Judge — June 1938 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

plays violin solos for cocktails in the adjoining Palm Bar. Dancing way up thar’ in the very formal, white-tie Rainbow Room. Having an outdoor lunch, where the glamour offsets such palty considera. tions as cinders in the soup, anywhere along lower Fifth Avenue, or down by the fountain in the Sunken Gardens at Rockefeller Centre (only yesterday a skating rink). And best of all, having breakfast with the sea-lions or any appreciative young thing on the terrace at the Central Park Zoo. You can see Junior there any sunny morning in a plaid cap, blue denim shorts, and a corduroy great coat, humming an old cowboy song. Miscellaneous Advices Brown eggs cost more in Boston, white ones come higher in New York, but they all taste alike to us. There is a rugged Southern individ. ualist, now working in town, who is still driving around with 1937 Mississippi plates on his car. He regards the govern- mental desire to put plates on his jaloppy every year as an unwarranted interference with his private life, but to make for safety, he says, “I keep ‘em covered with mud.” No local Dogberry has molested him yet. There is a report that Adolf Hitler has seen Greta Garbo in “Camille” twelve times to date; a man named Stokowski better keep out of Germany. There is a drugstore at Madison Ave- nue and 66th Street where the tele- phones frequently and generously return thirty cents after a nickel call. Thurman Arnold, our new Assistant Attorney General, combines his new job with his old one of teaching at the Yale Law School. He is one of the few remaining American rough diamonds who know how to wipe their mouths with their sleeves and perform other homely facial calisthenics publicly, and every year delivers his first three lectures on the ever-popular subject of Sex. There is always a small crowd of curi- ous souls waiting for hours before every fashionable New York church wedding —and we suppose it will only be a mat- ter of time before Mrs. Roosevelt takes to tossing out the first June bride. Sometime around the first of this month some of the members and de- scendants of the weeping throngs who for 72 hours passed by Rudolph Valen- tino’s bier on Columbus Circle will once June, 1938 again be watching the Sheik gallop away from the Bedouins with Vilma Banky in his strong grasp. For, by the courtesy of Artcinema Associates, the Sheik is coming back. Already The Son of the Sheik (1926), with modernized sub- titles, musical background and subtitles dubbed in, is playing various Southern cities, and, surprisingly enough, the spell of Valentino's acting is neither di- minished nor dated. The Associates, who include Albert Grey, a brother of D. W. Griffith, and many former friends of Valentino, never cease to marvel at their own astuteness in buying up the rights. Movie Marquee of the month is the Gaicty, on Times Square: “Wajan, Son of a Witch—Endorsed by Winchell.” The Mail Bag Dear Judge, Jr. I wish you'd do something about this greeting business. Years ago, when you met a friend you hadn't seen for some time, you'd look surprised, give him a big grin, and say, “Well, well, well! What are you doing now?” Remember? It was a nice, genial greeting, but it went out of style around the beginning of 1930. I don’t know why, exactly, but I suppose it had something to do with the depression. I didn’t care for the one that took its place as old-friend greeter. Not that it was too inquisitive, but I always thought I detected a sardonic undercurrent when I was greeted with it by an acquaintance. It went: “Are you doing anything now?” You remember that one, Junior. It was in vogue quite a while. But the expression of polite interest that you hear all around you these days —well, there is no question about liking it or not liking it. It's one of those things that transcends approval or dis- approval. I only know that next time a friend of mine stops me when I'm in a hurry, pumps my arm and_ beams: “Well, well, well! What project are you on?” he’s going to get a cold stare and the information that there must be some mistake. This kind of thing calls for harsh measures. Yours, Alben Philips. "M GETTING HIS NUMBER!” comicbooks.com