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LONG LIVE THE KING . . !
By Leslie Eaton
THERE is a legend afoot that Wayne King is hard to interview. An unfortunate legend, for you are likely to approach him with a chip on your shoulder and thus do him a grave injustice. For there never was a fnendlier more open-hearted person than this famous band leader who, four times a week, brings his serene and beautiful music into your homes. He is utterly free of any pose or showmanship, utterly straightforward and
sincere. . , . . .
He is tall, with light brown hair and a healthy tan that survives the winter, broad-shouldered, athletic, handsome. It is his eyes that give him away, that reveal the sentimental dreamer behind this unusual musician, athlete and business man— kindly eyes, brimming with good humor, but with shadowed depths in which you still can see the little boy he used to be, the little boy who was hurt so many times. ...
For Wayne King may be, and is, on the top of the world now, but he is there only after a long and bitter struggle against adversities that would have disheartened a less courageous boy. He loves to read books of philosophy now, but his own philosophy of life was learned not out of books but in the school of hard knocks.
To me, it is remarkable that a man not only should come out of such a battle with fame and fortune while he is still young, but that he should keep throughout such a bubbling sense of humor. f
"One of my first jobs," he told me, "was in a doctor s
office. I was only about seven, but I could sweep and run errands. It was a pretty good job and I kept it nearly a year, but one day I found the doctor's shotgun. Temptation was too much for me— I pulled the trigger and blew a large and ragged hole through his account books— and blew myself right out of a job!
"You know," he added seriously, "I am crazy about children— I don't mean my own children," (his eyes shone with pride at the mere mention of his proudest possessions, Penny, aged two and a half and Wayne, the new baby) "but especially the tads that have to work for a living, as I did. I talked to some paper boys in Boston— they made a publicity stunt out of it, but it wasn't that to me— it was real— and touching. I began that way, you know, peddling papers— it's not so easy as it soundsHarold Wayne King (he has dropped the Harold pro