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I can see that.
When George got sick, one of the things that hurt was
that he was out in Hollywood, doing a picture for Samuel
Goldwyn. It was a show featuring his song “Love came right
in...” ...Suddenly he started complaining about severe headaches.
He had always complained so about any little illness,
that none of us took it too seriously. But this time it was
a brain tumor; and by the time doctors found it out, it was
too late. I don't know whether they could have saved him
anyway if they had caught it earlier, but I still remember
how horrified we all were because we had laughed at him.
We'd say, “Oh, you and your damned headaches and your constipation
and everything else. We're sick and tired of hearing
of them.” But this time it was fatal. I was down at George
Kaufman's house over the weekend in Bucks County. We turned
on the radio Sunday night, and suddenly we heard. “The man
who said that he had enough songs in his head to compose
continuously for the next hundred years died tonight in
Hollywood at the age of thirty-six of a brain tumor--
Mr. George Gershwin.” I still remember our horror. George
Kaufman, who everybody thought was a pretty tough fellow,
went over to the wall--I can still see him--and leaned against
it with his head in one arm, pounding the wall with his other
fist. He couldn't talk. This was his reaction--pounding the
wall. This friend whom we had kidded so unmercifully...
George Kaufman was one of his greatest tormentors. They
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