Judge — April 1933 — page 22: what you’re looking at

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

arly as [ can remember it, this is what happened. I learned from an advertisement in the evening papers that the Radio City RKO Rockefeller Centre Music Hall would open a new program at ten o'clock in the morning. I wanted to see the picture as soon as possible in order to keep this column as timely as possible, consequently I arrived at the theatre at ten o'clock of a brisk, clear wintry morning. Actually, it was a little before ten, yet there were several hundred people shiver- ing in line, herded two abreast by brocaded ushers, I went around the corner, drank some coffee and read the morning papers, and at ten-fifteen tried a: to get into the theatre. The crowd had increased perceptibly, and I asked an usher when he was going to let them in out of the cold wind. “Ten-thirty” he said. I argued inco- herently with him—for some reason I can’t s an usher herding people into line without wishing that I By PARE LORENTZ could blow a whistle, and have a squadron of wheel into the mob and cut a way for me—and I went around to a side entrance and discovered a sign which said, ‘doors open at eleven.” By this time there were several policemen detailed to keep the crowd off Sixth Avenue, and curiosity seekers were jamming the entrances, but I took an usher by the arm, pointed to the sign on the door, and asked him to explain the an- nouncement in the daily papers. “It must have been a misprint” aid. While | cursed myself for leaving a warm bed at such an hour in the first place, I wanted to be accurate, so [ bought all the morning papers. In big type they announced that the theatre would open at ten. I immediately called Radio Pictures, and the really courteous gentleman there told me they had no control over the theatre ma: ment. I then called the theatre management and they said they had nothing to do with newspaper advertising. They | mais did, however, offer to let me into th theatre. I went to a mysterious entran and found myself in a jovial crowd ic looking people of all aye zes, all waiting to get into th e through the entrails of th building. We were let off somewher in the middle of the huge audi torium, led through Rox privat apartment by mistake, and finally let out into the Music Hall. The stage full of people. Th vice-directors, lacking the dictator ship of Roxy himself, were rehears ing the new stage show. First th: lights would go down, and a stringy haired lean girl was spotted risins from the floor to the tune of Ravel’ Bolero. I shan’t describe her idioti interpretation of it, or dwell on th chromium sets or the negro danc routines which so fittingly set off the music. We were watching what proved to be the grand finale and th "4 denouement was furnished by sixty drummers who walked half wa WANT CANTOR 5