Word: yorkers
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...sophisticates last week clucked over a new tidbit about Alexander Woollcott, roly-poly chatterbox of The New Yorker. According to the New York World-Telegram, Mr. Woollcott was out of The New Yorker, ostensibly because the editors disapproved of ribald anecdotes with which he had lately spiced his "Shouts & Murmurs" page...
...report was half true. Woollcott was out, not for bawdry but for fatigue. His weekly radio broadcast, on top of his weekly New Yorker gossip articles, made a severe regimen for anyone as sedentary as Mr. Woollcott. Editor Harold Ross of The New Yorker proposed that he reduce his contributions to one a month, a thought which Mr. Woollcott could not endure. With him, it had to be all or nothing, and therefore nothing. He sent his resignation to Editor Ross, immediately hopped a train to Chicago to escape arguments. Well aware that the Woollcott page was among the most...
Alexander Wollcott's retirement from The New Yorker occurred at what many observers considered the peak of an extraordinary career. Once the ranking dramacritic of Manhattan, he had become a sort of glorified gossip columnist, a genteel Walter Winchell, and a peevish prophet of arts & letters. Few men can tell a story as entertainingly as Alexander Woollcott, and few would dare to be as malicious. As Cream of Wheat's "Town Crier" on the radio, he received more "high class" fan mail than any other single entertainer on the Columbia network. Sales of his book, While Rome Burns...
Opening today for a two-weeks' showing at the new gallery of the Fine Arts Guild at 162 Mt. Auburn Street is an amusing exhibition of original covers and cartoons selected from the New Yorker. Included are Regional Marsh's black crayons of "Green pastures" and "new York Ain't What it Used to be", black and white brushed by Robert Day, colored covers by Alajalov, and cartoons by Ginyas Williams, formerly of the CRIMSON and Lampoon, and by Cart Rose...
Since 1930, his scrawls of impotent, amorphous men and women and sad-eyed hounds have gained him international fame. They are enormously funny, and like most lasting humor, are the products of an unhappy mind. Three Thurber drawings that his associates on The New Yorker would never print were on view in his exhibition last week. Two were blasphemous: The Thurber Madonna and The Three Wise Men (three goggle-eyed oldsters smirking behind their hands at something that might be the Virgin). The third was The Gates of Life. Glum pedestrians hustled by in the background; sprawled on the grass...