New Britain herald., 1930-09-25

New York, Sept. o5.-lll wager
 two sticks of colored chalk and a
 spinning top all the way across the
 beard that in these days of unem-
 ployment no person has been offer
 ed so many jobs they cannot fill as
 this sad-eyed chronicler Maybe its
 kidding, but they are driving me
 nuts.
 There are ten offers for radio broadcasting. two for personal ap- pearances" in what are known as
 takies shorts a trip to Hollywood to
 write a full length movie and even
 an offer for "a week at the Pal
 ace" that paradise for piff-awmers.
 And each offer it baited with goodly
 gobs of lovely jack.
 Were to cash in on all I could
 fulfill that recurrent drama of lag ing to the South Seas-pausing at Philadelphia for a sneering chuckle al the mint-and lie limp in the eerie glow of cracking koa logs, listen to the throb of gourd drums, the chant of dusky ladies. o. boy!
 As it Is all I can do is look silly while my wife pops in every once in awhile, trying desperately to keep straight face, looks me over and nlurmurs: You an actor?" and rushes out in a wild gale of up- roarious laughter. You'd think I haven't all my marbles or some thing.
 I am conscious no histrionic vir- tues of mine incite such ridiculous offers They are due entirely to the magic of the printed word. After people see a name in print few years there is a natural curiosity an inclination to wonder: What in the world does that bird look like?"
 In other words. a column clown in the flesh has the same sort of appeal as a freak shows three- legged calf. And after folk see him. they merely sigh a sad little sigh and kiss another illusion goodbye, No columnist looks half as bright as his printed piffle. And you may quote me freely on that.
 I have had my filings at public speaking-three to be precise. After nights of wakefulness interpolated with a few pajama poses-full face and profile - before the mirror, imagined myself all set for foren- sic furore. Instead, when called upon my knees turned suddenly to loose jelly, my expression became that of frightened hoot-owl. and my voice trailed off into a despair ingly, thin squeak-like rusted hinge on an old gate.
 Once I was called upon for a few word at a stirring homecoming reception of Jack Dempsey in Los Angeles. Several noted Pacific coast orators glibly rolled out their operations. When I stood up, the world seemed to stop, turn over and leave everything smudge. My mouth opened like ventrilo- luist's dummy but there was no sound. I could not utter a word. AS sat down in confusion, a palooka ,ear the speakers table cried: That's telling 'em. old whistle ,ars,"
 And imagine me with my quarter ,f three o'clock walk following such left delineators of extemperaneous md pin-neat repartee as Phil Bak- er, Frank Fay and Julius Tanner 1. the Palace! There I would be all llone on that big stage with not even my wife to chafe my wrists md bring me out of a swoon. The Palace-your Aunt Ida's tippet. inow my eggs.
 Upon another memora ble-to me, nyway-occasion, was called lpon suddenly at a theatrical bene- it. along with many others, to take l bow. How l managed to walk up he runway to the stage you'll never inow. Or likely care. I mumbled that could not possibly