Read Online Harpo Speaks! by Harpo Marx, Rowland Barber - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Harpo Marx, Rowland Barber
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black serge knee-breeches suit (pieced together of unsold “lappas”) and bought me a derby hat. After the ceremony there was a reception for me at 179 with a spread of sweets, pastries and wine. This, naturally, attracted all the relatives, and it was quite a party. I received four presents. Uncle Al gave me a pair of gloves. Aunt Hannah gave me a pair of gloves. Cousin Sam gave me a pair of gloves. (In my bar mitzvah photograph I’m wearing two pairs, one over the other, and holding the third.) Minnie, bless her, gave me a genuine, one-dollar Ingersoll watch.
The inevitable happened. Three days after my bar mitzvah, my new watch was missing.
I was pretty damn sore. A present was not the same as something you hustled. I tracked down Chico to a crap game and asked him what about it. He handed me the pawn ticket. I gave the ticket to Minnie and she reclaimed the watch for me. Then a brilliant idea occurred to me. I would show Chico. I would make my watch Chico-proof, so he couldn’t possibly hock it again. I removed its hands.
Now the watch was mine forever. I wound it faithfully each morning and carried it with me at all times. When I wanted to know what time it was I looked at the Ehret Brewery clock and held my watch to my ear. It ran like a charm, and its ticking was a constant reminder that I had, for once, outsmarted Chico.
Being a pianist (with a repertoire of two one-finger pieces) and an actor (with a repertoire of one funny face), I began to be more aware of show business.
Sam Muller, the tailor Cousin Polly married, had a shop on Lexington Avenue not far from the Gookie cigar store. For a while, Sam had the job of making the livery for Mr. Ehret’s coachmen, and he used to display sample uniforms in the window. Sam’s shop became quite a showcase, with the two dummies all dressed up in blue and gold.
The Star, a melodrama theatre on 102nd Street, gave Sam Muller two free tickets a week for using his colorful window to hang their posters in. When Sam couldn’t use the tickets, he’d give them to Groucho and me. I saw my first stage plays, and I loved them.
Groucho, having been chosen by Minnie to follow in the footsteps of Uncle Al, had already seen Uncle Al on the stage, and he knew his routines and songs by memory. I decided to take Groucho on as a partner (as Chico had once taken me on, in the cuckoo-clock promotion), when I found out that stores in the neighborhood were paying a penny apiece for cats. I’ve forgotten why they were. There must have been a mouse plague or a cat shortage, or both, that year.
So now I was a promoter. Groucho and I put on a show in our basement. We performed Uncle Al’s popular sketch, “Quo Vadis Upside Down.” Admission: one cat.
It was my first public performance. As I remember, we grossed seven cats at the box-office but made a net profit of only four cents. Three cats got away. Well, that was show business.
An exciting place down on Third Avenue was the Old Homestead Beer Garden. Behind the saloon there was a real garden with an open-air stage, where they put on continuous shows in the summertime with jugglers, comedy teams, trick musicians, yodelers and German bands.
I used to sneak through the back fence to see the show at the Old Homestead. Sometimes when I got caught I got heaved out. Other times I was put to work, changing the cards on the easel to announce the upcoming acts on the bill. I didn’t get paid for this, but I could see the entire program three times from start to finish. My favorite act at the Old Homestead was The Watson Sisters, who did a comedy prize fight act.
Prize fighting itself in those days was not a sport, like baseball. It was show business. A heavyweight title bout was to me the biggest show of any year, greater than the St. Patrick’s parade, the election bonfire and The Watson Sisters all rolled into one. This was in spite of the fact that I had never seen a prize fight.
My supreme idol was James J. Jeffries. On the
The inevitable happened. Three days after my bar mitzvah, my new watch was missing.
I was pretty damn sore. A present was not the same as something you hustled. I tracked down Chico to a crap game and asked him what about it. He handed me the pawn ticket. I gave the ticket to Minnie and she reclaimed the watch for me. Then a brilliant idea occurred to me. I would show Chico. I would make my watch Chico-proof, so he couldn’t possibly hock it again. I removed its hands.
Now the watch was mine forever. I wound it faithfully each morning and carried it with me at all times. When I wanted to know what time it was I looked at the Ehret Brewery clock and held my watch to my ear. It ran like a charm, and its ticking was a constant reminder that I had, for once, outsmarted Chico.
Being a pianist (with a repertoire of two one-finger pieces) and an actor (with a repertoire of one funny face), I began to be more aware of show business.
Sam Muller, the tailor Cousin Polly married, had a shop on Lexington Avenue not far from the Gookie cigar store. For a while, Sam had the job of making the livery for Mr. Ehret’s coachmen, and he used to display sample uniforms in the window. Sam’s shop became quite a showcase, with the two dummies all dressed up in blue and gold.
The Star, a melodrama theatre on 102nd Street, gave Sam Muller two free tickets a week for using his colorful window to hang their posters in. When Sam couldn’t use the tickets, he’d give them to Groucho and me. I saw my first stage plays, and I loved them.
Groucho, having been chosen by Minnie to follow in the footsteps of Uncle Al, had already seen Uncle Al on the stage, and he knew his routines and songs by memory. I decided to take Groucho on as a partner (as Chico had once taken me on, in the cuckoo-clock promotion), when I found out that stores in the neighborhood were paying a penny apiece for cats. I’ve forgotten why they were. There must have been a mouse plague or a cat shortage, or both, that year.
So now I was a promoter. Groucho and I put on a show in our basement. We performed Uncle Al’s popular sketch, “Quo Vadis Upside Down.” Admission: one cat.
It was my first public performance. As I remember, we grossed seven cats at the box-office but made a net profit of only four cents. Three cats got away. Well, that was show business.
An exciting place down on Third Avenue was the Old Homestead Beer Garden. Behind the saloon there was a real garden with an open-air stage, where they put on continuous shows in the summertime with jugglers, comedy teams, trick musicians, yodelers and German bands.
I used to sneak through the back fence to see the show at the Old Homestead. Sometimes when I got caught I got heaved out. Other times I was put to work, changing the cards on the easel to announce the upcoming acts on the bill. I didn’t get paid for this, but I could see the entire program three times from start to finish. My favorite act at the Old Homestead was The Watson Sisters, who did a comedy prize fight act.
Prize fighting itself in those days was not a sport, like baseball. It was show business. A heavyweight title bout was to me the biggest show of any year, greater than the St. Patrick’s parade, the election bonfire and The Watson Sisters all rolled into one. This was in spite of the fact that I had never seen a prize fight.
My supreme idol was James J. Jeffries. On the
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