Tom Phillips (1937–2022)

The artist Tom Phillips has died at the age of eighty-five. The Guardian has an obituary. Still nothing in The New York Times.

Here is the artist’s website. Here is a slideshow of A Humument: A Treated Victorian Novel, showing each page of W.H. Mallock’s 1892 novel A Human Document with Phillips’s 1973 and 2010 treatments. And here (badly out of sync) A TV Dante (1989–1991), directed by Raúl Ruiz, Peter Greenaway, and Phillips. Extraordinary stuff, probably unuseable to a teacher of Dante in 2022.

I am the happy possessor of the second edition of A Humument. Looking at any page is an inspiration.

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Words of the year Now with (ye gods) goblin mode.

The infra-red sandwich

[Life, January 9, 1956.]

Is this what the O & K Toasted Sandwich Shop meant by “toasted sandwich” — a piping hot sandwich in a sanitary plasticene bag? In other words, a a soggy, sorry mess? I don’t think so — W & K’s Infra-Red Sandwich Bar clearly postdates the O & K. But at some fleeting point in mid-century American life, the infra-red sandwich was a thing.

From David Rhodes’s novel The Easter House (1974):

Sam ordered an infrared sandwich and a glass of beer.

And from Ben Vaughn, Southern Routes: Secret Recipes from the Best Down-Home Joints in the South (2015), a story from a restaurant in Garner, North Carolina:

In the beginning Toot-n-Tell offered simple fare. As she [Mary Ann Sparkman] gives me the roster of menu items from 1968, the year she and her husband, Bill, became the owners, the “infrared sandwich” intrigues me. The early microwave was a popular and convenient appliance for restaurateurs who needed to deliver hot food to the hard-working community. The early microwave used infrared waves to warm the food. Ham and cheese on white bread was fine, but when it was served as the “infrared sandwich,” all melted, gooey, and warm, it was perfect.

Popular Mechanics ran W & K’s ads in 1956 and ’57 but never an item about this machine. The rest is silence, at least as far as I’m concerned.

[Would microwave be an accurate descriptor? The sandwich bar pictured in the Life ad looks more like a toaster oven.]

Recently updated

Bernadette Mayer (1945–2022) Now with a link to a New York Times obituary.

Bob McGrath (1932–2022)

The actor and singer Bob McGrath, the Bob of Sesame Street, has died at the age of ninety. The New York Times has an obituary.

[Did you know that the character’s last name was Johnson? And that he was a music teacher? Me neither.]

“Business lunch”

Among today’s selections from The Far Side: “Business lunch.”

House calls

[The Family Circus, December 4, 2022. Click for a larger view.]

A doctor who makes house calls? It’s a set-up, Billy. The teacher will know you’re lying.

[“P.J.” is the most plausible excuse. That, or “I left it in the pocket of my other knee pants.”]

O.K. Knee Pants

I couldn’t let the O.K. Knee Pants Co. go uninvestigated.

[Printer’s Ink, December 30, 1926. Click for a larger view.]

This advertisement appears as part of a two-page spread proclaiming the power of advertising in the New York Evening Journal: “New accounts ranging in value from $3,000 to over $20,000 tell the story.” That’s a lot of knee pants.

“It’s toasted”

I thought once again of the OK Bookshop, my introduction to the world of supplies, and I wondered how many businesses might have made use of “OK” in their names. The 1940 New York City telephone directories suggest that the answer is “really many.” My favorite: the O.K. Knee Pants Company, 162 Fifth Avenue, Manhattan. There’s no photograph of any interest to go with that address. But there is a good photograph for the O & K Toasted Sandwich Shop. Click for a much larger view:

[O & K Toasted Sandwich Shop, 103 Graham Avenue, Williamsburg, Brooklyn, c. 1939–1941. From the NYC Municipal Archives Collections.]

Today Quiznos proclaims itself “the original toasted sub,” but long ago the O & K Toasted Sandwich Shop (EVergreen 8–0432) knew that “toasted” is a selling point for sandwiches. Brooklyn Newsstand has items of interest from the 1920s and ’30s about four other toasted sandwich shops in the borough. A warm, toasted sandwich freshly made in a luncheonette must have been a welcome alternative to a cold, damp sandwich wrapped in wax paper and carried to work in a paper bag.

The 1940 Queens telephone directory lists another O & K Sandwich Shop — no “Toasted” — at 54-37 Myrtle Avenue (EVergreen 2–9577). Its tax photograph shows windows that appear soaped over. Was this shop ready to open? Had it already packed up and moved to Brooklyn? I have no idea.

I chose this photograph for its everyday beauty, but as I know too well, there is always a rabbit hole. Notice the truck: Uddo & Taormina (another ampersand!). Giuseppe Uddo and Giuseppe Taormina created the Progresso brand, but that’s another story.

Today 103 Graham Avenue still houses an ampersand, in the name of Happy Garden Chinese Food & Teriyaki. Happy Garden also serves french fries, onion rings, and mozzarella sticks. Brooklyn’s in the house. A mixed-use tower is going up and around 54-37 Myrtle Avenue.

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December 9: An indefatigable reader reports that both O & K shops were owned by Yoshio Mita and Uicha Tashima. Their names and the shop addresses appear in Decisions and Orders of the New York State Labor Relations Board (1940).

Related reading
More OCA posts with photographs from the NYC Municipal Archives : An O.K. Knee Pants advertisement

[“It’s toasted” is the long-standing slogan for Lucky Strike cigarettes.]

Today’s Saturday Stumper

Today’s Newsday  Saturday Stumper is by Steve Mossberg. His last (November 12) was both a doozy and a lulu. This one was about a third as difficult for me (thirteen minutes, not thirty-seven). My biggest difficulty: three confounding clues in the southeast: 30-D, ten letters, “St. Michael's, after renovation”; 56-A, five letters, “Successor of GM in the DJIA (2009)”; and 65-A, four letters, “’90s combatant in the console wars.” But I just realized what 30-D is about while typing out the clue.

Some other clue-and-answer pairs of note:

1-A, four letters, “Problems for young pupils” and 1-D, five letters, “Hulking, these days.” These two made for an easy start.

4-D, ten letters, “Seasonal refresher.” Nice.

9-A, five letters, “Nobody you know, these days.” The answer is just, like, some word.

9-D, seven letters and 53-A, seven letters, “Where the current goes out.” I like the repurposing.

31-D, five letters, “Crook or crew.” Alliterative and clever.

40-A, five letters, “Another ’70s nickname for ‘Schwartzy.’” I didn’t know that “Schwartzy” was a nickname.

44-A, twelve letters, “Early artistic leaf.” I would like to see more such leaves.

49-A, seven letters, “Do something fatherly.” Groan.

51-D, five letters, “Work for a movie.” A conversation with Elaine today helped me see the answer right away.

58-A, nine letters, “Signoff favored by Stan Lee.” Just fun.

My favorite in this puzzle: 33-D, nine letters, “With a markup.”

No spoilers; the answers are in the comments.