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5: The Duke of Brooklyn
[WAS twenty-three years old when I arrived on Broadway; in my pocket was a wad of old-style, 100-cent-on-the-dollar folding money; my mustache, waxed and pointed with loving care, was as jaunty and debonair as my spirit. But Broadway gave me the cold shoulder, the bum's rush, and a fast "NO." The day I arrived in town I found a room on Lexington Avenue, donned my shepherd plaid and a snappy gray Homburg, then headed for Times Square to land a job. I was brushed off in rapid succession at the offices of Daniel Frohman, Klaw and Erlanger, David Belasco, George Tyler, Florenz Ziegfeld, and the Messrs. Cohan and Harris. Young men with mustaches were not in demand that season.
But I was not easily discouraged; I guessed that it might take as long as two or three weeks to find a job. So I telephoned a charming divorcee I had met in Cleveland a few months before and made a date for that night. We went to Rector's for dinner, then to a musical comedy, and afterward we had champagne at the Cafe de Paris.
My new girl seemed to get the idea that I was a young man with an inexhaustible income, and for the next few weeks I spent money as though it were cigar coupons. But I will say she knew her way around. We dined at a different restaurant almost every night— Churchill's, Keene's, Luchow's, Shanley's, Trainor's, Riesenweber's, the Hofbrau, and a dozen others. We went to see Alia Nazimova in Bella Donna, George Arliss in Disraeli, Doris Keene and William Courtnay in Romance, George M. Cohan in
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