Life — April 12, 1928 — page 18: what you’re looking at

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

Orcnestra Leaver: Wot’s the idea—what have you got in the carriage? Trap Drummer: My kid sister—I’m gonna start her crying during our Baby Number. Along the Main Stem DEAR Pat Wittarp: How've you beeceeen and how- jeedoo, old pal? Pardon my familiar- ity but I picked that stuff up ankling along Broad Please overlook it. Most people you mect nowadays are cutting each other's throats trying so hard to be clever, so don’t mind me. And no matter where you go they all tell you that they are writing for a newspaper or a maga- zine and the only thing that stumps me is that with nearly everybody writing pieces for the papers, where the deuce are the readers coming from? Am I right, as what's his name says, or am I right, Willard? How are the merry magdalens out your way? I mean those darlings who used to do their ciggie smoking behind the barn. I suppose you're knocking the dears deader than Mr. McLarnin knocked Mr. Terris, with that way you have with young-and- high-waisted things. Come now, Willard, don’t hold out on me. Don’t I tell you everything I cross my heart not to tell? RINSTANCE: Robert Benchley sent Dorothy Parker a cablegram on his first day at sea which read: “Oh dear, oh dear!"...Heywood Broun had his side whiskers shaved off after seeing those on McKay Mor- ris,... Robert E. Sherwood, the editor, who distinctly has you understand that your contributions to his maga- zine must be on one side of the paper, writes his letters on both sides.... One of the chorus boys in Flo Zieg- feld’s “Rio Rita” show is a former Episcopalian minister....We have an absent-minded chorus girl in town who always gives the taxi-driver her phone number instead of the address she is bound for....The line “Be yourself,” which all of us thought was modern slang, is in “The Merry Wives of Windsor,” a Shakespeare gag. ENRY L. MENCKEN says he took the title of “the biggest fool in the world” away from George Jean Nathan the other day... .Mencken, it appears, had a throat operation at the Johns Hopkins in Baltimore, and left the hosp for his dwelling the same day, which sent him to bed for a while, hence his new title... .Mar- ilyn Miller and Ben Lyon are burn- ing each other up and knocking each other cold by frequenting the same cabarets with different partners— then giving each other slaying looks. ..-Did you know that the man to blame for that moom pitcher sub- title, “Came the Dawn,” is Benjamin De Casseres? Well, it is!. Incidentally the Chez Florence, which is a joy cave on 48th Street, is now the spot. You meet or rub shoulders with more society peasants and visiting nobility there than you could see in a month in Yurrop. It’s quite the cat's. The Hollywood rep- resentatives gather there too, and the couvert is very reasonable, Greenwich Village is shot to pieces, They’re building a new subway down there, anyway, which forced plenty of the giggle-water emporiums out of business, and the alleged bohemians are cither committing suicide regu- larly or going straight. ATURDAY eves are whooped up over at the Ritz in the sexclusive Mayfair Room, where it costs you fifteen dollars per person and you see some of the Biggies and many of the Smallies. If you'd enjoy an ex- cellent number get Victor Record No. 21116A. It’s “The Man I Love,” with Marion Harris doing the war- bling, and on the other side Phil Baker, the accordion man, accom- panies her with “Did You Mean It?” They are both hot chunes. OTHING else has startled the good old street since you went away. You've probably heard the one about the Scotch silk merchant who went crazy trying to shrink a tape measure. We no longer say of a person: “He's all wet!” The new crack is, “He drips.” And Broadway, frequently called “The Main Stem,” has so many Chinese restaurants that it is now tagged “The Chow Mein Stem.” But the ace of the chuckles concerned Fanny Ward. They are saying the reason she went to Yur- rop last year was to escape the epi- demic of infantile paralysis. Haw! Love and hisses, Your insincere friend, Walter Winchell. The Pugilist’s Song NOSE that’s flattened in, Two optics black and blue, A slightly twisted chin, A jawbone that's askew, A battered lip that stings, Two cauliflower ears,— I count these little things Among my souvenirs! 4. LL, “WILL you marry me, dearest?” “Certainly. Co m pan- ionate, Trial or Fight-to-a-Finish? comicbooks.com Ms Mp