The Autograph Hound

by John Lahr

  “You said you had the part.”

  “Give me the worst one. It doesn’t matter to Otto.”

  “I thought you were a friend.”

  “I am. Who else can you trust in an emergency?”

  “I can’t.”

  “All right, I’ll make a deal. I’ll give you twenty grade-A autographs. Big stars for one Judy Garland.”

  “You don’t collect the types I need.”

  “How’d you like Lena Home, Katharine Hepburn, Jack Benny, Harold Arlen, Peggy Lee, José Ferrer, Helen Hayes, Glenn Ford, James MacArthur, plus ten mystery stars including Mitch Miller and Mel ‘Velvet Fog’ Torme.”

  “Those are good names.”

  “I know quality.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “See for yourself.”

  Louis reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a piece of paper. All the famous names are on it, and more. “How about it, Walsh? You’re in fat city. I’m willing to give you these for free. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. No money. One signature.”

  “Well …”

  “Where’d you get all those names, Louis?” says Gloria.

  “My private collection.”

  “The paper’s ripped,” says Gloria.

  “Sypher fuckin’ pinched the fuckin’ names out of the fuckin’ sign-in book,” Macready laughs. “In broad fuckin’ daylight.”

  “I found it on the floor.”

  “Louis Sypher, you go right back into Frank E. Campbell’s and give those names to the Garland family. Those are their only record of who’s here. They’re not yours.”

  “Possession’s nine-tenths of the law.”

  “You’re a professional, Louis. We’ve been collecting together more than seven years. It’s against the rules. You’re disgracing Judy and the Waldorf.”

  “I bet Otto Preminger doesn’t use extras,” says Gloria.

  “I’m tired of penny ante,” says Sypher. “I want the big money. Judy’s an expensive signature. There’s no rules in this business but success.”

  I grab Gloria’s arm and walk across the street. Judy’s voice is still in the air.

  “She’s a great singer.”

  “Thanks, Gloria. She’s the best.”

  We turn the corner and walk to the subway. “Where are we going?” says Gloria.

  “I’m going to collect my money. At ‘21’ or Lutèce, they won’t have jerks like Sypher.”

  There’s a new nurse in the reception room. She tells me to pick up my sock and take my bare foot off the desk.

  “If you’d just look at my foot.”

  “It’s bleeding. You should see a doctor. Emergency Services in room one-oh-one.”

  “That’s from Benstedt’s blue ink.”

  “He’s out to lunch. And, in case you’re interested, it’s Berendt.”

  “It’s Benstedt. Before he came here, he was a famous man. Ever hear of the Great Omi?”

  “I only work here. The name’s Berendt.”

  “Well, it was Mr. Benstedt who said he’d finish my tattoo so I could get my five hundred dollars. His name’s tattooed on his chest. He wouldn’t lie on his own skin.”

  “Berendt.”

  “Have you ever seen his chest?”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “Then believe me—it’s Benstedt.”

  “It’s Horst Berendt, or my name isn’t Joan Piri, S.R.N.”

  “I swear Mr. B. has my file. He was just putting the finishing touches on my foot when I had to leave.”

  “We have no record that you were here, Mr. Welch.”

  “Walsh.”

  “We can’t do anything without the proper authorization.”

  “I can prove I was here. The picture in the corner says ‘Hippocrates—Medicine Becomes a Science.’”

  “A woman takes up nursing because she wants to help people. I’d like to help you. If I could, I’d pass every applicant, okay their physicals, stand in the door and hand out five-hundred-dollar bills like John D. Rockefeller. But I’ve got supervisors. They watch me like hawks.”

  “What am I going to do, Miss Piri?”

  “You are going to take this foot and put it in your shoe. You are going to place your cap on your head. You are going to put one foot in front of the other and walk out of here.”

  “I can’t leave without my money.”

  “You’re sick.”

  “I’m a donor, not a patient.”

  “If you were a donor, it’d say ‘Property of Our Lady of Victory Hospital.’ All I see on your foot is ‘Prop.’”

  “I had an emergency.”

  “‘Prop’ tells me nothing, Mr. Walsh. There are five hospitals in the Metropolitan area who offer this service. How do I know you’re not a reject? You could’ve done this yourself. It doesn’t look very professional.”

  “If you don’t know the Great Omi, you don’t know professional.”

  “What do you think this badge means?”

  “Benstedt didn’t reject me. I left on account of a sudden death.”

  “With Piri, you get a complete overhaul.”

  “Can we start again?”

  “We could, but the lesion on your foot disqualifies you.”

  “It comes from your hospital.”

  “As far as my records show, you never existed.”

  “This blood’s real, isn’t it?”

  “Wear white socks. Your foot won’t get infected.”

  “I’ll wait for Mr. B. He’ll sign the papers like he said. I’ll get my money. Everything’ll be all right.”

  “I’m afraid he won’t be able to help you until we get a ruling on your foot. It’s a very unorthodox situation. It may take a few days.”

  “Couldn’t you look the other way.”

  “Mr. Walsh, I’m registered.”

  “They already ruled me a gift.”

  “It’s the first case of malpractice I’ve ever been involved with.”

