O. O. McIntyre // He is a Broadway clown with a lump in his throat. For twelve years he and his wife had been spotted in vaudeville and the revues. His devotion was marked, and in the playful by-paths they were always seen together. He is a deft, sure-fire comedian and she a pretty foil, with no startling talent, but was equally billed.
Off stage she is one of those shy self-effacing persons not so unusual as the public imagines in the stage world. Several weeks ago, out of an apparent clear sky, they parted, she first turning her share of the joint saving over to him. She was “a square kid,” and he knew it, but apparently could not hold her love. The world spun on. He still rocks audiences with laughter and afterward sits gloomily alone in far off corners of Broadway cafes.
Now and then when writing these little Broadway high lights and shadows, some smart alec writes in, “You made that up!” So as this story is so generally well known, I see no reason to withhold names. They are Bert and Betty Wheeler.
Syndicated column, Dec. 31, 1926
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