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specifications.

It wasn’t the grand living Myrtle had been accus-
tomed to when he was being kept, but it paid his
way. It came to end with the war when Myrtle,
along with his long-time Paris expatriates, returned
to the U.S.A. ’

It was then that he started doing drag and forced
himself into a headlining position at a cheap Brook-
lyn club. Until it was shut down on vice charges, the
place flourished. Myrtle was a socko attraction
although his performances left much to be desired.
He made up for it with his gay patter.

Another Brooklyn spot took Myrtle over. But his
vogue had passed.

His life from then until now had been a succession
of odd jobs. Theatrical producers gave him sewing
to do. He worked as a fry cook. He waited on tables
at gay bars. Nothing was beneath his dignity. He
lived wherever he hung his hat, in cheap boarding
houses, small hotels.

When he was hungry, if there happened to be a
spell with no work, he knew enough restaurant
owners who would accept his tab. He always paid
them back but, actually, he didn’t have to. Myrtle
was amusing enough to listen to for the period of a
meal—if not any longer.