Judge — February 1, 1930 — page 10: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Rare Bit of Coolidgeana Bobs Up; Quickly Bobs Down Again By S. J. Perelman Fire since Harvey Hoover's auto- 4 graph and ser sketches went under the hammer for $123,000 recently, smarties here and there have been burning to muscle in on the big dough. Autograph collectors and oth- ers of the same ilk (and a fine big ilk it is, to be sure, with simply HUGE ant- lers four feet from tip to tip) have been lurking through their Congress- aste-basket, waiting hungrily for John Hancock nd even or- dinary mooks like you and me have been stuffing their blotters and backs of envelopes in safe deposits for their posterity. Out in Mound City a mug. thirsty for heavy sugar, was bagged trying to chisel a poem off the m wall of the station which he c' a Senator had scribbled there unbe- knownst to all. And now comes the pay-off with an carly sketch attributed to Conrad Coolidge, well-known maga- zine writer and insurance agent of North ton, Mass. The sketch in question, reproduced above, is the property of Blue Dan- Northampton man-of-all_ work cur composer, who has iels, and sined some previous repute as the “Is this a Coolidge autograph sketch?” ask collectors, author of the a musical te Blue Daniels Waltz, e-poem depicting the fall of Tri nd the destruction of the collar factories. According to Dan- iels’ story, he had removed from the Coolidge home a small box of trash which had accumulated there during rand was about to burn a suburb of Northampton. “Of course, I never bothered to look over Mr. Coolidge’s trash,” he told reporters. “I felt that anything Mr. Coolidge thre h. But when I came across this, w: that I owed it to the commun) to save it, that’s what I felt,” stated Mr. Danicls, removing his felt hat and AVANTE LE FASCISMO! TAKE OUT THE DUCES AND TRAYS, DANN , GROWLED feeling his head ruminantly. Asked by his interviewers whether he felt anything else, he hesitated slightly. y, yes,” he said after a moment, “T felt'a kind of a bump on my neck here only last Frida “Why, that’s your head, dope,” re- proved the reporters. “So it is, so it is,” stammered Dan- s. “I swan, I guess I'm getting sort of absent-minded lately. Ain't as young as I was, boys, no sirce!” “How old were you?” queried a leg- man. “Four and a half, maybe five,” re- plied Daniels. “Why, I can remem- ber when they had a public library up there on Forty-second street, where the reservoir now stands! Yes, sir. I'm nigh on three hundred years old.” “Why, you must have known Aaron Burr,” was the surprised comment. “Sure I did,” responded the old gaffer with a croak. “I can remember the time he fought Weehawken over there. That's where Alexander Ham- ilton, New Jersey, now stands. There was you! None of your flimsy, ‘oolsey, three-ounce gloves for those boys. They fought bare-knuckles, two and three hundred rounds.” at do you think of Dempse. ; is on Tooney,” phatically. asserted “It’s also on THE GAMBLER Press the buzzard on my desk, Gulliver, and tell Henri to prepare roast vulture with mashed pota- toes for ten this evening. “General Gillespie is sick and can’t see you today,” scowled his orderly. “What made him ill?” squeezed Sergeant Grischball. “Oh, things in general,” pulsated the palooka, Don’t burn that shoemaker’s Rabelais, Mr. Sumner; the cobbler should stick to his lust. comicbooks.com