Winckler’s

[5712 New Utrecht Avenue, Boro Park, Brooklyn, c. 1939–1941. From the NYC Municipal Archives Collections. Click for a much larger view.]

Here’s a candy store, right next to Sam’s/Not Sam’s Italian American Grocery. Just some candy store, you say? Just some luncheonette? Not so. At one time this establishment had its own matchbooks: Winckler & Meyer / Homemade Ice Cream / & Ices / Luncheonette. There’s just such a matchbook for sale.

By the time of this photograph, the business was just Winckler’s, or E. Winckler. Ernest Winckler is listed in the 1940 telephone directory as residing at this address. A 1946 advertisement for a waitress identifies the business as Winckler & Lazareth. The storefront was most recently a Sleeptight Warehouse Outlet Center. As of 2022, 5712 was a vacant retail/office space, with two liens against its owner for construction work.

If you click for the much larger view, you may decide for yourself whether those are boxes of candy in the window to the right.

I owe the discovery of the matchbook and the presence of this post to a close reader. Thanks, Brian.

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More from the NYC Municipal Archives (Pinboard)

Today’s Saturday Stumper

Today’s Newsday  Saturday Stumper, by “Lester Ruff” (Stan Newman, the puzzle’s editor), is not that much less rough. To my mind it’s a challenging puzzle. My ruffometer may be off.

Some clue-and-answer pairs of note:

1-D, eight letters, “Spread around for sealing.” Tile background FTW.

5-D, four letters, “Sound made by toasters.”

14-D, six letters, “One of MLB’s oldest mascots.” I had no idea.

15-A, ten letters, “Conservative leader since October 2022.” Not exactly a giveaway, as it’s necessary to know the spelling.

23-D, three letters, “Lib. ___.” Surprising stuff.

25-D, six letters, “One of ‘The French Dickenses.’” I knew it, I knew it.

35-A, three letters, “Preschoolers?” Groan.

37-A, three letters, “Home deconstruction tool.” It’s really spelled like so.

42-D, seven letters, “One present at autograph sessions.” I want to quibble about the answer, but the answer is a thing.

48-D, six letters, “To whom ‘hello’ is ‘alofa.’” Uh, BAKERY?

50-A, five letters, “KFC freebie.” Gee, thanks, Colonel Sanders!

56-D, four letters, “Thumb-made preface.” Weird and wonderful.

65-A, ten letters, “Keats and Yeats.” I find it difficult to think of the answer as appropriate to either poet.

No spoilers; the answers are in the comments.

Are we in Bartlett’s yet?

[“Say What?” Zippy, April 29, 2023. Click for a larger view.]

In today’s Zippy, Griffy and Zippy discuss copyright. “Are we having fun yet?” is indeed, as today’s strip says, in Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations, credited to Bill Griffith, page 838 in the eighteenth edition (a page that also includes R. Crumb).

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All OCA Zippy posts (Pinboard)

[The location in this strip, as Bill Griffith explains: Pirate’s Cove Amusement Park, Ocean City, Maryland. In this video it appears that the sign has been covered.]

On Duke Ellington’s birthday

Duke Ellington was born 124 years ago today.

Here’s a section of The Perfume Suite that became an audience-participation bit, “Dancers in Love” (aka “Stomp for Beginners”), recorded at the Whitney Museum of American Art, April 10, 1972. With Joe Benjamin (bass) and Rufus Jones (drums). Feel free to join in.

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All OCA Duke Ellington posts (Pinboard)

Specialization

Max Horn, the virtual head of an animation studio, has ramped up production to one cartoon a week. He’s something of an efficiency expert, and he’s introduced specialization.

Steven Millhauser, “The Little Kingdom of J. Franklin Payne,” in Little Kingdoms (1993).

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All OCA Steven Millhauser posts (Pinboard)

Arbor Day

Should we sing a song about the trees on Arbor Day?
Should we sing a song about the trees that proudly sway?
Should we be so simple and as sweet a story tell?
No, we yell! What’s there to tell?

We’ve got rhythm, we’ve got music flair,
All over us, come and see the sideshow!
All you gather around for we have found
That our high notes make you quiver.

One, two, three, four [unintelligible].

Shake your shoulders and shake your —

At which point the principal shuts it down: “Shocking! Positively shocking!”

That’s a great moment from the 1936 Our Gang short Arbor Day, with George and Olive Brasno singing and, briefly, dancing. The link goes to the Brasnos’ performance. (The whole short has a racialized moment that you might prefer to skip.)

George and Olive Brasno, a brother-and-sister act, were quite a dynamic duo. IMDb identifies their song as “Doin’ the Crazy Walk,” but that title would seem to cover “Shake your shoulders” — certainly not the Arbor Day content. (Very strange: there’s an Ellington tune titled “Doin’ the Crazy Walk,” but it has nothing to do with the music in this short.

