My work as a press agent on Broadway, the entertainment center of the nation, was an ideal existence for a young man of twenty-three who had been judging cows in a cattle ring and passing tests in agronomy. I hobnobbed with actors and actresses whose names shone on marquees; I went backstage whenever I wanted to, had free run of most theaters to catch a glimpse of an act, had the privilege of writing pieces for the press, worked with glamorous newspaper people, and, best of all, I was independent to think and act on any notion that seemed to have merit as a promotional idea. And for this I received seventy-five dollars a week.
No wonder I didn’t restrict myself to any schedule but worked around the clock. During the day ...