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My first collision with fame was hardly memorable. I was a busboy at Marx's Deli. The year was 1934. The place was Third and Hill, Los Angeles. I was twenty-one years old, living in a world bounded on the west by Bunker Hill, on the east by Los Angeles Street, on the south by Pershing Square, and on the north by Civic Center. I was a busboy nonpareil, with great verve and style for the profession, and though I was dreadfully underpaid (one dollar a day plus meals) I attracted considerable attention as I whirled from table to table, balancing a tray on one hand, and eliciting smiles from my customers. I had something else beside a waiter's skill to offer my patrons, for I was also a writer.
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- Created April 1, 2008
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December 14, 2023 | Edited by MARC Bot | import existing book |
December 8, 2022 | Edited by MARC Bot | import existing book |
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April 1, 2008 | Created by an anonymous user | Imported from Scriblio MARC record |