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THE HILLS ARE DOTTED 215
I didn't know Kay Kyser before I was hired to work with him. We met in Dave's office after I had signed my contract. I took one look at Kay and couldn't believe my eyes : he was to be the star of the picture, but he was wearing a suit that would have frightened an Indian.
At the first opportunity I got my friend Dave aside and told him it was plain to see that I would have to give Mr. Kyser a few pointers about his clothes. Dave agreed that something should be done about Kay's wardrobe. This was his first picture and it could make or break him. He had started his career as the leader of a college band at the University of North Carolina and had become the biggest thing in the dance-band world. He was making $22,000 a week but was still wearing North Carolina clothes. Dave suggested that I had better give him the full treatment. So he turned Kay over to me and I made a few subtle suggestions.
'1 understand, Kay," I said, "that you are a very keen student of the dollar. You have a million smackers salted away in giltedged securities. How did you ever do it in clothes like that? Look at those buttonholes! Look at those buttons! Those lapels are a disgrace! I wouldn't be caught at a Chinese dogfight in a burlap sack like that!"
Kay is a very sensitive fellow; he was hurt. "What is wrong with the lapels and the buttons?" he asked. "The suit covers me, doesn't it? And it fits."
"Fits!" I exclaimed. "If that fits you, son, you are deformed. You are a man with overgrown lumps and exaggerated cavities. And if you ever get caught in a California fog, that fugitive from a ragpicker's pack will shrivel up like a raisin."
I could see that he was weakening, but he fought back. "I like this suit. I paid eighty-five dollars for it!"
"Eighty-five dollars!" I echoed. "No wonder! You can't do that sort of thing. What will those millions think who hear you on the radio every week if they hear about this? You'll lose every listener you've got!"