  “You’re not involved. I’m involved.”

  “The higher-ups will have to deal with this.”

  “I know some important people, too.”

  “You better get on the phone.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You could’ve died. And if you do belong to us, we would’ve lost our rights.”

  “But I gave myself to the hospital.”

  “For all we know, it’s a swindle. Berendt signs the HD-one-oh-three, gives you a fake tattoo. You split the money, and you still retain the rights to your own body.”

  “I’m telling the truth.”

  “It’s too late for the truth, Mr. Walsh.”

  Gloria’s standing by the magazine rack reading Good Housekeeping. “Look at this, Benny. How to turn your apartment into a mountain hideaway for twelve dollars a week.”

  “Didn’t I say Our Lady of Victory Hospital to you in the subway?”

  “You can save on drapes and upholstery if you know how to sew. They show you where to buy the material. I sew.”

  “Our Lady of Victory?”

  “That’s what it says on the door.”

  “I had the money an hour ago. Now there’s a lady upstairs who says there’s no record of me.”

  “What happened up there, Benny?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “How can you have the money one minute, and lose it the next?”

  “I don’t think I can remember.”

  “You feel okay?”

  “I don’t feel anything.”

  “That’s good.”

  “I learned something today, Gloria. There are people in this city—some of them in very powerful positions—who are nuts.”

  “Really?”

  “It makes you sick to your stomach. All you want to do is leave. When you give your body to science, they make sure there are no loopholes. They don’t take everybody. I gave them my address. There’s going to be a ruling.”

  “You said you sold an heirloom.”


  “Did I say that?”

  “If you sold a certain something, you could’ve got more money than selling your body.”

  “This way I can donate my signatures to the Library and myself to science.”

  “Time’s running out, Benny. What are you going to do?”

  “I got a plan, Gloria. I thought of it in the elevator.”

  “Why not sell some you-know-whats, Benny? At least, some of your doubles?”

  “Then I’d only have one. What if they got stolen? You’ve got to have security.”

  “Security’s what I’m talking about.”

  “N-O.”

  “Benny, I know a place. Very classy. They pay the highest prices.”

  “Walk me home, Gloria.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I told Miss Piri I knew famous people. She told me to get on the phone.”

  Gloria is very quiet waiting by the bus stop. I’ve got nothing to say, so I listen to my body.

  I puff my cheeks and tap them. I grab my hands and push the palms together until air farts out. I pat my stomach. Everything has a nice, hollow sound.

  Gloria stares at the long yellow line painted on the curb. “Know what that is?” she says.

  “What?”

  “The yellow brick road.”

  “We’re off to see the Wizard.”

  She laughs.

  “There was something I wanted to ask you, Gloria.”

  “What?”

  “Tell me about Judy’s funeral.”

  “You know. You were there.”

  “Tell me again.”

  I roll the easy chair to the window and sit Gloria down with her transistor radio. “You collect the stars, but you don’t learn from them,” she says.

  “Turn the radio up loud. Get comfortable.”

  “Joan didn’t waste her time. She knew what she had to do. And she did it. In Photoplay she admitted, ‘I knew I had to work, and work hard. I kept setting the goal higher and higher.’ Sometimes, Benny, I think all you’re interested in is sitting at that desk and playing with the collection.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m calling Big John.”

  “That’s the spirit! Wayne or Rockefeller?”

  “I know what to do.”

  On the stairway, I remember John’s number crystal clear. That’s lucky. His last name begins with “G,” and most of the telephone book’s been torn up.

  I’ve never met Big John Getz, but it’s as though he lived next door, I know he came to New York in 1957 from Minneapolis. Drove here in his Ford V-8. He has three children—Louis, Larry, and Lester. His wife, Nora, cooks mainly French, has a good sense of humor, and shoots under 100 in golf. Big John (he’s six-four and has a full head of hair) flies his own plane. He wears the newest clothes. He’s rich now. They don’t have slums in Minneapolis—they have lakes. He came from the wrong side of the lake. He’s popular. He gives you advice. Sometimes he even helps. He’s the “Wonder Boy on the Wonderful World of WQLM Radio.”

  I try the number once without the dime so I get used to dialing. I don’t want to lose my dime. If it’s busy, I’ll keep dialing until nighttime if I have to.

  The phone’s ringing. A deep voice says, “Hello, Big John. You’re on the air.”

  “I’d like to speak to Big John Getz.”

  “Speaking.”

  “Big John? Hi.”

  “Welcome to the Wonderful World of WQLM Radio. ‘All information, all the time.’”

  “I’ve been listening to you for nearly ten years. It’s my first call.”

  “The welcome wagon’s open. What’s your name?”

  “Benny Walsh.”

  “What’s on your mind, Benny? We’re talking about the astronauts landing safely.”

  “They made it?”

  “You betcha, Red Rider. They’re going to get a hero’s welcome. The President’s declared a national holiday. He says it’s a triumph.”

  “That’s wonderful.”

  “You always get the wonderful news first on the Wonderful World of WQLM.”

  “The astronauts are really down?”

