I saw that with a friend of mine in New York City. Winchell would mention him, seen in the store club. And he would cut it out and show me. I would say, Gene, how stupid can you be? And then, of course, with his nightly visits to the store club, he became an alcoholic. He was making lots of money. He worked at the music hall. And finally they took him to the hospital, the road club. And he hid. They can hide the strangest things. And he hid two or three bottles of alcohol in his clothes. The nurses didn’t find it. And so he had it with him in the house. He could only leave the house a week after that. But he was so thrilled with the mention of his name in the column.1165 ¶61