Swing (Jan-Dec 1945)

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4S Su again what fun is there kissing your old man? "Pop," I says, "I knew you'd look at it my way. Now ain't I got the makin's of a big-time producer?" Pop takes another dig into his sandwich, a full lug at the Rhein' gold in his hand and then ting-a'ling goes the telephone. "That's my Pop," I says to myself. "To busy to eat. Too busy to heartto-heart it with his only son and here I go again." "Damn it. Pop," I shouts, and now you can forget that romantic couple under the eyebrows. "I asked you 'ain't' I got the makin's of a producer?' Can't you answer me this?" November, 1943 I says, increasing the pitch of my voice until maybe I'll hit high C. (P. S. — I didn't hit it, but some day I'll try again.) Uh-Uuh. Pop holds the phone to his cheek, giving his lips clear range for the fullisade to come my way. Murder has shoved romance into the sewer. He gets set, bends low, my Pop does, and then he lets me have it. Not the 'phone but the fullisade. "No, goddam you!" he shouts at me. "You ain't got the makin's of anything! Now get the hell out and . . . !" Oh, what's the use. There just ain't any more. Nope. There just ain't any more! CQNTEMPDRANEITIES Grandma hadn't been to the movies for years and years and after ten minutes she told her young grandson they had better leave. "The scat is so uncomfortable," she complained. "No wonder," her grandson exclaimed, "you haven't turned it down." The new cashier of a bank was being introduced to the employes. He walked around through the cages and singled out one, asking him questions in great detail. "I have been here forty years and in all that time I made only one slight mistake." "Good," replied the new cashier, "but hereafter be more careful." It was a warm and sticky day in a large city. Seven cars were lined up in front of a busy filling station where one attendant was knocking himself out. A leaking, steaming, rattling flivver pulled up parallel with a gas pump. "How many?" the weary attendant asked. "One," replied the young driver with the air of a visiting senator. "One? What ya trying to do, wean it?" A run-down actor who had obviously seen better times sought out a flop house for a night's lodging. He was shocked to recognize the porter as a friend who had once played opposite him on the stage. "Jefferson," he exclaimed. "Are you a porter in this place?" "Yes," replied the other proudly, "but I don't sleep here."