Well, there are two matters that they cannot handle,
I'll finish with one of them.
There are two things that they just don't have.
They have no explanation for.
One is Dr. Schmitz, golden fountain pen,
which wrote down a lot of things he didn't intend to say
and finally had to destroy it.
And the other is another mystery worthy of mention concerns
an unusual clock, which is once the proud possession
of a theatrical agent.
Here thanks to our friendly anonymous source
on the committee, we have an exact transcript
of the statement made by this individual under oath
to the court commission.
That statement slightly edited to facilitate reading
is as follows.
May it please you honorable ladies and gentlemen
of the commission.
I'm only a poor and humble agent,
a servant for the many talented men
and women in the worlds of entertainment, showbiz,
and the seven lively arts.
I know that there are those people who
speak of us badly, speak of us as agents as a group,
putting the knock upon us as greedy, and lazy parasites who
do nothing, and collect 10% and sometimes more
of the so-called artist's hard earned cash.
They call us gangsters, hustlers, confidence men
and worthless clods.
But they do not know you know what from Shinola.
Artists are very temperamental and ungrateful
and frequently lacking in any talent whatsoever.
They also tend to lack humility, these egotistical arrogant
so-called artists.
Without agents they would be nothing.
They would be bums in the park, that's what they'd be.
Or filling up the jails, the booby hatches, and the morgues.
Not only do we agents do them great service
by arranging for them to have an opportunity
to practice their so-called arts at the public's expense,
but also if I may say so in all modesty,
we are patriots who save our country much trouble.
We keep these lazy no account rascals and rogues
off the streets and the welfare rolls
where they most likely belong but where they would surely
bankrupt government at state, local, and federal levels.
It has been argued by some of my colleagues
in the agent vocation that by all logic and right, we
the agents deserve 10% of the gross national product
for our good works.
Be that as it may, I do not think
it is fair that we should be subject
to the constant harassment and surveillance
of the moronic minions of the Internal Revenue Service
who do not understand the complex nature of our business
and who are only living in waxing fat off
of our excessive taxes anyway.
Agents, all except for IRS agents,
are useful and valuable citizens of this great land.
It has always seemed practically ironic to me
if you'll pardon the expression that agents
who are, after all simple and honest businessmen
and capitalistic to the core, should be held up
for public ridicule while any deadbeat who can play a piano,
or paint a picture, or swallow a sword
should receive applause and accolades, cash and kudos
from one and all.
After every performance, after every exhibition or show,
these so-called artists should modestly
retire to the rotten woodwork from whence they came
and let the agent step forward and take the bow.
But honorable sirs and ladies, let
us leave philosophy to the professionals
and get to the business at hand.
I know your time is valuable and so is mine.
Time is valuable to everyone except those so-called artists
who lounge and slouch about loafing and inviting
their souls as a poet himself a publicly confessed bum
urged everyone to do.
It's true that at one time I handled a worthless human being
who was billed as Proteus Prince of impersonators.
To best of my recollection he also
called himself Jacob Quirk, but this
may have been pure coincidence.
For in the showbiz there be few if any
if the truth be known that give their right name.
Here let me just ad lib and say right out without shame,
that my name is not Irving Schmitz.
I would rather not reveal my legal name if you don't mind
and I won't ask you yours, which looks to me honorables,
like a kind of Mexican standoff if not a fair deal.
Suffice it to say that when I prepared myself
for the vocation of agents, I noticed
that all successful agents at that time
were named Irving or variations thereof, such as Irving, Erwen,
Erwin, et cetera.
Schmitz was suggested to me by my first secretary
who noted that it sound good and original and seemed to fit.
And that's good enough to me gentlemen,
sometimes the thing just feels right and you cannot explain
why but you do it.
And that is because showbiz is a mystical thing.
Anyhow, I handle this individual who called himself Jake
and what was he?
He was a punk kid who could make faces, that's all.
I made a star out of him, I put his name
in lights and all that, but he was strictly a nothing
from beginning to end.
And I do not for one minute believe
all this well blank about turning himself
into other people and all that.
That sounds like some kind of a second rate drunk and press
agent.
And Jake was too stupid and conceited to ever think
of the idea.
Nevertheless, before he lost his mind and his humility
I handled him very well right up there in the big time.
And we got along all right except for arguments
about money.
He never could understand all the expenses
and overhead it costs to take a talentless nobody
and turn him into a star and keep him there.
It did no good to show him facts and figures,
he'd go over them with a fine tooth comb
and yell and scream about everything, even minor mistakes
in addition and subtraction.
He was a reckless spender too and
among other deviant and antisocial things
he wore wide neckties long before they were correct again.
To understand this ladies and gentlemen
you've got to understand that I'm sort of a demon about time.
Time is as precious as blood and energy in my business.
Time is almost as important as money.
With clients coming and going all the time and phones ringing
constantly, I live by a tight schedule
and I have to watch the clock, which is how I
became a kind of a clock buff.
Started collecting the things and stashing them
all over the office and prominent places.
Not only for my own purposes, but also
that no matter where a client turned
he would see a clock working, ticking off my valuable time.
I collected some pretty fine clocks of all kinds
if I do say so myself.
And I kept them all synchronized and in perfect working order.
Naturally when the hour struck it was noisy as you
can imagine in my office.
