The Groucho Letters [antikvár]

When the publishers first suggested that his letters be put into a book, Groucho, a diffident man—well, fairly dijSident— beat about no bushes. He wired back: Your letter received and promptly burned. I prefer not to have strangers prying into my mail. WoULD discuss this in detail but my secretary has a date in five minutes—with me. Then, after a sporadic correspondence tapered off into silence, the publishers went about their business, and Groucho went about his, which at the time consisted of bicycle trips to the A&P, weekly appearances on television, letterwriting, becoming a legend, and having his feet scratched—a diversion enjoyed by all of the Marx Brothers. What the significance of this is, I cannot tell you. I know only that, as a hobby, Groucho devotes most of his time to reading, and accosting strangers—especially if the strangers happen to be girls. If they are girls, they don't usually remain strangers long. (On entering a theater, his conversation with the usher is likely to start with the question: "What is it tonight—sad or high-ldcking?" Or, if in a mood to parody the small-time comedians, he might say to a waiter—or waitress—"Have you got frog legs?" And no matter what the reply, Groucho will look painfully disappointed and say, "That's the wrong answer. You were supposed to say, 'No; it's rheumatism that makes me walk this way.'" Although the comedian's reluctance to publishing his letters was genuine, it was by no means fanatical. It was over- (7)