Evening star., 1937-12-05

around the theatrical world, the big
shot producer, so the theory goes, gets
to move in circles, exalted and other
wise.
YESTERDAY to-day is a day of
for him) the biggest shot pro-
ducer of them all moved in these
circles:
He awoke at o'clock in the morn
ing in his six-room apartment on
Forty-eighth street and Park ave-
nue.. He used to own a house in Great
Neck and another in Florida, but he
sold them both when his wife died in
1880. Since then he has lived restlessly
In apartments, moving about once a
year. Last year $4,000 was spent
decorating a three room apartment
for him. He thought # it were made
real nice he might stay put. But he
moved away. Mr. Harris, who has no
children, finds it hard to get used to
living with only butler and a cook
in the house after more than Is years
of married life. He spent little more
than an hour over breakfast and all
the morning papers published in New
York. He likes to read the editorials
and the letters to the editor because
they rest his mind.
Then he telephoned his Office and
had his secretary read off the mail
on his desk-begging letters from old
actors out of luck, offers of choice
plots. estates, farms and plantations: !:
wires reporting on THANKSGIVING
business of the three road companies
OF You Can't Take It With You"
Business had fallen on. Mr.. Harris
put through calls to the three stage
managers. Were the companies CIV
ing good performances? Nobody shirk-
ing? What advertising was being
done? He thought abut it little while
at long-distance telephone rates. IT
guess it's just one of them things" he
said.
Then he read the scripts of two
highly recommended plays by we'll
known authors. He didn't waste much
time over one. The other he read all
the way through. He rejected both of
them. After that he had a dictat-
ing session with his secretary, and re-
celved two callers. One was a man
who owns theater out West and
wanted Mr.. Harris to buy a part of
it. The other was Wall Street broker
whose pretty, 17-year-old daughter
wants to go on the stage. She was ad-
vlsed to finish her schooling. Then
1t was lunch time and time to get
dressed and go across town. John
Karoly. the chauffeur he has had for
80 years and on whom he tries out
bits OF plays during rehearsal, drove
him first to the Waldorf, where he
saw a sick friend who Is his partner
In a gold mine in Bishop, Calf.
They've taken some gold out and
they're now deciding whether to look
for more. From there, he stopped at
the Astor for shave by Fritz. which
has been his and George M. Cohan's
daily habit for 20 years.
SHAVED and manicured, he walked
around the corner to his Office in
the Music Box Theater. It opens of
the balcony lobby, and the wide stairs
and the lobby itself were carpeted with
statesmen Of jewelry, insurance, stocks,
real estate, pianos, clothes. two in
Ventors and great crowd of actors.
Since Mr.. Harris is not casting any,
thlng now, most OF the actors were
old unfortunates, fumbling for the
best way to make touch. He makes
1t pretty easy for them. Every once
In while he gets sore and generally
expresses his anger by saying, Dam
NIT, I'd have saved a hunert dollars
staying home today" An hour in his
office was enough yesterday. Then
the gay social round. 1t wasn't very
gay last night. A cocktail at "2l /"
dinner at home with a friend, then a
visit to the three theaters housing his
current productions, hello" to
George M. Cohan, with whom he pro-
duced so successful plays between
1904 and their quarrel in 1919, and
so to bed.
II.
a lively, punchy little man, with a
pushed-in nose and wide smile, and
sometimes he likes to step out with an
actress. But he's almost always home
early. He can't break himself of the
habit of rising at o'clock, no matter
when he gets to bed Nor were his
afternoons always so business-like. He
used to spend them at the race track,
and spend is the word. The most he
ever bet on q single race was $22, ,000
to win $4,000. But he used to bet
$500 or $1,000 every day. Now, he
rarely goes to the races and limits
his bets to 500. II found out you
can't beat the races" he says. 81
never made . dime In my life OF
Broadway"
| tCopyrisht. 1887, by the North American
| Newspaper Alliance, Incl