I don't remember exactly how I wound up with a wall of beat up file cabinets. About fifteen years ago, I decided that if I bought enough of them, I'd be able to effectively manage all the paperwork I'd accumulated from lawyers, managers, accountants, agents, photographers, art projects, correspondence, etc. Instead, I wound up shoving everything anywhere it would fit. Meanwhile, these rusty old bastards were heavier than the shit I was trying to "organize" and I risked tetanus or a ruptured disk any time I tried to move them.
This week, they're being re-gifted back to the charitable organization from whence they came. Most of the clutter is going into easy-to-lift, easy(er)-to-catalog, easy-to-recycle cardboard boxes; the rest is going out back behind the house. I'm keeping a single file cabinet -- the least damaged one -- and I'll use an obscure but effective system known as "the alphabet" for keeping track of files. I should have been an inventor.
Now, I am not one of those driven by an inner voice voice telling me I have nothing to offer the world. And while my trash may not exactly be your treasure, the inverse hasn't yet been proven either. So let's enjoy a few more scraps from the golden age of yellowed journalism -- to wit: these excerpts from a Phoenix Gazette of 1944:
Though not of much use for the delivery of actual information, newspapers of the period played a strong role in financing the war effort. Particularly effective was the use of fear, guilt and fictitious characters:
But times were just as tough for those cartoon icons not busy shilling for the government:
Shelling out may or may not have been the easiest part of the war effort, but it was certainly easier than trying to decode the administration's New Deal doublespeak:
If you got bored with the war, you could head downtown for some amusement:
Afterwards, a little cause and cure:
And for that added touch of comfort and security: