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141 Farewell to Mr. St. Louis Abig farewell party, arranged in my honor at the Chase Hotel, was more like a wake than a funfest. It seemed like everyone who got high began to cry, and laughter was at a premium. Among those present was a wellknown undertaker who succeeded in getting himself a sentimental snootful. He couldn’t have been stiffer if he had drunk his own embalming fluid. He singled out my wife and, slobbering with sentiment, sobbed, “Mrs. L., I love that guy. You know I’m an undertaker and a darn good one. Promise that when Eddie dies you’ll let me bury him, will ya?” He staggered away and then suddenly wheeled around and sniffled, “I won’t charge him either.” Before the party got out of control, Reeves Espy called for quiet and requested that I step up to the dais. “Eddie,” said Reeves, “I have a gift for you from your very dear friends here in St. Louis. This particular gift was decided on with one thought. Should you and yours ever be confronted with misfortune, wherever you may be in this world, you may have this gift melted, and it will furnish you with the financial means to bring you back here to us, your St. Louis friends.” The gift was a solid-gold book that weighed six pounds, with three hundred names engraved on four pages, four inches wide and six inches long. I gasped in astonishment. Although I tried to read the entire engraved verse on the first page, “Our Eddie, Thank God for the happy hours, for joy at the journey’s end, thank God for the gift of song, but most of all for a friend,” I couldn’t make it. I found myself blubbering and had to leave off. This memento is still my most prized possession, a souvenir that symbolizes love and friendship. I am sure I will never have it melted, and I hope Eddie Jr. will cherish it and pass it on to his junior. The morning after my farewell party, we were Philadelphia bound. Teddy, Sonny, and the governess took the train, and David drove the car. 142 FA r e w e l l TO mr . sT. lOu i s By a coincidence, Warner Brothers were having an organizational meeting in Philadelphia, so Charlie Skouras and I flew east together. During the several years that we had been pals, Charlie never impressed me as being religious, but just before we stepped onto the plane, he got down on one knee and blessed himself frantically. I thought he was trying to get funny. “Oh brother,” I said. “Nice going, that should at least get us to Indianapolis safely.” Charlie got white with fear and anger. “Dot’s not funny, Kit.” Whereupon he again kneeled and blessed himself. Bill Goldman was in charge of the Philadelphia zone for Warners. Since his departure from St. Louis, he had done a tremendous job. Among Philadelphia ’s showmen, he was top banana. There was nothing modest about Bill. He wore his success on his sleeve. He had once been way up on top in St. Louis, but the Skourases bought him out, sold him out, or kicked him out, and then hired him. Now, when they met, sparks flew, sarcasm predominated, and the humor was biting. After the big meeting, Spyros and George Skouras returned to New York that same night. Charlie and I took advantage of Bill Goldman’s offer to have his chauffeur drive us to New York the next morning. The temperature was hovering around ninety when Bill’s long, flashy Pierce Arrow pulled up in front of the hotel. The liveried chauffeur stepped out wearing black leather puttees, with gauntlets to match. “Humph,” Charlie caught my eye. “How you like dot?” Then, turning to the chauffeur, he inquired, “You gotcha long underwear on, kid?” About twenty miles out of Philadelphia, a motor cop gave us a ticket for speeding. He probably would have permitted us to go with just a warning, but Charlie delighted in antagonizing him just for the sheer joy of sticking Bill with the ticket. When we reached Princeton, New Jersey, Charlie spotted another cop and egged the unsuspecting chauffeur on, and we got another ticket. The chauffeur now started to drive real cautiously, but Charlie assured him that we would take care of any tickets, and by the time we reached Newark, we got nabbed again. This cop was...

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