W. C. Fields : his follies and fortunes (1949)

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beds. They also objected, he said, to his references to Walter Winchell, on the ground that he was too big to imitate such persons. Fields remarked that he didn't know how to take that. Later on he told Fowler that he and J. Walter Thompson had arrived at a definite agreement, "amenable and compatible to either side," which hinged on a colorful, unworkable system by which the agency could dispose of its "delicious coffee in its hermetically sealed, dated bags." Chase and Sanborn and J. Walter Thompson were able to swallow Fields' unremitting insults for two years, and after that he went over to Lucky Strike, for $7500 a week, out of which he was to furnish his own material. Here again he ran into arguments, the crux of which was that Fields wished to lampoon advertisers, somewhat in the manner of Henry Morgan's gibes later on. After a series or so of broadcasts for the tobacco people he quit radio, mainly because he said it was too much trouble to find writers and he was too busy to do the whole job himself. Fields lived at the sanitarium off and on until the spring of 1937. His condition had improved greatly, but his restlessness had grown painful. To Fowler in March of that year he telephoned that if he were well enough he would write him a funny letter. "Every time I get what I think is a funny idea," Fields said, "the goddamned croaker sends his bill in with nurses and room rent attached. Then Uncle Whiskers sends his insult from Washington, claiming everything you've got and an extra pair of pants as his share of the season's loot. Sure, I'm a good citizen." When he again set up permanently at home, he went over his bills with tremendous anxiety. His long illness had been expensive, and he fought bitterly with his doctors. One of them, Dr. Jesse Citron, finally sued to force Fields to pay his bill of $12,000. The comedian considered the charge unreasonably high, and so did most of his friends. Thinking it over, he became so outraged that 3**