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I'm reading Edward Arnold's 1940 autobiography Lorenzo Goes to Hollywood. He's a character many of you know, I'm sure, and many more of you will have seen without, perhaps, knowing his name. I've enjoyed him in a great many pictures, but one of my favorites of his roles is the exasperated millionaire in EASY LIVING opposite Jean Arthur and Ray Milland.
In the following excerpt from the book, he relates a tale from his youth regarding an elaborate hat-related practical joke he and five friends who called themselves the Terrible Six pulled on a young musician from Italy while they were on the road in a theatre company that specialized in lush productions of Shakespeare's plays. I've highlighted one particularly interesting (and, to me, a bit surprising) comment Arnold makes about the popularity of men's hats in 1940:
In the following excerpt from the book, he relates a tale from his youth regarding an elaborate hat-related practical joke he and five friends who called themselves the Terrible Six pulled on a young musician from Italy while they were on the road in a theatre company that specialized in lush productions of Shakespeare's plays. I've highlighted one particularly interesting (and, to me, a bit surprising) comment Arnold makes about the popularity of men's hats in 1940:
There was an Italian boy in the orchestra named Misarondeno. We called him "Le Miserable." He hated the nickname and complained to the management. That was the cue for "the Six" [a group of Arnold's friends who called themselves the Terrible Six] to give him the business. One night in Philadelphia when we were on tour, we found his derby hat in the orchestra room, and smeared the inner band with limberger cheese. At the close of the performance we hid and watched. He took his hat, put it on, and, much to our dismay, went out without a word. We decided that, being an Italian and probably very fond of cheese, he didn't mind the odor. The next morning, at the train, not a word from Misarondeno. So we made new plans to get him. That night, during the intermission, little Helleberg sneaked into the coat room, secured the hat and hid it in his tuba case. "Le Miserable" complained to the stage manager and the orchestra leader, and went about making quite a fuss. But he had to leave without his hat, which was more annoying than it would be now, since it has become the custom to travel everywhere bare-headed.
In the next city where we played two days later, he bought a felt hat. That evening we threw the hat into the Tympani trunk, and it left with the orchestra baggage. Then, in desperation, the boy went to Mr. Altshuler, who proved sympathic, but told Misarondeno he had no way of finding the culprit, although he suspected a certain group that always seemed to hang together. But even so, he couldn't tell which one was making the trouble for him. He advised the boy to buy a straw hat, as we were headed toward the Southwest. When we stopped in St. Louis, it was Finston's turn. He got hold of the straw hat and threw it into the bass drum trunk. Then I advised "Le Miserable" to buy a cap and keep it in his pocket. That same evening, during a performance when the tuba was not needed, Helleberg lifted the cap from the kid's pocket, got the derby hat out of the baggage, and left it on Misarondeno's violin case. The next day he bought another cap. From that night on, he never knew which hat he would find when he put his violin away. This went on for three weeks. Finally, he stopped complaining and pretended, at least, to enjoy this running gag. So one night when he came to the supper table, he found his hats and caps in a pile on his chair, with a note on top, "Good luck!"
In the next city where we played two days later, he bought a felt hat. That evening we threw the hat into the Tympani trunk, and it left with the orchestra baggage. Then, in desperation, the boy went to Mr. Altshuler, who proved sympathic, but told Misarondeno he had no way of finding the culprit, although he suspected a certain group that always seemed to hang together. But even so, he couldn't tell which one was making the trouble for him. He advised the boy to buy a straw hat, as we were headed toward the Southwest. When we stopped in St. Louis, it was Finston's turn. He got hold of the straw hat and threw it into the bass drum trunk. Then I advised "Le Miserable" to buy a cap and keep it in his pocket. That same evening, during a performance when the tuba was not needed, Helleberg lifted the cap from the kid's pocket, got the derby hat out of the baggage, and left it on Misarondeno's violin case. The next day he bought another cap. From that night on, he never knew which hat he would find when he put his violin away. This went on for three weeks. Finally, he stopped complaining and pretended, at least, to enjoy this running gag. So one night when he came to the supper table, he found his hats and caps in a pile on his chair, with a note on top, "Good luck!"
