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HUNDRED
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# The Romeo of Broadway who fakes hearfs, jobs and spoflighfs wifh a song, owes if all fo radio
BY HERB CRUIKSHANK
Th
HE "Baron of Beechhurst" they call him now. That is, along Broadway. But out in Cincinnati he's still Harry Reichman to the lads who gather at midnight to dunk a doughnut in the aromatic Java served at the Manhattan Cafe, colloquially the "Big Top". For they knew Harry before he became either rich or Richman. Knew him when he paraded Fountain Square flirting with the frails. Knew him ,when he went window-shopping in the Emery Arcade. And when he cruised the shallow Summer waters of the beautiful Ohio aboard the good ship, "Island Queen", with 'its steam-spouting caliope, its bum band and its candy wheel. Cincinnati, you see, is the Baron's home town. And it remembers him. Indeed, it points with pride to its fa
mous favorite son, now adopted by Manhattan, as it does to Eden Park, the Zoo, the inclined railway and the bridge that leads to Covington.
A lot of good Kentucky Bourbon has floated under that same bridge since Harry set his face toward the rising sun and the Grand canyon of Gotham. It was a long, long trail, and a tough trip. In those days he didn't own a rakish car, a swift yacht or a silver-winged 'plane such as now respond to his whim for travel on land, sea or air. He made the sleeper jumps in a day coach. But he got there just the same. And look where he is now.
Come August tenth Richman will be thirty-nine. But in