From under my hat (1952)

Once upon a time there was a six-toed cousin. Mine. When I first saw him, I knew I was in show business. Kids in the neighborhood couldn't afford pennies, but I made them pay five pins every time they got a look at him. At the time when my six-toed cousin and I were in business, I was Elda Furry. I was born in Hollidaysburg, Pennsylvania, a peaceful, pretty town fourteen miles outside the industrial city of Altoona. In the West we'd call it a suburb, although the Hollidaysburg citizens might want to hang me for using that term. I made my entrance into this world June 2 ( I'll skip the year because I don't want anyone following me around with a wheel chair) during one of the gaudiest electrical storms ever seen in the community. The heavens opened up and so did I. It is said that I came in screaming. Mother didn't rightly know which was making the most noise, but she found out soon enough. The elements quit, but I didn't. Born with good lungs, I've never stopped exercising them. Today I can outshout any producer in Hollywood. When I was three we moved to Altoona. My growing pains were done to the rhythm of hard work; I never had it easy. What school learning I got was as sketchy as my knowledge of men. I didn't make a high school, and boys didn't seem to like me much. I had only one beau in Altoona, but I won't fool you, I've had several since. When life became intolerable at home, I ran away to New York and went on the stage. There I met De Wolf Hopper. Inasmuch as I left home to escape the heritage of being a butcher's daughter, it seems ironical that I was to spend the rest of my life dealing in ham. But for De Wolf Hopper, this book would never have been written. Life with him was a liberal education. He set my feet upon the way.