See You in the Funny Papers!

By G. Howard Poteet

Here is an offbeat humorous novel that describes a young man learning about the real world as a Professional Men's Fashion Consultant (read Retail Sales Clerk) in an upscale haberdashery. His landlady fights to make him a staunch anti-communist. His co-workers try to prove that the more things do not change, the more they remain the same! His customers often make bizarre requests that they consider normal. He pays less attention to them than he does to what he learns about the value of effective communication from a famous correspondence course and numerous wacky conversations with his demanding customers. Too, he searches to find a meaningful career and he tries to develop a (gulp) philosophy of life based on the comic strips and comic books which comprise his chief reading. Full of puns, malapropisms, and other wordplay, this story takes place in the early 1950's which is right on the cusp of great societal change.

• Language: English
• Publisher: G. Howard Poteet
• Release date: Oct 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311379504

G. Howard Poteet

A New Jersey professor, G. Howard Poteet holds a law degree, two master's degrees, and a doctorate in English (Columbia University, NYC). He has published 37 books iwith major print publishers (McGraw- Hill, Harcourt, Prentice-Hall) as well as 3 digital books with Smashwords. One of his books has been translated into 10 languages . and made into a TV series (Russia).He has written and published 3 distance education courses as well as numerous poems, short stories, and essays in publications as varied as The NEW YORK TIMES, THE ENGLISH JOURNAL, MECHANIX ILLUSTRATED, READING IMPROVEMENT, THE NEWARK STAR LEDGER, AUDIO-VISUAL NEWS, NEWS AND VIEWS, and many others. Dr. Poteet has also been editor of 3 newsletters including COLLEGE ENGLISH NOTES and contributing editor to NEWS AND VIEWS and THE FILM JOURNAL ADVERTISER.

Book preview

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SEE YOU IN THE FUNNY PAPERS!

By

G. Howard Poteet

PUBLISHED BY

G. Howard Poteet - Smashwords Edition

ISBN # 978-131-137-9504

SEE YOU IN THE FUNNY PAPERS!

Copyright © 2016 by G. Howard Poteet

All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author, except for brief quotations embodied in reviews. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect are appreciated.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead, or places, events, or locales are purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 Work

Chapter 2 Politics

Chapter 3 Family

Chapter 4 Prejudice

Chapter 5 Status

Chapter 6 Teamwork

Chapter 7 Satisfaction

Chapter 8 Resolve

Chapter 9 Education

Chapter 10 Military

Chapter 11 Reference

Chapter 12 Opportunity

SEE YOU IN THE FUNNY PAPERS!

Chapter 1 - Work

January 1953

Monday: I’ve been as busy as a one-legged man in an butt-kicking contest. That was the elderly Sol (size 44 Portly). Our suit salesman, he waved his unlit cigar at me as he left for home.

We’re having our January 1953 Annual Clearance Sale at Joseph’s Men’s Fashion Clothing Store here in the city, and we are busy, busy, busy. The reason? Our customers truly believe in our motto which is A man is judged by the clothes he wears. This is especially true when he or -- more likely his wife -- can get them on sale.

Now, to get down to brass roots, I, yours truly, am the youngest person ever hired to sell haberdashery at Joseph’s. White-haired Sol is the oldest, having been here forever, but he’s now in the suit department. But, this story is about me, and how I’m making my way in the world. I’ve been employed here since September of last year.

This is only one of my many lifetime achievements. I am a high school graduate, the first in my family. In addition, last year, when I was a senior in high school, I was the first part-time male soda jerk ever employed by the well-known chain store, Doug’s Drugs in my hometown. Now, I am making a name for myself as a Professional Men’s Fashion Consultant in the haberdashery department here at Joseph’s in the big city. In case you don’t know, Joseph’s is the finest men’s clothing store in the city and probably the state.

Well, sir, since it is closing time, along comes The Dragon Lady herself, our owner, Miss Estelle Rosenstein. I call her that, though not to her face, because she behaves just like that woman in Terry and the Pirates. I said to her, respectfully, Good night, Miss Rosenstein.

