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Show o ooooO o 00 o 0 O Si g n0 in X--JJ 8 oocto 00 On ft u 0 0 0 o every branch of show business, O xOo0 and it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy. defies description but will never be. forgotten by thosewho were privileged to see it. The Club Durant was packed every night with an audience ranging from socialites to the most vicious gangsters of that stormy period. Clayton, a tough customer himself, maintained the peace. Patrons had to check their firearms before entering, and consequently there never was a shooting in the club. But there was just about everything else. Durante was Twice, into letting in visitors who claimed to be childhood friends. On both occasions, they turned out to be Prohibition agents who closed the club. But no matter how many times Jimmy was fooled, he was always fair game the next time. Clayton once said wonderingly: "God gave Jimmy Durante his great talent. A thousand Lou soft-heart- fast-talk- ed ed Youthful Jimmy Durante in his Harlem days with his original jazz band (above), and cutting a caper with two other great favorites, friends George M. Cohan and Claudette Colbert (right). Claytons could never have put that talent into this man. But I loved him and I knew then, as I know now, that he was a true genius in his own way." Broadway and motion pictures next beckoned to Durante and his partners, and shortly after their stage debut in Florenz Ziegf eld's "Show Girl" (with Ruby Keeler vand Duke Ellington), they were signed by Paramount Pictures. But several months after Jeanne's death, Jimmy heard through the Ritz Brothers that Eddie Jackson was holed up" in Akron, O., running a third-ra- te night club, divorced from his wife, and desperately unhappy. Jimmy sent for Jackson, and Clayton prevailed on the two of them to go back "to work at the Copacabana in New York. That's where Clayton joined them for one night, in the 'final appearance of Durante, Clayton, and Jackson. Meantime, Hollywood had forgotten Jimmy, and there were long periods of idleness when he returned to the West Coast. In desperation, he even took a part in a Gene Autry movie where he Had to be lashed to. the horse to stay aboard. "I'd never rode a horse," Jimmy recalls, "and the horse never had been rode. So we both started out on even terms. It was a catastrastroke." Jimmy's final triumph and one of his greatest losses came almost simultaneously. In his last illness, Lou Clayton arranged the beginnings of Jimmy's television career. He never lived to see the resurgence of Jimmy in this new medium that projected the Durante warmth to a whole new , generation of Americans. . . . is as busy as "he wants to be, but he is also lonely. He craves companion- Today, Jimmy The trio's came in the early '30s. offered Jimmy a five-yecontract alone. Jeanne Durante was overjoyed, Jimmy heartbroken, rje.went only on condition that Jackson and Clayton go along. Clayton stayed with Durante as his manager through the next decade of making mediocre to bad movies; Jackson finally drifted away after a few years 'to try show business on his own. During this period, Jimmy conquered radio, too. Althougn he wasmaking a great deal of money, he couldn't hang onto it. He insisted on paying Clayton a third of his income; his staff and taxes took largev bites; and the rest he distributed with typical Durante openhandedness. He was a sucker for every hardluck story, but the fact that he was first Metro-Goldwyn-Ma- break-u- p yer ar being taken never bothered Jimmy. "I only wish," he said many times, "thatrl was n Rockinfellow?' for JimIn 1940, the world turned topsy-turv- y my Durante. Within two years, he lost his brother, his father, and his wife. Jeanne died after a prolonged illness, and Jimmy worked little during this time. He lost interest in everything. mm ship, and four men surround him constantly: his manager, Lou Cohen, pianist Jules BufTano, drummer Jack Roth, and Eddie Jackson. All have been associated with Jimmy through most of his entertainment life. Scarcely an evening goes by that these four aren't hanging out at Durante's modest eight-roo- m house in Beverly Hills, which is distinguished mainly by the plaques, awards, and other mementos of a lifetime in show business. Unless some dire emergency such as working dictates otherwise, Jimmy arises about noon. He calls anything earlier a "predickalous hour." Once he's up and going, though, he operates in a whirlwind of feverish activity. One of Jimmy's few concessions to Hollywood living is a swimming pool which he uses with the same gusto he displays in everything else he does looking in a bathing suit something like Mahatma Gandhi on a binge. Jimmy also enjoys fishing, horse racing, reading, and song writing when he gets around to them, which isn't often. He's a terrible eater and has been concerned about his waistline for so long that he juslnibbles on a weird assortment of nonfattening foods. cigar-smoki- ng Jimmy's wife, Jeanne, who first tame to jhim as a young singer, was a driving force in his career. His losing battle with the English language is no phony. Since Jimmy's early Bronx and Coney Island days, when his associates talked out of the sides of their mouths, his English has been a curious mixture of lower East Side, Mrs. Mala-propis- ms, and an elegant vocabulary. His fascination with big words without knowing how to handle them has resulted in such Durante classics as "financial typhoon," "exterior motive," "stupen-dious- ," "catastrastroke," and hundreds of others. Jimmy, who seldom hides anything from anybody, has managed to preserve one secret over the years: the identity of the "Mrs. Calabash" to whom he says good night at the end of each" of his radio and TV shows. This started back in the early '40s, and has since become a ritual. Jimmy was quite disturbed on several occasions when his shows ran long and he was cut off before he could say good night to Mrs. Calabash. No one not even Lou Clayton, "who was closest to him could discover the origin of the remark. Questioned about it today, Jimmy just looks skyward and says, "A guy's gotta have some secrets." Currently working under a contract with NBC which has five more years to run, Jimmy probably will be back on television with a Weekly half -- hour show next Fall, although the deal hasn't been closed yet. In the meantime, he plays a few choice night clubs and appears as a TV guest star. Jimmy has regained, and probably will never again lose, his place as America's most beloved clown. If he wears his mantle carelessly today, he has earned the privilege after almost a half -- century in show business. And millions of Americans are hoping that Mrs. Calabash, whoever she is, won't be saying good night to Jimmy Durante for a long time to come. . Family Weekly, June 29, J954. -- J |