Life — December 28, 1928 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

ALONG THE MAIN STEM Dear Par Wittarp: Your letter request- | ing some of the juiciest of A the 1928 quips, similes and Winchell gags to hand, so I've been trying to make good on the cruel assign- ment. I sat with a group of locals who are supposed to be “Broadway's wisest and funniest wits” the other noon, but I came | away perspiring and not a little alarmed, for none of them could, I swear, even recall their “favorite” gag. Perhaps these | selections, then, will suffice, At least they appeared to amuse most of us when they were first told and many of them will be) unfolded as “new” up to the time the season is ding-donged into the past. There was Dorothy Parker’s own story of the time she was hailing taxicabs on a rainy night. When she finally attracted | chirped: | one driver she breathlessly “Please rush me to the Maternity Hospital at once!” “Not in this cab, lady!” was the retort as he stepped on the accelerator. To me, it's a wow. The ace of the similes still is, “As cold as a heated cab,” and the fun- niest Scotch joke, I think, was the one about the Aberdonian who, weary of read- ing about the glory brought to other countries by transatlantic aviators, decided to fly from New York to Glasgow to bring honor to Scotland. At the flying field, just as he was about to take off, his wife said: “My dear, how many sandwiches do you want?” “Make only one,” was the reply; “I may never get there!” Then there's the best of the Conceited Fellow's quips. It really was pulled seri- ously by Arthur Caesar, now in Holly- wood, when he was here last. Someone happened to remark: “Gee, I wish I could get an encyclopedia to check up on some- thing.” Turning to Caesar, he said: “Do you happen to have an encyclopedia at home, Arthur?” “T haven't,” was the amazing reply, “but what is it you wish to know?” And when “Napoleon’s Barber,” by this same Caesar, was shown locally on the noisy screen, it was said of the critics that they came not to praise Caesar, but to berry him. A priceless Newspiperman Gag was a belly-loff around here for a while. It con- cerned a ship news reporter on the N. Y. Times, who was so affable with the vari- ous crews he'd forget himself at the ship's bar and get carried to Yurrup every now and then. The editors were accustomed to his frequent absences, but he was so good at the job, they never yipped at him. Well, one day he drank too much before sailing time; the ship departed and when he came to, they told him he was on a two-year cruise around the world. So he laughed it off and was soon resigned to his fate. Two years later, however, when the ship Modest Bard Invokes Young 1929 Younesrer on the cosmic stage, Babe with golden tresses curled, What, oh, what do you presage For an anxious waiting world? So to help you with your task My request at once I'll make; This is all I really ask: Just a break, kid; just a break! Just a chance to kick a goal, Just a few bucks in my jeans; I don’t need filet of sole If I'm sure of ham and beans. Old Man Gloom may have me treed, Yet my fist at him I'll shake— One thing only do I need: Just a break, kid; just a break. Sure I'd like a million bucks Slipped me on a silver plate; Gladly I'd be Lady Luck’s Loving spouse but, sad to state, Santa never comes to me, My good fairy is a fake— One card, please, and may it be Just a break, kid; just a break! Arthur L. Lippmann. came back, he raced up to the editorial rooms, dashed over to his desk and yelled: “Who the hell moved my typewriter?” One of the damnedest of the “beautiful, but numb” chorus femme quips was sprung by Arthur Kober and still is being told on the Stem. The gel was with Earl Carroll at the time and she took her own holidays now and then. Fearing, perhaps, she had run out of alibis, she tried this one. Her wire read: “Dear Mr. Carroll: T will not be able to make the matinee today as I have been suddenly stricken with typhoid fever, but will positively be around for the evening performance.” Is that a honey, Willard, or is that a honey? I also cared in a big way for Jeff Machamer’s gag (I think it was Jeff's), which parodied the oldest conundrum of them all. He revived it when Ruth Elder flew. It went this way: “Why does a chicken cross the ocean?” The retort being: “To get on the front pages!” Then there was George Jean Nathan's: “The difference between a_ small-time actor and a big-time ham is that the for- mer says: ‘I seen,’ and the other says: ‘I have saw.’” The best of the so-called Heeb gags is the one explaining how the Y. M. H. A. football team was beaten by Notre Dame. It appears that the Jewish lads learned that the Fighting Irish discovered their signals, so it was decided to call out their cues in Yiddish. On the field the Hebrew captain yelled: “Tzvay, finiff, zex, zibben!” (meaning two, five, six, seven). But the Notre Dame chief called back: “Tukk Hainglish, you chomp, you meking me leff!” Incidentally, Irv Hoffman clicked with his flip crack on the moompitcher mag- nates with this: “What the movie business needs is fewer yes-men and more know- men!” And wasn’t it W. W. Scott who chirped: “In Hollywood, the first hundred yeahs are the hardest”? However, if you can think of some better ones, do send them. These are my stories and I’m stuck with ‘em. comicbooks.com