Radio mirror (May-Oct 1934)

Record Details:

Something wrong or inaccurate about this page? Let us Know!

Thanks for helping us continually improve the quality of the Lantern search engine for all of our users! We have millions of scanned pages, so user reports are incredibly helpful for us to identify places where we can improve and update the metadata.

Please describe the issue below, and click "Submit" to send your comments to our team! If you'd prefer, you can also send us an email to mhdl@commarts.wisc.edu with your comments.




We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.

Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.

HUNDRED LOVES # 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