Bill Anderson
2024-12-28 22:25:42 UTC
Recently, I finally got around to reading HARPO SPEAKS! (1961), the
autobiography of Harpo Marx. It has been a while since I so thoroughly fell
in love with a book that I was picking it up at odd hours of the day and
night just to discover what new fascinating anecdote would be told next.
Harpo and his brothers led remarkable lives that transported them far from
their humble roots in New York’s upper east side, and I was delighted to go
along for the ride.
The book follows the Marx Brothers through their often dreary experiences
in the dregs of the vaudeville circuits to triumphs on Broadway and in
Hollywood. As this is an autobiography, obviously the focus of the book is
Harpo, and I have to say he led such a rich, extraordinary life that I
never cared I wasn’t learning much about the other brothers. I came to
like Harpo so much that I seriously regret that but for this book I could
never have known him apart from the character he portrayed in film and on
television. I wish I could have hung out with him, lived next-door, had
him for a friend. I think he must’ve been a truly decent human being and a
terrific raconteur. 
The book did leave me puzzled about a few things though. I mean, I wasn’t
expecting a tell-all confessional, but I did wonder at times why I wasn’t
getting just a little more of the story.  For a long stretch of his adult
life basically it seemed that when Harpo wasn’t working he was hanging out
with friends at the Algonquin Hotel or on a small island in Vermont or on
the Riviera or maybe a few other places. Was that it? He just hung out with
friends playing croquet or cards? Little else?
And these friends, some of the biggest names in the arts and
intelligentsia, seemed to treat him like a puppy dog they liked to have
around. He never indicated in the book just what it was he brought to the
(round) table, other than the willingness to sit quietly and listen. I
don’t believe that. I believe he must’ve contributed far more than he
admits or otherwise people like George Bernard Shaw would have dismissed
him. And as for Alexander Woolcott, who considered himself the shining star
of the Algonquin round table, would very many people remember him today if
not for his association with Harpo Marx?  Some of the cognoscenti, sure;
but people like me? Until I read this book, he was just a name I had heard
somewhere. Clearly, there was lots more to Harpo than he let on in his
autobiography.
I also wonder why he and actress Susan Fleming began adopting children
immediately after they were married. Was it a physical reason?
Philosophical? As far as I could tell, the book gave no hint. And sure,
whatever the reason, it had to be deeply personal and there was no
requirement for Harpo to share it in the book. But that didn’t stop me from
wondering. I will say one of the highlights of the book for me was learning
about “the story” Harpo and Susan would tell their children at bedtime
about how they searched high and low to find just the right babies to bring
into their home. Now that was touching. 
I think I wish there had been more in the book about the Broadway shows and
the making of the Marx Brothers movies. Well I think I wish that. Maybe
Harpo knew best; maybe the stories he did tell were more interesting than
any he might’ve been able to tell about the work that went into the act.
Maybe. But I still think I wish that.
Am I sounding critical of the book? I hope not. I thoroughly
enjoyedreading it and I recommend it to all Marx brothers fans and anybody
else looking for an amusing, informative, instructive story about a man who
knew how to live.
—
Bill Anderson
I am the Mighty Favog
autobiography of Harpo Marx. It has been a while since I so thoroughly fell
in love with a book that I was picking it up at odd hours of the day and
night just to discover what new fascinating anecdote would be told next.
Harpo and his brothers led remarkable lives that transported them far from
their humble roots in New York’s upper east side, and I was delighted to go
along for the ride.
The book follows the Marx Brothers through their often dreary experiences
in the dregs of the vaudeville circuits to triumphs on Broadway and in
Hollywood. As this is an autobiography, obviously the focus of the book is
Harpo, and I have to say he led such a rich, extraordinary life that I
never cared I wasn’t learning much about the other brothers. I came to
like Harpo so much that I seriously regret that but for this book I could
never have known him apart from the character he portrayed in film and on
television. I wish I could have hung out with him, lived next-door, had
him for a friend. I think he must’ve been a truly decent human being and a
terrific raconteur. 
The book did leave me puzzled about a few things though. I mean, I wasn’t
expecting a tell-all confessional, but I did wonder at times why I wasn’t
getting just a little more of the story.  For a long stretch of his adult
life basically it seemed that when Harpo wasn’t working he was hanging out
with friends at the Algonquin Hotel or on a small island in Vermont or on
the Riviera or maybe a few other places. Was that it? He just hung out with
friends playing croquet or cards? Little else?
And these friends, some of the biggest names in the arts and
intelligentsia, seemed to treat him like a puppy dog they liked to have
around. He never indicated in the book just what it was he brought to the
(round) table, other than the willingness to sit quietly and listen. I
don’t believe that. I believe he must’ve contributed far more than he
admits or otherwise people like George Bernard Shaw would have dismissed
him. And as for Alexander Woolcott, who considered himself the shining star
of the Algonquin round table, would very many people remember him today if
not for his association with Harpo Marx?  Some of the cognoscenti, sure;
but people like me? Until I read this book, he was just a name I had heard
somewhere. Clearly, there was lots more to Harpo than he let on in his
autobiography.
I also wonder why he and actress Susan Fleming began adopting children
immediately after they were married. Was it a physical reason?
Philosophical? As far as I could tell, the book gave no hint. And sure,
whatever the reason, it had to be deeply personal and there was no
requirement for Harpo to share it in the book. But that didn’t stop me from
wondering. I will say one of the highlights of the book for me was learning
about “the story” Harpo and Susan would tell their children at bedtime
about how they searched high and low to find just the right babies to bring
into their home. Now that was touching. 
I think I wish there had been more in the book about the Broadway shows and
the making of the Marx Brothers movies. Well I think I wish that. Maybe
Harpo knew best; maybe the stories he did tell were more interesting than
any he might’ve been able to tell about the work that went into the act.
Maybe. But I still think I wish that.
Am I sounding critical of the book? I hope not. I thoroughly
enjoyedreading it and I recommend it to all Marx brothers fans and anybody
else looking for an amusing, informative, instructive story about a man who
knew how to live.
—
Bill Anderson
I am the Mighty Favog