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Our mom, Karen Oakes Leveridge, would have been 79 years old today, if it were not for Alzheimer’s disease, that rat bastard. She beat cancer twice, but there’s no winning with Alzheimer’s.

We miss her dearly—even desperately, sometimes. She was a remarkable woman, and everything we are that’s worthwhile, we owe to her and my wonderful father.

This picture of them was taken around 1960 — no later, certainly, than 1964.

What a couple they were, and how grateful we are that Dad’s still going strong.

03 Feb 12 | Tags: 1960, Alzheimer's, family, Karen Leveridge, Lloyd Leveridge
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Regrets? They had a few…

So, which of these photographs do you find most unsettling?

01 Feb 12 | Tags: Clark Gable, Humphrey Bogart, regrettable photographs
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Times Square Tintypes: George M. Cohan

In this chapter from his 1932 book, Times Square Tintypes, Broadway columnist Sidney Skolsky profiles George M. Cohan, hoofer, song writer, playwright and all-around theatrical giant.

“STARS AND STRIPES FOREVER”

He’s a dancer and a singer and a song writer and a master of slang and an actor and a director and a producer and a playwright and a philanthropist and he’s GEORGE M. COHAN

The “M” stands for Michael. Hates to be called George by anyone he thinks is not entitled to use it.

Comes from a family of hoofers. Later famous as “The Four Cohans.” He was always on the stage. When only a baby his parents parked him backstage in a basket while they did their act.

He is very charitable. Never gives to societies, but takes care of individual cases. This is one subject he will not speak about. Yet without exaggeration he has given away over a million dollars.

At rehearsals he is in the aisles, on the stage and once was discovered halfway up the proscenium.

His finances are in the hands of Dennis O’Brien. Never knew how much money he had and doesn’t today. If left to himself he would write his fortune away. His is one of the wealthiest men in the show business.

His shoes cost $45 a pair. They are handmade. Orders half a dozen pairs at a time.

He sent George Fuller Golden to Colorado for his health. Did this unsolicited and handed Golden $10,000 in cash. Told him to write for more when that was gone. This is merely one of thousands of cases.

Gave his mother the entire royalties of Get Rich Quick Wallingford as a Christmas present.

First man to use the American flag to “stop the show.” Also the first to glorify it on stage. He has been called the “Yankee Doodle Boy.” Is also said to be a representative American type. Of all things, he was born on July 4. The year, 1878.

Nothing that he ever wrote had an unclean line or situation.

He hasn’t temperament. Doesn’t wear the high hat. Just the same old felt or derby tilted on the side.

Prefers the company of theatrical folks.

He writes all his stuff with a yellow pencil on yellow paper.

He is the only man who ever turned out musical comedies single-handed. Beginning with Little Johnny Jones, he has written the music and lyrics, the book, staged the dances, rehearsed the cast and orchestra, arranged settings and costumes, and played in them.

Wrote over one hundred plays and signed only forty.

A great deal of his charity, in addition to money, has been in the form of song numbers and acts. Gave these away to help struggling performers. He didn’t receive any payment nor credit lines. A popular pastime was sending him manuscripts to be “Cohanized.”

After watching a show at a dress rehearsal, he knows exactly how much of it will click. Has never gone wrong on one of these predictions. No man in the world understands the audience as well as he.

He rejected the play Broadway and advised William A. Brady not to produce it.

Was the first actor to own an automobile. He paid $2,000 for it. People said only an actor would do a thing like that.

He does not mourn for “the good old days.” After over twenty years on Broadway he can still compete with the new blood. He considers Broadway of today merely a mess of lights.

Cannot and will not write a part for a Jewish character. He claims he doesn’t understand them.

Is a baseball an prize-fight fan. He is very clever with his fists.

Once he was playing baseball and objected to the presence of a colored chap because the fellow got on his nerves. He tolerated him for two innings. He then picked up a bit and chased him out of the park, down two blocks. All of the players were anxious about Cohen’s safety. When he got back they told him the fellow he chased was Joe Walcott, the prize fighter.

Was the first man to collect royalties for vaudeville skits.

Isn’t particular about his clothes. But is fussy about his haircuts. Often has his Astor Hotel barber cut it three times before he is satisfied.

He has written over a thousand songs. He thinks of the music and lyrics of a new song at the same time. The bugle called and he wrote “Over There” in five minutes. The original copy of “Over There” is now in the Harvard Museum among rare and precious American manuscripts.

30 Jan 12 | Tags: Broadway, E. F. Albee, George Fuller Golden, George M. Cohan, Joe Walcott, NYC, Over There, Times Square Tintypes, William A. Brady
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Top of the World

If you can watch this clip from the British Pathé newsreel “There’s One Born Every Minute,” starring 1930s “skyscraper daredevil” Ben Dova without experiencing a wave of vertiginous queasiness, you’re made of stronger stuff than we are.

