Picture-Play Magazine (1933)

17 By BINC CROSBY &n^ I am also the most patient of fishermen. Last summer I trolled the Pacific for six straight days without so much as a bite. I have no statistics available at this writing, but I believe this is something of a record performance. And now we come to the bad points, an exhaustive survey of which could go on indefinitely. Pull up a chair. I am the laziest white man I know. My wife is in constant amazement at the variety of excuses I can conjure up to avoid anything remotely smacking of labor. I like to sing, so this hardly comes under the heading of work. I love golf, so it can be similarly classified. Many a Sunday I have toured thirty-six holes which, roughly speaking, amounts to about twelve miles of hiking. Yet the very prospect of walking over to Dick Aden's — a stone's throw from the golf course — appalls me and leaves me strangely apathetic to his invitations. Although I went through high school and five years at college, I cannot multiply 181 by 604 and get anything approximating the correct result. And long divi■ sion is simply not in my ken. In fact, anything pertaining to figures is beyond me. Perhaps I should have said mathematics. I am stubborn and unreasonable. I cannot be nice or even civil to people I don't like, even though there may be no real reason for my antipathy. out 7& AaA. ^7ia^ ttU& ^ A&uC&oc /o ^ clu&ct? i fat. v^«J -^U n^^ Bing's article for Picture Play was written, not dictated, and he's a good speller, too, as you can see from this page of his manuscript. I'm not vindictive but I can neither forgive nor forget a wrong, whether fancied or real. For instance, the management of one of the local hotels where I once sang often promised me, while I was singing there, that they would organize an orchestra and put me at the head of it. Although I labored long an.d diligently the fulfillment of this promise was never forthcoming. When they continued bringing in new orchestras with other leaders, I walked out in a fit of pique. They sued me and before I could resume activities, I was forced to pay them a sum in excess of all I had earned the entire time I worked there. Friends, that was a bitter pill to swallow. Even more distasteful to me, is the knowledge that this ballroom is the only place in town to have a good time of an evening. It is Hollywood's hottest night spot and my little helpmate is constantly "beseeching me to take her there. But when I think of that pay off some thing in my sensitive nature revolts. The very thought of contributing to their bulging coffers is most painful, so the Crosbys seek their diversion in less fertile fields. Silly, I guess, but that's how I am. I am terribly thoughtless. Most of the few misunderstandings my wife and I have are over my thoughtlessness. The day she came home from the hospital with the baby I went out to play golf. I rode home with her from the hospital, and had seen to it there were flowers in the house. She had the nurse and a lot of her friends there with her, so it never occurred to me she would mind if I left her for a few hours. She knew I'd be back later and / knew she'd be there when I returned. Naturally, after she explained how she felt I was pretty consciencestricken about it, and I think I may honestly say, and mean it, that if we ever have any more children I won't leave her the day she returns home from the hospital. I am a very bad host and can't comfortably indulge in the ordinary amenities of social life. A great clamor has been raised from time to time, in my own little circle, over the fact that when I get sleepy I excuse myself and leave my guests. I've never been able to discover just why I should stay up when I'd like to be in bed. My wife loves late hours and she's always on hand to see that our guests have everything they want. I'm quite sure they have a better time when there are only kindred spirits present than they would have if I sat up with them, -openly blinking and yawning and making them feel that their sprightly quips were being wasted. I know only the most rudimentary rules of social etiquette and deportment. I was probably too lazy to learn, and the worst of it is I'm never embarrassed when flagrantly guilty of some violation of the social code. I received many a shellacking in the woodshed for this weakness during my youth, but it didn't help. There's no use trying to disguise the fact that I am notoriously inept at handling a car. While in Los Angeles with Paul Whiteman, I completely demolished two Fords and even now the fenders, bumpers, and other impedimenta on my swankier car take awful beatings. I swear I try my utmost to drive carefully, but in spite of all my precautions, wily motorists seem to lurk at every intersection, ready to charge out and smack me amidships. [Continued on page 59]