PM, October 17, 1940 Vol. 1, No. 90
(to be continued…)
The Record of a New York Day
A freak, mid-afternoon electrical storm came, went and left the city still hot and perspiring. The hottest temperature was 88 degrees, and, according to the Weather Bureau, it ought to be about the same today. A woman, Ida Bogart, 25, was killed yesterday at Nanuet Lake, N.J. when lightening struck a tree under which she had taken shelter.
Luckily for resorts, the rain was restricted mostly to the Bronx and Washington Heights. There wasn’t even a drizzle at Coney Island, which drew 1,000,000 visitors. Despite the heat, only 75,000 of Coney’s million went into the water. The remaining 925,000, however, found other forms of amusement.
ATTEMPTED HOLDUP: Just about a half-hour before this picture was taken, Michael Reilly, 23-year-old paroled convict, shown here with Patrolman Thomas Henry, was standing up. According to the police, Reilly, who still “owes” eight years at Danemora [Danemora! That’s a coincidence…] for a previous hold up, tried yesterday to hold up a bartender at a tavern at 750 Tenth Ave., near 54th Street. While Reilly brandished two guns, a patron slipped out and called patrolman Henry, attached to the 54th Street station. The policeman shot the bandit in the chest. Photo by Weegee
AID TO BRITAIN: A. Hitler’s Irish relatives, now in New York, are ganging up on him. The other day Adolf’s sister-in-law, Mrs. Brigid Hitler, the 49-year-old Dubliner who used to be married to der Fueherer’s half-brother, Alois, volunteered for service with the British War Relief. Yesterday William Patrick Hitler, 30, her son and Adolf’s nephew, got a good-by kiss from Brigid as he left for Canada to join the fight against his uncle. Photo by Weegee
PM, November 12, 1943
Giving Their Blood For Buddies Abroad
“Three hundred men at Fort Tilden, in the Rockaways, marked Armistice Day by giving blood to a Queens Red Cross mobile unit…”
“PM’s photographer liked the whole idea. He’s shown giving a pint after turning his camera over to a soldier.”
Photos by Irving Haberman [and unidentified photographer], PM
PM, June 7, 1944
The Face of New York on Invasion Day
“The crowds in Times Square were serious yesterday – glad that D-Day had come and yet solemn at the thought of the boys in the fighting. Below you see some of the faces turned up toward the electric sign on the Times Building as bulletins of Allied progress were flashed out.”
Photos by Weegee, PM
The crowds in Times Square were serious yesterday – glad that D-Day had come 70 Years ago today… Above you see some of the faces posing for dollars, torch and cash in hand turned up, and nearly flashing…
PM, June 6, 1946 (photos by Steven Derry)
“Under the command of Gen. Eisenhower, Allied naval forces, supported by strong air forces, began landing operations this morning on the northern coast of France.”
Two years ago this morning that communique was all a waiting world knew of the most ambitious military undertaking ever launched. Now most of the facts are known and, by many, are half forgotten. The men whose pictures appear on this page are not apt to forget, because they were there on D-Day. Most of them lived through it, only to be wounded later in the battles that followed the successful landing. they were interviewed at the Army’s Halloran General Hospital, on Staten Island.”
“… I think we can keep another war from happening if we keep the defeated countries defeated.”
“… I still hate their guts.”
“… I think folks have been taught a lesson – this war was too costly in lives and money. Nobody ever really wins a war.”
“… I think the war was worth fighting and I sure hope it’s the last one.”
After leaving Halloran, he wrote me, “It was the first place in America I hit after more than a year out of the country. Coming back wounded, I was afraid that I’d enter a vacuum, that nobody would give a damn. But at Halloran I never had a chance to be lonely and there were times I actually forgot I was in a hospital.” Recently I spent an afternoon at Halloran and found out what my friend meant.
Halloran lies approximately in the centre of Staten Island, about a half hour by bus from the ferry terminal at St. George. It’s a sprawling group of low, red-brick Colonial buildings, dominated by a seven-story structure with four wings jutting, like spokes, from the middle. I was met at the main building—the seven-story one—by one of its officials, Captain Max Lipsky, a stocky, jovial man, who suggested that the Red Cross recreation building would be the best place for me to talk with some of the patients and see how they spend their free time. Most of the ambulatory patients, the ones who can get around, drop in there during the afternoon and early evening, Captain Lipsky told me, and free and easy is the rule.
“Nobody ever really wins a war.”