  “That’s what we’ve been saying. Back from their big, limitless adventure. There was three hundred fifty million dollars of hardware floating up there with them. It was a call for help heard ’round the world.”

  “That takes a load off my mind. I forgot what I was going to say.”

  “We’re on the air.”

  “Oh, yeah. Big John, I’d like to ask a favor.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Would you lend me three hundred and fifty dollars?”

  “I don’t know you.”

  “You didn’t know the man you saved from burning himself on account of the war, either.”

  “You got to admit I get some weird requests.”

  “You made headline news.”

  “We gave the call to the WQLM Community Action Center. They went right to work. They’re almost as fast as NASA. That’s a big joke from Big John.”

  “That’s what I want you to do for me.”

  “We were talking about the astronauts, Benny. Do you have any feelings about them?”

  “I’m only thirty blocks away from you on 102nd Street and Broadway.”

  “It was really something to see those parachutes billowing down to earth. I used the phrase ‘like the canvas of covered wagons.’ Our space pioneers were coming back from the valley of death.”

  “Big John, you wouldn’t just be saving me, you’d be saving the finest collection of autographs in New York City.”

  “Would you like to go to the moon, Benny?”

  “I’ve got a TV.”

  “Well, it’s been nice talking to you.”

  “But I’m not finished. I need the money. If you could put in a good word for me at the Community Action Center.”

  “That’s only for emergencies.”

  “This is an emergency.”

  “The astronauts were an emergency. Stranded in space. The whole world watching. You’ve got a problem. They came through with flying colors. So will you.”

  “Big John, I’m sorry about asking for the money.”

  “Forget it.”

  “Instead could you speak to Miss Piri at Our Lady of Victory, room seven fifty-three. You’re the best there is on the phone.”

  “I don’t know her.”

  “You’re a big name. She’ll listen to you. Say I’m a good guy. Reliable.”

  “Call back after the show.”

  “I’d just like to say … I’d like to say … I’m sorry about missing the astronauts. But you see Judy Garland died …”

  “That’s old news. We’re up to the minute on the Wonderful World of WQLM Radio, ninety-nine point three on your dial. All information, all the time. Seven days a week.”

  “If I told you that it wasn’t Judy in the coffin, what would you say?”

  “This is the Big John Getz show moving along on this trailblazing day. There’s no boundary these boys can’t break, nothing they can’t make our machinery do.”

  “Big John?”

  “Yes.”

  “Give my best to Nora and the boys.”

  “Will do.”

  “I read where you’re living on Central Park West in the same building with Lauren Bacall. Maybe some afternoon I could drop over and get your signature.”

  “Call before you come.”

  I don’t mind waiting for Community Action Center to get on the line. If they’ll tell me when they’ll have the money, I can pick it up. Big John’s got to be careful, otherwise he’d have every nut in the neighborhood bugging him for favors. I think I hear somebody speaking—no words, but a kind of whisper. Maybe they don’t realize I’m still here, standing by.

  “Benny Walsh. Community Action?” Another click. Then a hum. We’ve been disconnected, but they heard.

  I hope I wasn’t too pushy.

  The doo
r to my room’s open. Gloria has moved from the window to my autograph table. The radio’s on the window sill. Big John’s voice’s loud and clear. Gloria’s looking through the file reading the names, smiling. She deals out some of my signatures like cards. They slide across the green felt, lying in clumps around the table. A few of the cards drop on the floor. You don’t treat people that way. It might be Jean Seberg or Gale Sondergaard. They’ll be smudged. Gloria shouldn’t take liberties.

  “Gloria?”

  She applauds me. “Mr. Radio and Television Personality. You should have your own autograph in here.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting a head start.”

  “How was it?”

  “It’s easy. Some of them are very valuable, Benny. They go back ten years.”

  “I mean the radio. How did my plan go?”

  “You spoke right up. You sound very real on radio.”

  “Did I make a good impression on Big John?”

  “You two talked long enough.”

  “A dime’s worth.”

  “It seemed longer.”

  “Friends can cram a lot into a few minutes.”

  “Well, let’s start sorting out some autographs, Benny.”

  “What for?”

  “We don’t have all day.”

  “Big John’s going to help me out.”

  “I didn’t hear him say that.”

  “You weren’t listening.”

  “I was.”

  “I set the dial. I tell you to keep your ears glued. You were looking through my autographs. Who gave you permission anyway?”

  “Big John was talking about astronauts.”

  “That’s not all. He was talking about lending me the three hundred and fifty himself. He asked me if I needed more than that. I’m not greedy, I said. A friend in need’s a friend indeed. This moved him. He switched my call to Community Action Center.”

  “Then I’d have heard it.”

  “Hasn’t it been on the air yet?”

  “Not yet … You promised Mr. Vic three hundred and fifty dollars by Friday. It’s already Thursday. You can’t put all your eggs in one basket, Benny. You’ve got to be as good as your word.”

  “What did I say?”

  “Don’t you remember?”

  “It’s the details I forget.”

  “They’re important.”

  “I work around the clock. I don’t sit behind a desk. I don’t make the big money. But I’m in business. I move around. You have to be on time. Except for signatures, one day’s like any other.”