25 Jan 12 | Tags: 1930s, Ben Dova, British Pathe, daredevil, newsreels, NYC
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Times Square Tintypes: Jim Tully

In this chapter from his 1932 book, Times Square Tintypes, Broadway columnist Sidney Skolsky profiles Jim Tully, hobo, pugilist, journalist, and author.

THE VAGABOND KING

The American Gorki. He found that hoboing was the road to success. JIM TULLY

The first thing one notices about him is his flaming red hair. He is five feet three and weighs 163 pounds. His skin is sun drunk. His hands are small and pudgy. He has the thighs of a burlesque queen. Standing, his body like a question mark, he appears ready to leap.

He works and talks at a breakneck pace.

He bites his finger nails.

His mother died when he was four. His father was a ditch digger. His uncle a horse thief. He was in an orphanage until eleven years old. Here, for his ability to memorize the preacher’s sermon and say catechism he won a rosary. But a more pious kid stole it.

Wears only five-dollar neckties and has his suits made to order by an anarchist tailor in Hollywood.

Is very proud that Mencken and Nathan are his pals and drink beer with him. Is prouder of this than their esteem for his books.

Started his literary career by writing fake stories for a “True Confession” magazine. One of his prize yarns was The Memoirs of a Japanese Geisha Girl.

His philosophy of life is: “What the hell—the grave ends everything.”

As a youth he looked forward to becoming the world’s greatest bank robber. Gave up the idea when told by a railroad detective he would be caught easily. Because no other person on earth could possibly look like him.

His first book, Beggars of Life, he submitted to four publishers simultaneously. The four accepted.

Likes to write in the first person. Believes a direct lie is always more convincing.

Was once a prize fighter. His pugilistic career ended in a California ring when he was knocked out in the first round and remained unconscious for twenty-four hours.

Combs his hair once a day whether it needs it or not.

The only thing he fears is a smart-aleck interviewer.

He has slept on a park bench, in H. L. Mencken’s bed, under a freight train, at the Algonquin, and on cold, barren ground, his closed eyes staring at the stars. No matter where he sleeps, he snores.

His name when a hobo was Cincy Red.

Always finds out where people were born, their ages, likes and dislikes, and secret sorrows by the second meeting.

He would like to conduct a society column for a newspaper.

Never wore a dress suit in his life. Thinks he would look like a chorus boy if he did.

His father, 78 years old, is still alive. He sends his dad press clippings, good and bad, periodically. His father is a bit disappointed because Jim didn’t become a champion prize fighter.

James Branch Cabell is his favorite American author.

He is very moody. Has intense fits of melancholy and terrible laughter.

Doesn’t think he should be judged by what he says about former friends in interviews but by the way he writes.

When interviewing he never takes notes. A week later he writes the interview from impressions.

He easily recognizes his own ability and is annoyed by those who don’t.

He wears high-laced tan shoes. They are made to order for him and imported from London.

From force of habit he greets an old friend with: “Did you eat yet?”

He lives and works in Hollywood. Writes in a big, oblong room on the second floor of his house. The room is lined with books from floor to ceiling. Has a flat, square desk with a swivel chair. A beer barrel is within swinging distance. He calls his house “One More Illusion.”

In writing a book he does not strive for literary style. Claims he writes naturally. Just as if he were writing a letter to a harlot.

He doesn’t smoke.

Jarnegan is his favorite character in all history. Claims that whenever he feels lonely and depressed he sits down and talks things over with him.

Makes women think his novels belie him because of his soft speech with them. When with men, however, he is just like his novels—turbulent and violent and cussing.

The two greatest guys in the world as far as he is concerned, are George Jean Nathan and Oklahoma Red.

He has a yen for beautiful and beautifully dressed women.

He dreads the thought that some day he won’t be alive.

23 Jan 12 | Tags: Algonquin Hotel, Beggars of Life, H. L. Mencken, Hollywood, James Branch Cabell, Jean George Nathan, Jim Tully, NYC, Sidney Skolsky
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Are You Having Any Fun?
Hey fellow with a million smackers
And nervous indigestion
Rich fellow, eats milk and crackers,
I'll ask you one question,
You silly so and so,
With all your dough...

Are you having any fun?
What you getting out of livin'?
What good is what you've got
If you're not having any fun?

Are you having any laughs?
Are you getting any lovin'?
If other people do,
So can you, have a little fun.

After the honey's in the cone,
Little bees go out and play.
Even the old grey mare down home
Has got to have hay. Hey!

You better have some fun.
You ain't gonna live forever.
Before you're old and gray, feel okay.
Have your little fun, son!
Have your little fun!

Why do you work and slave and save?
Life is full of ifs and buts.
You know the squirrels save and save,
And what have they got? Nuts!

Better have a little fun.
You ain't gonna live forever.
Before you're old and grey, still okay,
Have your little fun, son!
Have your little fun!
Are you havin' any fun?

---Sammy Fain (music) and Jack Yellen (lyrics), 1939