"Ohhh, my back," groaned Walter Winchell, 61, as he soft-shoed through a cluster of show girls rehearsing in Las Vegas, Nev. "Feel this corset," said the grand old man of keyhole journalism. "Go ahead, feel it. I've got a torn muscle near the sacroiliac. How the hell am I gonna get over to that side of the stage?" Last week Gossipist Winchell, an oldtime hoofer before he cast himself in the role of a newspaperman, painfully returned for $35,000 a week to his first lovehimself on a stageand it was rough.
Winchell went back...
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