Jacob Zimmer, when asked why he and his son Donald were having a joint wedding to a pair of sisters (Grace and Dorothy Tripp), offered this explanation:
Donald's always liked farmin' like me and he likes music, too— plays the cornet and the tuba both. On top of that he likes to fish as well as I do, so it's just natural we'd like sisters—particularly sisters who like to go fishin'."
Once upon a time, thanks to Schenley liquors, you could get as wasted as old Ben Franklin (note: not a Quaker, just partied with them), in the manner of this Curly-Howard-lookalike above. Then you'd be "feeling your Quaker Oats."
Published in the late 1930s by the party's New York state branch and recently rediscovered by a Brandeis University historian, it's a 15-page illustrated tutorial in the art of ideologically correct fraternizing. Among the suggested high jinks: cutting editorials from The Daily Worker into pieces and having guests see who can put them back together fastest, or holding a mock convention on, say, nonintervention in Spain. "One guest is made chairman. Another is Chamberlain, another Leon Blum, a third Mussolini," the pamphlet cheerfully explains. Or why not try a round of anti-Fascist darts? "Draw a picture of Hitler, Mussolini, Hague or another Girdleresque pest. Put it on a piece of soft board with thumbtacks. Six throws for a nickel, and a prize if you paste Hague in the pants, or Trotsky in the eye," the pamphlet instructs.
Also, advertise "All the free beer you can drink!" but charge expensive admission at the door ("Yes, people will pay!"). And then:
Pour your beer in the center of the glass not down the inside. POURING IN THE MIDDLE GIVES MORE FOAM AND LESS LIQUID — STRETCHES EACH BARREL FURTHER.