Staring over my head, she replied, Just look at the disgraceful way you left those neckties, Bob, which, by the way, is my co-worker’s name, not mine. Miss Rosenstein is always flying off the handle about something, but I’m not going to let her get my goat. I recalled Batman’s advice to Robin after The Joker had said something uncomplimentary: Our time is too valuable to waste in getting upset over criticism. So, I didn’t say nothing.

I just let her continue waving her hands and complaining, You must display our merchandise properly, young man. You’ve turned those regimental stripe ties into what looks like a mile of flags, a tile of bags, er… a pile of rags haven’t you, Bob? Mercy!

What did she say? Miss Rosenstein often makes mistakes like that when she speaks. But you don’t dare correct her or laugh. As I quickly put the ties in apple-pie order, Roy (size 42 Short), the buyer for the haberdashery department, called out, Ok, fellows, it’s time to close up. This was the signal for my co-worker Bob (size 46 Portly Long) and me (size 38 Long) to put all loose stock away on the shelves, which we did.

You know, I said to Bob as we both folded some pullover sweaters. Everybody here at Joseph’s looks like a character in the comic strips. To me, Roy is the spitting image of Smilin’ Jack right down to the thin mustache.

You and them comic strips. That’s all you ever talk about, said Bob.

Well, this morning you told me that I look like a slender Joe Palooka.

What I said was you look like a skinny palooka.

Anyways, when we finished putting away stock, I put on my new tweed overcoat, which I bought from Joseph’s using my employee discount.

Tweed, Bob said, fingering it, Wears like iron. I, myself, have one, which I hate. It’s more than 20 years old and I can’t, you know, wear it out. I ‘m sick of looking at it.

Unh hunh, I said and donned my new stingy-brim hat, which I also just bought with my employee discount. I used two hands on the brim, one positioned at two o’clock and one at eight, just like the factory rep showed us. I like to do things right as rain. Keeps the brim in shape, the factory rep said. I explain the technique to all my customers to show my expertise.

Since it was time to go, Steve the stock-boy (size 36 Long) was turning up the collar of his black leather motorcycle jacket, the one with all the zippers. In a moment, he was at door. He says he looks like Li’l Abner. I don’t think so, but his girlfriend sure looks exactly like Daisy Mae. She was waiting outside for him. It’s true that he’s a younger employee than I am, but he is only a stock-boy.

See you later, Alligator, he said to me as he left.

After while, Crocodile, I replied, without blinking an eye. As you can see, I can speak anybody’s language, no matter how low-class they may be.

As I do every night after leaving work, I walked over to Pop’s Grille for their Salisbury Steak Supper Special. Afterwards, when I got back to my furnished room on North Third Street, I said, Hi to my elderly landlady, Connie, who is more than forty years old, and resembles Mary Worth. She was in the kitchen ironing, as usual, watching some news program on her new second-hand Dumont seven-inch television set, which is sitting on top of the fridge.

She had on some news program about Eisenhower’s inauguration. I had completely forgotten about it, what with our annual sale and everything. Golly Ned, what a terrific President Ike is going to be, Connie said. Now we’ll get rid of those rotten commies.

Me, even though I am a high school graduate, I don’t claim to know nothing about politics. As for General Eisenhower, I only know he looks exactly like Daddy Warbucks.

One thing I do know a lot about is the comics. In my furnished room, I thumbed through a couple of Superman comic books from the pile stacked on my bureau. Superman comic books are the only ones I buy now, except for Batman. When I was a youngster, I once had a total of one thousand, eight hundred and thirty-some comic books piled up on a rickety old table in my room at home. I used to read and trade them all the time. But, my mom always complained that they might catch on fire and burn us all up.

One day when I wasn’t home, she gave them away to some church people collecting waste paper in a scrap drive for the war effort. Needless to say, I was fit to be tied when I came home and found out what she had done. But, there wasn’t nothing I could do about it. Anyhow, after that, I actually stopped reading and trading comic books and just read the daily and Sunday newspaper strips. Recently, when Bob told me that kids read comic books and adults read the newspaper comic strips, I felt right at home because I am no longer a kid.

Tuesday: This morning, in came Sol, our suit salesman, who looks like Uncle Phil in Mickey Finn although Sol isn’t Irish. Anyways, he came in the store and cracked his daily joke: I invested in paper towels and revolving doors. I got wiped out before I could turn around.

I didn’t think that the joke was nothing to write home about, but Bob and Roy busted out laughing. So, I did, too, to be polite. Sol used to be in vaudeville, or so he says, so, he should know what’s funny and what isn’t.

Now, I should explain that, although I was never in vaudeville, I have a natural talent for cracking jokes. There is no doubt in my mind that back when vaudeville was popular, I would have been a headliner.

But, anyways, back to business. Let me show you what I do for my bread all the livelong day, OK? This customer who looked like he could be a rassler on TV came in and asked for night-shirts, which we don’t carry. I pulled some broadcloth PJs off the shelf, and said, We don’t carry night-shirts but we do have these broadcloth pajamas.

He shook his head. No, thanks. I’ll just let it go. When the guy walked out without buying anything, Roy came over and asked me, What happened?

He wanted night-shirts, I explained, putting the broadcloth PJs back in stock. When he heard that we don’t carry them, the sale was deader than a hangnail.

Roy looked very unhappy and said, "You mean deader than a doornail. Let’s face it; you should’ve turned the sale over to me to see if I could switch him to something else. Just remember Rule Number One!"

Ok, I said. "I know Rule Number One. Every person who walks into the store should be turned into a customer by selling them merchandise, converting them to an alternative, suggesting other merchandise, or turning them over to you, Roy."

Ok, he said.

In the later afternoon, Sol came downstairs from the suit department with a young male customer following behind him. Sol was carrying a duplicate of the suit that was in the window this month. As might be expected, it was a deep charcoal gray which is by far the most popular suit color that men are wearing at present.

See, Tim, said Sol to his customer, it’s exactly the same suit, right?

Yes, Sol, that’s it, that’s the suit, said the young man, who looked a little puzzled.

Now, Roy, come here a minute, said Sol, as Roy and Bob and I walked over. This is a size 42 Regular charcoal gray suit which is our best selling suit, and which most men would die for. My friend Tim here has offered to change into this suit in our window. That will draw mobs of young ladies from blocks around, I am sure.

Wait a minute, Sol! shouted the young man. I didn’t say that."

What? said Sol. Just a few minutes ago, Tim came up to the suit department. If you don’t know, Tim is the son of an old friend of mine. His grandfather is an old friend as well. Tim is a lawyer, so you know he tells the truth at all times. When you came up to see me, you said that you would change into this suit in the window.

Sol, I did not. No such thing.

Now, Tim. What did you say to me when you came up to the suit department. You said, and these are your exact words. You said, ‘Can I try on that charcoal gray suit in your window?’ And I said, yes, you can, so here we are.

Sol opened up the door to the display window. We all were laughing at this point, the young man most of all.

Isn’t that what you said? said Sol with a straight face.

Well, yes, I said that but what I meant was --

Tim, you’re a lawyer. We expect you to say exactly what you mean.

Sol, I meant I wanted to try the suit on in your fitting room.

You mean you aren’t going to change clothes in our display window?

Ok, said Sol. Well sorry, boys. I thought we would draw a big crowd outside on the sidewalk. He and Tim went back upstairs to joking comments by Roy and Bob.

Then Roy’s best friend, Jonathan, came in . Now, since I already told you that Roy looks like Smilin’ Jack, you probably expect that Roy’s best friend looks just like Downwind who is Smilin’ Jack’s co-pilot and best friend. And you would be right.

In case you don’t remember, Downwind is the one who is so handsome all the deicers, as women are called in the strip, swoon over him. You never get to see his face because he always has his head turned. Now Jonathan doesn’t do that but he is still like Downwind. I point this out because I don’t want you to confuse Jonathan with the Mexican mechanic in the comic strip who is so fat the buttons keep popping off his shirt and into the mouth of a chicken.

Bob, Roy and I were chatting with Jonathan when Miss Rosenstein walked up and said, Don’t just stand there talking, fellows. That nock steeds, er, stock needs to be put away. Bob and I hopped to it. Miss Rosenstein, Roy and Jonathan continued chatting.

Then, when Tim came downstairs, Roy went over to him and said that any one of us would be glad to help him pick out a matching shirt, tie, and socks when he picked up his suit. And we won’t make you try them on in public, said Roy laughing.

After work, when I got home, I was beat, so I stretched out on my bed and listened to the Red Rambler Show on my radio. Red is a local disk jockey or dee-jay as the teenagers say.

