Previous | Next
424425426427428429430431432433434435436437438439440441442443444445446447448449450451452453454455456457458459460461462463464 of 1029
That's right. I was sort of wondering. This sort of
Before I start telling about my sons, I had better tell
about their mother. I told you that after Sylvia Sidney and
I called it quits, for quite a while I rather resented women
in general and idled around with various and sundry, with an
exciting interlude of Miss Thompson, the girl for whom I went
to Spain... But let's get on to the most important girl in my
life: Phyllis Fraser!
One of my close friends in 1938 was Harold Ross, the
founder of the New Yorker, the man who made the whole New Yorker
magazine. Ross was a strange mixture of people. He was, I
think, the greatest magazine editor we've ever had in this
country, but he was very gauche. People would imagine the
editor of the New Yorker to be a polished gentleman. Harold
always looked as though he'd just gotten off a train from
Sauk Center. He had a great big gap in his front teeth. Once
he asked for dental floss, and Woollcott said, “Never mind.
Get him a hawser!" He was a very naive man...very pure. He
would never allow a bad word in the New Yorker. Any salacious
story submitted to the New Yorker was killed by Ross. That
led to many fights with Mr. Woollcott, who always tried to sneak
in little naughty stories.
At any rate, Ross became a very good friend of mine.
Did he ever direct authors to you?
© 2006 Columbia University
Libraries | Oral History
Research Office | Rights and
Permissions | Help