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HOLLYWOOD SIGHTS AND SOUNDS By ROBBIN COONS Hollywood, Feb. 23— (ff>)— Mr. W. C. Fields has made a temperance lecture. lecture. It was, to be sure, for a movie. Any resemblance to Bill Fields' personal personal opinions on the subject would be, of course, purely coincidential. But there he was, In the midst of a parlorful of dowagers, extolling the virtues of cocoanut milk and inviting inviting the ladies to sample same. As Mr. Poindexter Pothlewhistle, a vagrant soldier of misfortune ever- ready to turn a dollar without questioning questioning its past, Fields in has starring starring sequence of "Tales of Manhattan" Manhattan" had been invited to discourse at the home of Mrs. Clyvonrne Langahankie (Margaret Duinont). This he did—and how was he to know that Mr. Langahaukie (Chester Clute) was so fed up with his wife's lectures that he had spiked tho ladies' cocoanut milk? :So much anxiety and care. "Men at their best (which you are not) Aro such an ageravating lot! Tho woman who becomes a wife la deemed to 'picking up' for life. "Throwers of coats oil chairs men For women to hang up again. are Is just a little biy grown tall. Pain makes a whimperer of him, A. pouter if you cross his whim. "And that with him for years we stay. Nor pack our jr-ips and run away, Just proves," soys Nellie unto me, "How patient women-folk can be!" (Protected by The George Matthew Adami Service) By the finish of Mr. Pothle- whistle's remarks and the contents of the punch bowl, the assorted dowagers were In quite a state. That's when I came on the set, too late to hear the dry pearls of wisdom wisdom from the lips of a man parched by several months of existence on the water wagon. All I can report on the Pothle- whistle lecture is that Fields, who frequently concocts his own humor and ad libs more, assigned full writing writing credit to Bill Morrow and Eddie Beloin, the Jack Benny scriveners. I congratulated Bill on the fact that his months on the wagon havo not robbed him of his trade-mark— that colossal, brilliantly plowing triumph, of tho. barkcop's art, that gorgeous sunset-glowing' Fieldsian nose. "Thank you 1 , thank you 1 ," he said with genuine appreciation, and dispatched dispatched his man Friday for a sociable beer and an extra glass. His own he took from a pewter tankard, monograrnmed on the lid. "I am still on the wagon, 1 ' he said, "but a man cannot work on ice- water alone." He made a rye face. Even when he got many, many letters from people overjoyed at his regeneration—quite a few suggesting they could use the money he would save on bard liquor—Bill was nat consoled. He had looked upon the wagon and found it a hard-riding buggy. "I'm saving money," he said, "but Mr. Whiskers is taking care of it for inc." He fingered his flowing black tie sadly, reached for the salt shaker to put a "collar" on his beer. "I sit around evenings—I never go anywhere any more, 1 ' ho said "I am on the wagon, and I do not like It." But all was not tedium in the Fieldsian life. Yesterday he had had a brush with tho director, Julien Duvivier. Duvlvler is French, could not grasp the Fields approach. Fields told him finally, "If you want an actor, you'll havo to get one— I'm just a clown."

Clipped from
  1. The Record-Argus,
  2. 23 Feb 1942, Mon,
  3. Page 4

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