The Waterbury Democrat., 1940-02-20

pabtAuB youf6e1 on the pock n you knew what people are saying about you behind it" Damon Runyon in an essay on broken hearts: There used to be a song about broken heart for every light on B'way. The ratio has changed of recent years. There are now four to a light. Three male, one female"
 One of the sturdy legends of the newspaper shops is refuted by Charles Collins of the Chicag. gazettes It's the one about the supposed horse-whipping of Wilbur F. Storey, Chicago editor, by hy- dia Thompson, star of "The Bri- tish Blondes" Instead, re- lates Collins, editor Storey nearly killed Lydia and her two male cronies, and took only one flick of her riding whip .. Collins ver- sion not only makes the yarn dull but attacks Storey's gallantry =. |. We like the James Gordon Bennett attitude better. When Bennett was whipped, he wrote a blazing column about it, describing his hurts :. :. For Bennett was a great edi- tor He wanted to sell news papers and, being a first-rate news paperman, he knew the news value of being The Underdog.
 Dear Walter" writes Betty Vii Hanson of Richmond, Va, T hate to keep on writing you fan letters; it looks so damn silly. But your column about New York, the way il is, puts me in the dreamiest, whipped cream mood and I want to tell you about it. You see I am one oi those who ran away from home a long time afo. I roamed the Big City for years, doing bits in the the ater, working for publishers, living everywhere from Washington Square to Park Avenue-always on my own and somehow knowing everybody worth knowing at the time. AL though I hadn't penny to my name and nothing that you would call beauty either. And your columns fill me with sort of nos talgia - for L used to see things the way you do-those clouds float ing over SkyscraperS, those doormen with perfect manner, those guards in the Museum not knowing a Rem brandt fro ma penny post card and those delightful headwaiterS |. One at Henri's in 44th Street, who always removed a Reserved card with a flourish when I came in, and murmured: 'Ah, the ittel one!' I shocked my nephew to death one time sitting on the curbstone with a night watchman who had built himself a fire to keep warm, back of where the old Hippodrome was-and reminiscing about the days that he and I knew. Where are they now who knows?' the song says, and in my heart I answer in Walter Win chell's column when he gets sem timental."
 Little things like this make big paragraphs like these-and give me a glow A troupe of young men dIlQ WOlneL \TuuIIlUd UdlACcTS) were booked in New York for a Florida night club They were a brand new act and instead of working to- gether to make good collectively they quarreled with . team of sweethearts among them and fired them l,5O0 miles from Broadway The two kids told the owner of the place about being stranded ;. He said: "I'll hire you for week as a speciality dance team, and the money will be your fare back home" Before the week ended-the quar- relsome tr,oupers fought among themselves so furiously-the night club fired them all-and now the sweethearts who were working fo: their fare home-have been re- tained to put on a substitute rhumba octet Not only have they a good job, but they are the stars of the act! And the inconsider- ate others who stranded them" are now stranded themselves.