Here are the Brasnos dancing in Charlie Chan at the Circus (1936). And here, from The Colgate Comedy Hour (1952) is Olive dancing with Buster Shaver.

Illusions and inventions

Steven Millhauser, “Eisenheim the Illusionist,“ in The Barnum Museum (1990).

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[The Illusionist (dir. Neil Burger, 2006) is not bad, but the story is much more satisfying. Words beat special effects, every time.]

Have I heard that song before?

In The New York Times: songs from seven copyright cases.

Blatant borrowing that never went to court: Jimmy Forrest’s “Night Train” borrows from Johnny Hodges’s “That’s the Blues, Old Man” and Duke Ellington’s “Happy-Go-Lucky Local.”

Mats and mattresses

Yesterday on MSNBC, Juanita Tolliver characterized Ted Cruz as “ready to go to the mattress” for a defeated, disgraced, twice-impeached, once-indicted president. I think she meant “mat.” But I’m not sure.

The Oxford English Dictionary on “go to the mat”:

colloquial (originally U.S.). to go to the mat: to take part in a wrestling bout; (figurative) to engage in a vigorous dispute or argument

A 1990 citation: “He likes to have a lawyer who will go to the mat for him!”

From Merriam-Webster:

to make an all-out combative effort (as in support of a position)

From The American Heritage Dictionary of Idioms:

Fight until one side or another is victorious, as in The governor said he’d go to the mat for this bill. This term comes from wrestling and evokes the holding of an opponent when both contestants are down on the mat, the padded floor–covering used in matches. It has been used figuratively since about 1900.

But it’s also possible to “go to the mattress” or “the mattresses.” Here’s a colorful but most likely historically dubious explanation of a possible meaning, “to prepare for a battle or adopt a warlike stance”:

In 1530 the combined troops of Charles V and Medici Pope Clement VII lay siege to Florence. The bell tower of San Miniato al Monte was part of the defences. Michelangelo Buonarroti, as he was good at most things, was put in charge of defending the city. He used the ploy of hanging mattresses on the outside of the tower to minimize damage from cannon fire.

Ordinarily we would want to verify such stories before publishing them here as part of a phrase derivation. In this case though it isn’t really important. The meaning of the phrase turns on the association in Italian folk-memory of mattresses with safety in wartime.

Folk-memory indeed. From Artistic Guide to Florence and Its Environs (1914):

The Tower which was built by Baccio d’Agnolo was during the siege a target of the artillery fire of Charles V but was saved by Michelangelo who surrounded it, some say, with earthworks while others assert that he had the exposed parts covered with woollen mattrasses.

“Some say”: uh-oh. I can find no reliable retailer of these mattresses. But their folkloric reality likely accounts for the use of “go to the mattress(es)” in the world of organized crime. From The New Partridge Dictionary of Slang and Unconventional English:

go to the mattresses; hit the mattresses:

during gang warfare, to retreat in an armed group to a fortified room, apartment or house US

[Joseph] Valachi quoted his boss as saying on one occasion: “We have to go to the mattress again,” and explained that mattress derived from the practice of warring gangs of moving rapidly from place to place, holing up for temporary stays wherever necessary and sleeping on only a simple mattress.

Green’s Dictionary of Slang confirms the underworld meaning: “(orig. US Und.) to hide, to take refuge, esp. when under siege from another gang.” Green’s gives this origin:

the practice of sleeping on mattresses in one’s hideout, rather than in one’s bed at home. Orig. a US Mafia usage, the phr. was widely popularized by the success of Mario Puzo’s book The Godfather (1969) and the films that followed.

You can hear Sonny Corleone (James Caan) talk about going to the mattress(es) in this clip from The Godfather. It sounds to me like “mattress,” but the screenplay has four instances of the plural, and only the plural.

Last year the eldest son of the defeated, disgraced, twice-impeached, once-indicted president was mocked for speaking of “going to the mattresses” with no idea of what the expression means. I wonder if Juanita Tolliver was purposefully echoing Junior’s inept use of the expression to invoke the language of a newer and more dangerous crime family and its associates.

1940s NYC

Julien Boilen’s 1940s NYC, which links points on a map to their WPA tax photographs in the New York City Municipal Archives, now accepts stories about NYC addresses from readers. I’ve been adding bits from my Sunday tax-photograph posts. I think it’s a great way to make the past present.

My favorite thing that someone else has found: 384 Chauncey Street, Brooklyn, home of Freitag the Delicatessen’s. That’s the way they said it on The Honeymooners.