Tonight, Red happened to play two of my current favorite songs in a row: first, Nat ‘King’ Cole singing Pretend, and, then, Les Paul and Mary Ford doing Vaya Con Dios. I like these songs very much, and I am sure that if I had a girlfriend, they would be our favorite songs. Connie, who is my landlady, you remember, came upstairs and said, Would you turn that down? Then, she added, Who is that you are listening to?

Red Rambler.

Red? she said, opening her eyes wide, Red? I hope he isn’t a commie.

No, no, he ain’t no commie, I said. They call him that because he has red hair.

Well, I don’t want no commie music in my house!

I know, I said, and without a further word, she turned and went downstairs.

Wednesday: At breakfast at the lunch counter in this city’s branch of Doug’s Drugs, where I usually have coffee and a bagel, which is a kind of Jewish food, a disheveled fellow, who could be taken for Uncle Willie in Moon Mullins, smiled politely and said to me, Good morning, my friend. Do you have a job?

Even though he called me his friend, I didn’t think that I knew the gentleman, but I was polite as I always try to be. It’s true that a lot of people know who I am because of the position I hold at a prestigious establishment. Yes, I answered, modestly, I am a professional fashion consultant at Joseph’s.

Like I say, when I tell people that I work at Joseph’s, they frequently look at me with admiration and respect because the store is so well-known for being a high-class place. In addition, I apparently appear to be a retail authority figure even when I’m shopping in other stores, for people are always coming up and asking me, Do you work here? or How much is this?

However, this guy says to me, Oh, sir, I’m happy to hear that you are working because I’m not. So, would you be kind enough to lend me some money for breakfast? Don’t worry, I intend to pay you back. He looked at me with a pitiful look, like those paintings of the little kids with the big sad eyes that you see all over the place. So, I gave him fifty cents, but, afterwards, I felt I was being taken advantage of because I wasn’t born yesterday. I am pretty sure that the fellow won’t ever pay me back. I began to realize that he was just like Wimpy begging for money to buy a hamburger in Thimble Theater. Looking back on it now, I realize that it was then I first began to understand how comic strip characters and their stories influenced my life and made me think and act the way I do.

When I got to work, the main door was unlocked, and, the Dragon Lady was already there on the sales floor. She wiggled her finger at me, calling me over to the tie counter.

You’re late. Bob. Well, are you the one who arranged these cravats?

Yes, I answered proudly, pleased that she had noticed the effort that I had put into arranging the neckties by color, but annoyed that she still called me Bob, which is not my name.

Well, frankly, Bob, she said, they took lerrible, er, look terrible. Obviously, you don’t appreciate being in charge of displaying prerequisite rabbits, er, habits, er, cravats, in an elegant store like ours. Maybe you would prefer to work some place else, Bob.

Oh, no, I said. I like working here very much.

Well, then, please fix this tie arrangement

I started to do so as she walked away. But, a man was in our hat department, and I went to wait on him. After I sold him a hat, he went up to see Sol while I put his initials in the hat, using the machine in the cubby-hole under the stairs. Unfortunately, its foil holder came apart and one of the screws fell back of the cabinet. While I was on the floor, trying to find it, I heard some little old lady talking to Steve the stock-boy.

Pardon me. young man, can you direct me to your facilities?

What? said Steve the stock-boy.

I wish to visit your comfort station.

Comfort station?

Yes, please direct me to your cloakroom.

Cloakroom? What’s a cloakroom?

I started to get up and lost another screw from the part I held in my hand.

‘Your powder-room, then. You must have one."

I don’t know what you are talking about, lady, said the ever-gracious Steve the stock-boy.

Oh, dear, said the little old lady.

At this point, I extricated myself from the initial stamping machine and its parts and emerged from the cubby hole. She’s looking for the lady’s room, I said.

Well why didn’t she say so? If you are looking for the john . . .

Go up the stairs and it’s on your right just before the sports coats, I said. Men and women use the same bathroom.

Oh, gracious me! the little old lady said.

Not at the same time! I said, hastily.

Never mind, she said and walked sprightly out of the store.

I just looked at the Steve the stock-boy.

