at Tobruk… The crosses in this war are almost the same as in the last. White wood, black lettering, and placed ever so slightly crooked… Hasty does it!..
Are you a parasite? If so, get out of Washington! So goes the President’s edict.
But if it were to be obeyed, this country would see an exodus that would put the Old Testament’s to shame.
All the same, I have a sneaking sympathy for Mrs. Alice Roosevelt Longworth, who announces that she won’t budge.
Pants for women are here for the duration.
Just what this augurs for the future, don’t ask. The prospect is depressing.
Season’s end
The end of the season for the Pittsburgh Orchestra reminds us of the great work Mr. Fritz Reiner has done; work which demanded from this great conductor an unrelenting impartiality. There have been removals that have caused heartbreak and anger. There have been replacements that have caused resentment and envy. But the strict demand of a great musician had to be met; and we are the benefactors.
That excellent little periodical, The Carnegie Magazine, puts it well:
An ideal orchestra must have not only a loyal community and an able conductor, but likewise a body of men to be built into a human instrument competent of playing together as the combined notes are struck on a great organ by a single player. To gain this last effect of perfection has required many changes but in every case these changes were made with absolute regard to the highest standard of individual ability; and now that victory has been achieved in this work of creation, the Orchestra should stand first in evoking that feeling of pride, approbation and loyal support with which every citizen will be glad to greet its performances through the coming years.
To understand the new brand of slang that is coming out of this war is already taxing our ingenuity. Mr. Samuel Goldwyn made attempt to immortalize this country’s great gift for slang in a grand motion picture called Ball of Fire; but at the rate our boys are coining a new vocabulary, this movie will be dated almost before it shows here.
There’s a book, by the way, which Alfred H. Holt published some years ago, that contains an amusing list of Phrase Origins (the book’s title).
Here are a few words that have peculiar interest just now:
“Amuck” is a Malay word, two centuries old. Under the influence of opium, a native would dash insanely down the street, striking with a dagger anyone he met.
Any housewife of middle age knows what an “antimacassar” is: a little dolly fastened on the back of an easy chair to rest the head against. Macassar oil was a trade named for a greasy mid-Victorian hair tonic which did unpleasant things to upholstery, if anyone snuggled too comfortably back into a chair. Hence the antimacassar!
“Boondoggle” is a Scottish word for a marble that you obtain as a gift without having worked for it.
“Boycott” was the name of an Irish landowner’s agent, who held his position after he had been ostracized by the tenants. Six years after, English newspapers printed the word without a capital letter, much as now we are using the word “quisling.”
Ten best
Would these (my own list) have been among your choices of the best ten pictures of 1941? Mine are Sergeant York, Dumbo, How Green Was My Valley, The Lady Eve, Man Hunt, Suspicion, Citizen Kane, The Little Foxes, The Philadelphia Story, Target for Tonight.
Of these, two touched on this war, one on the last.
Time to dust off Kipling’s Barrack-Room Ballads again…
Donald Duck pays his income tax. If he can do it, we can do it. All the same I’m disappointed in Donald. He showed the white feather. We had every reason to count upon him to keep in character to the bitter end.
Time’s front page personages continue to look dour. In a burst of improved morale, this magazine flourished a masterpiece in leg art, Rita Hayworth.
Is there NO happy compromise to be arrived at?
The pictures out of Pearl Harbor were released, we assume, to cut down our optimism. Now all we need are a few snapshots out of Singapore and Tobruk.
AND Bataan.
When the news broadcasts tell us that our fliers failed to return, or are still missing, we have the feeling that we have a long way to go before we throw off our delusions and get down to brass tacks.
What they mean is, these fellows are dead! Why not say so? This is war. If they can die, we can surely stand hearing about it – and doing something real about it.