It’s 1946, the war is over, and Look magazine asks people what they want. to buy. Because apparently everyone has piles of cash now. They want a pony, a convertible, a cruise. But Dominic just wants a simple gold band…
“No, Dominic, I don’t know what you mean… Exactly what are you interested in having her do?” – Quebec girl’s dad
We cancelled our newspaper subscription, the plastic bags were a nuisance and not recyclable. But I missed doing the crossword puzzles at the kitchen table. I can do crosswords online, but I like getting away from the screens all over creation, and doing it the traditional way.
So sometimes I will find a puzzle and print it. This one I scanned, enlarged, and printed. It’s from 1956 so there are some references I won’t get. Have at it, maybe you will do better.
I was rooting around for something and found these old paystubs, and an electric bill, from 1943.
Looks like they took out about 14% for taxes; I thought taxes were lower back then… Maybe making a whole $1.07 an hour bumped you into a higher bracket? Doesn’t sound like a lot, but his electric bill from a few years previous was only a buck eighty. That’s for 52 killowatt hours. Google says the average household today uses well over 1000 KWH a month. Where is it all going?
Also note the insurance deduction. It’s just for if you are hospitalized. I guess you paid the doc for office visits (Or house calls!) out of pocket, or gave him some chickens? or a bushel of corn?
I was just looking at my son’s insuance plan, it doesn’t kick in until you spend $3000 a year. So I guess that’s like hospitalization insurance too.
Typically, I will take a postcard and add some wiseacre or snarky comment or caption to make it more “honest”. This one, however, is plain and simple, a plea for the recipient to stop whining, because “dis ain’t no morgue”. I don’t know what you would send to cheer up someone who worked at the morgue.
It should be noted that this postcard was printed a scant few years before a global flu pandemic. At that point the thing to do about someone sniffling, would be to get as far away from them as possible.
When I was in boot camp, they usually just yelled and banged garbage cans. It didn’t matter to me, I was usually awake, hearing people that got up even earlier marching in the distance, or at least the wind whistling off the lake.
This card was sent to Billie R. From Virgil, and I have several of them, I suspect she kept them all her days. As far as I can make out, it says;
Hello Billy! I received your sweet letter today and was sure glad to hear from you. I guess that I did tell Eddie that you were working every day, I allow that (something) short of hands…. He would give you a job while school was out but it would be too much on you for regular work. You need to rest and play while you are young and can enjoy yourself —-
Truer words were never spoken, Virgil!
P.S. What is the guy in the next bunk dreaming about?
Looks like I will be sporting my Archie Bunker campaign button again in 2020, since I don’t have a button for Pat Paulsen. I remember my dad hated that a comedian candidate was able to get into the voter guide. But Even then I thought that parody and mockery have a place in political discourse.
Dad should have ran, I would have voted for him, “the cribbage candidate”.
This is from a Jensen-Byrd Wholesale hardware catalog from 1951, that my dad had and referred to once in a blue moon. A huge hardback thing that Mr. Drucker would haul out if he didn’t have what you needed in stock.
I imagine some guys would buy extra bulbs and lenses and extra D batteries, because night fishing is the best.
I found a batch of these novelty “Comic Cards” from probably the 1950’s? when I was rooting around in one of my filing cabinets.
In this one, two dogs have to pee, but they are afraid to use the only tree-like object in the vicinity, a rather imposing totem pole.
My dog doesn’t get the joke- He’s a squatter, not a leg-lifter.
Scroll down for more, but please note, they could be considered NSFW depending on how uptight your boss is.
The lady with the irritated nipples is looking at the sailor like, “See what shit I put up with?”
I don’t get this one. Didn’t she have about nine months to ascertain the identity of the father? Mom seems to be in shock. Maybe she never learned about the birds and the bees, and the flowers and the trees, and a thing called love.
PFC Looney was given a full military burial, and his high school football coach gave an inspiring speech at halftime, urging the team to “Win one for the Zipper!”
I would have called this bull a cowpoke, not a cowpuncher. But I’m not from around here.
Mr. Hotchkiss’ HMO doesn’t even cover three-headed babies.
“Oh, she’s gone with the Schwinn again! She has this sudden obsession with bicycling.”