I never heard all them words, he said, Cloak room, comfort station. Everybody I know calls it the john or the toilet or the --

Stop! I said, and I went back into the cubby-hole to search for the missing screws.

After work, and after my usual conversation with Connie, I reached my room. For some reason, I began thinking about a comic strip which I hadn’t read for awhile since the paper has stopped running it. The strip was Alley Oop with its great action, clever dialog and sometimes stunning artwork. What did it teach me? Just that the personalities of cave men and women were not much different than ours.

An entirely different world is the one in Our Boarding House where Major Hoople is the central character in a boarding house run by his wife, Martha. It is very wordy for usually the dialogue in the speech balloons takes up half the panel. This isn’t a strip but a single panel although the story or theme sometimes continues from day-to-day. The main appeal is either the outlandish stories that the major tells about his exploits since he claims to have been everywhere and have done everything or the ridiculous ways he dreams up to achieve fame or fortune. It teaches you that in dealing with most people, you can believe half of what you see and none of what you hear and vice versa.

Thursday: On Thursdays, we open at noon and work until 9. So, this afternoon, when we weren’t busy with customers, Bob, acting the fool, was imitating Arthur Godfrey by chanting, Hawaii, Hawaii, Hawaii, and strumming a sweater box in place of a ukulele. Miss Rosenstein saw him, and she said, with a frown, Hello, fou yellows. Stop that. Furthermore, you both need to pay closer attention to what you wear. This isn’t an army-navy surplus store. You look like a cuddle of bobos, err, a couple of hobos.

Bob, who is middle age, at least thirty years old, has never developed any fashion sense in all those years. Today, for example, he wore a double-breasted navy-blue serge suit, which is shiny and out of style, and, even worse, brown wing-tip shoes. Everyone knows that you can’t wear brown shoes with a blue suit. It is simply disgusting to see someone like Bob with such poor taste advising others on what to wear.

I said, Don’t you know you never wear brown shoes with a blue suit? That’s what ticked Miss Rosenstein off.

Of course, you can, he replied. Miss Rosenstein was referring to your, you know, wearing a striped tie with a striped shirt. Anyways, I didn’t reply because I want to get along with my co-workers, as you must, even when your co-workers can’t accept your constructive criticism.

Then, I waited on a guy who was wearing a fur overcoat over an outlandish outfit consisting of, a boldly striped blue zoot suit complete with pegged pants, a polka dot dress shirt with a Mr. B. collar, and blue suede shoes. This outfit was topped off with a red wide-brimmed pork pie-hat. Hello there, he said in a booming voice, "I’m Sandy Shore. You may have heard of me. I’m appearing in the touring company stage production of Guys and Dolls. I play Nathan Detroit. We’re here at the Civic Center tonight and tomorrow. I’m looking for a tie to match this. It’s my stage outfit."

Ok, I said when he paused long enough for me to answer. Everyone in the store was staring at him.

I need something that will just jump out at the audience. I know what you are going to say. The wardrobe mistress usually supplies us with our costumes, and you are right, but she seems to have lost my stage tie and she couldn’t come up with a tie that we both liked. So, she sent me over here to pick out one.

Ok. I said and picked out a silver tie.

He ignored my choice and began rummaging though our stock, jabbering all the time. Finally, he yanked one out from deep in the pile.

Got it, he said. Yes! Perfecto! If you see the show tonight you will understand why I picked this tie. It will sock them right in the old eye-a-roonie!

He looked at the price tag, peeled off the correct amount from his wallet. Give me a receipt so I can get my money back from the company. He said. I did and he was out of the store it seemed as quickly as he came. Everybody was still staring at him, even out on the street. Of course I was left with the job of straightening up the neckties.

Jody came in right after I returned from supper. She is about my age and she works here part-time because she is studying to enter a profession. When she graduates, she will become a licensed practical nurse.

Roy gave her a hug and said, Well, hello, Blondie. He calls her that because she has blonde hair, not because she looks like Mrs. Dagwood Bumstead in the funny papers. In fact, Jody is not even married.

Busy day today at school? Roy asked.

I was just going to say that. You took the words right out of my mouth, she said.

We were busy for a long while after that. Then, during a lull, I walked over to Jody.

I don’t know what I am going to do tonight after we get off, she said. What are you going to do?

"Uh, I will probably