Excerpt from Act One: An Authobiography
It was, as far as I was concerned, the perfect job. There was usually even enough time, before Mr. Levenson returned at seven o'clock, for a good half - hour or so of pure, idle dreaming; a necessity as basic to a twelve-year - old boy as food and drink. I was thoroughly conscious of the fact that my own dreams of glory were quite unlike those of the other boys on the block, for the fantasies and specula tions I indulged in, after I had reluctantly turned the last page of Theatre Magazine, were always of Broadway. They were fantasies because though I had been born in and had lived in New York City all of my life, I had never actually seen Broadway.
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