It was damn near deafening with all those chimes, bells,
clocks, and booms.
But I had my earplugs ready which muted the noise
and also cut off the sound of my clients voices.
And usually scared the stuffing out of them.
For as the hour approached, I always
want to distract them from observing the clocks
by various words and gestures.
And I only slipped the earplugs in at the last possible second.
Mostly they were taken by surprise
and scared witless, affording me an opportunity
for a good hearty laugh at least once every hour.
A man without a sense of humor is only half civilized,
I've always said.
Well, to make a long story short ladies and gentlemen,
one day I received a package in the mail.
Since it was ticking, since I have
known many disgruntled and degenerate clients in my time
and even a few jealous competitors,
since I have two ex-wives who are so crushed at my walking
out on them that they have been half crazy ever since,
not to mention some secretaries and other young ladies
who as a result of the most casual and informal encounters
seem to feel that they have some sort of claim against me,
for all the above reasons I instantly
call the bomb disposal squad.
However, it was not a bomb.
It was a beautiful and highly original clock.
Judging by its works I would say early 19th century
but then I'm not a real expert.
It was a big heavy clock with a finely made case
and a gold dome on top.
It had four different kinds of chimes all swell sounding.
And on the hour, two figures came out.
One, a black knight with a curved sword, and the other,
a white knight with a red cross on his armor
and a big spiked mace.
The black knight would swing the sword and miss,
and then whitey would cloud his skull with the mace,
tolling the hour resoundingly.
I thought it was a gas and so did most of my other clients,
except of course the black ones who
are very sensitive these days.
With the clock came a card and I have it here,
which said, to Irving the great from a client who will never
forget you.
I was deeply moved by those sentiments ladies
and gentlemen.
Nine times out of 10 they leave shaking
their fists talking loud and rude
and you never hear from them again.
Here at last I thought was one who
is cooled off enough to understand.
I was touched, deeply moved, and sincerely grateful.
One day when the clock was about to strike noon
and I was just getting ready to cut out
for a meaningful luncheon with a prominent producer,
the big black knight swung that curved razor
and cut off the red cross knight's head
before he could swing a blow with the mace.
I could hardly believe my eyes or my ears either.
Even though I had my earplugs firmly seated,
I swear to you I heard that knight holler, black power
your mother blanker 12 times then he gave me the finger
and vanished into the clock forever.
[LAUGHTER]
Candidly I felt terrible.
It almost ruined lunch for me.
But that was only the beginning.
In the first place, after that all kinds of figures
came out instead of the knights, usually in pairs and up
to no good whatsoever.
The things they would say and do I shudder to repeat,
shudder to think of let alone to repeat to you.
I guess the most costly occasion when
was when I was about to get this high price leading
lady from the movies to dump her old agent
and sign on the dotted line with me.
While I carefully arranged it so she
would miss the hour, to make double sure
I let the evil clock run down and didn't even wind it.
A lot of good that did.
Just when she picked up my pen to sign the contract,
the damn thing started booming and charming like crazy.
We both looked up naturally just in time
to see two nude figures come trotting out on the platform.
One was a dead ringer for the leading lady in question,
and the other I'm sorry to report
to you was a pretty fair representation of yours truly
in a state of nature and shall we say somewhat aroused.
I was shocked to see what happened.
When it was all over, she was furious.
She poured a bottle of ink over my head,
warded up the contract, stuffed it in my open mouth
where I was protesting my innocence vehemently,
and she left my office vowing never to darken my door again.
And unfortunately for once in our worthless life
that lady has kept her word.
That was typical.
Even the finest clock makers in the city
couldn't locate the trouble.
In fact, they couldn't find out there was any trouble.
Every time a clock expert came around,
the damn clock behaved perfectly,
trying to make me look like a fool.
That was not the worst part.
That evil clock corrupted every other clock and watch I owned.
None of them would keep the correct time or even
the same time.
I got to where I couldn't tell night from day anymore.
And lots of them without warning or rhyme or reason
began to sound off with cuckoo, cuckoo, Irving is cuckoo.
Not only on the hour but any time they felt like it.
Well, honorable sirs and ma'ams, enough is enough.
Even the patience and goodwill of an agent
is not inexhaustible.
Therefore, one day I borrowed a fireman's ax
and I chopped that clock into little bitty pieces.
I put the pieces in a sack and I drove out to a remote place--
in a remote place in Central Park.
I burned the clock and the works to ashes
and then I urinated upon the ashes of it,
which is how and why I had that unfortunate misunderstanding
with the police, who happened along just about that time
and lacking the necessary background information
jump to a lot of erroneous conclusions.
But I bear them no grudge and I don't
bear that ungrateful ex client who called himself
Jacob Quirk any grudge either.
If there is such a person and he's out there somewhere today,
I say unto him, Jake, I'm willing to let
bygones be bygones.
I'm willing to call it even Steven.
It was a good trick Jake.
I'll give you full credit for that.
But please, Jake, please, I will be profoundly grateful to you
if you will be so kind as to pick
on somebody else for a while and leave me alone.
Thank you very much for your attention ladies and gentlemen.
I'll give you the same anytime.
Drop in my office and see if I don't.
My door is always open.
Thank you very much.
[CLAPPING]