Harpo Speaks!

Harpo Speaks!

Harpo Marx

Language: English

Pages: 482

ISBN: 0879100362

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


(Limelight). "This is a riotous story which is reasonably mad and as accurate as a Marx brother can make it. Despite only a year and a half of schooling, Harpo, or perhaps his collaborator, is the best writer of the Marx Brother. Highly recommended." Library Journal "A funny, affectionate and unpretentious autobiography done with a sharply professional assist from Rowland Barber." New York Times Book Review

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from his daily walk. The effect was like jamming the Villa Galanon, gardens, animal life and all, into the old 93rd Street tenement. It was my kind of joint. I could afford to live in this kind of style because the Marx Brothers had just been signed by Paramount Pictures for three movies-talkies, no less-for seventy-five thousand dollars per movie. Our first picture, Cocoanuts, was shot in New York that spring, between performances of Animal Crackers. “Shot” was just the word for it. All they

B.B. and H.M.’ I was a bachelor because that was the way I chose to live. The only thing I was eligible for was to vote. I didn’t mind giving a hopeful kid a boost. I didn’t mind when a press agent quoted me as saying I had worked in a picture with the “lovely and glamorous Miss So-and-so, who has all it takes to become a star.” Any girl with good looks, healthy organs and not too many inhibitions had all it took to become a star in the 1930’s. But when people insisted on marrying me off to

an interest in his newest natural-gas field. Chico didn’t bother to figure the odds. The only important figure here was the twenty-seven-and-a-Half percent deduction for depletion rights. We told McCarthy to keep his cash. We’d take this other deal. Sure enough, royalty checks started coming in from the Texas Gas Corporation later that year. They still come in, at the end of every quarter. I happened to be in the Hillcrest the day after I’d gotten a royalty payment, and I had the check in my

short hops, so that he might see more of the country he had naturalized as his own. On these occasions Frenchie insisted, gallantly, on buying a lower berth for Grandpa, who was then in his nineties. But after the train started Grandpa would insist on climbing into the upper berth and giving us kids the lower. This made him feel he was making a contribution to our success. To be truthful he was. There was a hell of a lot more rest to be had in a lower berth, if shared by four active Marx

friends. He never bothered me, being a good Vermonter, so why should I bother him? I stopped fishing. Besides swimming, sailing and fishing, the club offered badminton, and the island itself offered Indian relics, to be had for the digging up. But the greatest sport of all was the game of croquet. For five years of my life croquet was my hobby, avocation, recreation and dedication. I lavished more time, dough and passion on the game of croquet than the average sugar-daddy did on his babydoll.

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