Source: Chicago Sunday Tribune, 30 May 1926, pt. 7, pg. 5.
Dear Mae: About Paul—don't you know what it is? It certainly isn't his fatal beauty, though I must admit he has beautiful hands. Paul knows what we want and gives it to us. Some of us honestly admit that opera goes over our heads—either do we like the tin pan variety of jazz—BUT—PAUL'S AN ARTIST, and when he and his gang play "Spanish Shawl," "Talking to the Moon," etc., he has struck the happy medium. Add to this Milton Watson and his wonderful voice; George Givot, in a class by himself for nonsense, and the hot steppers that Paul picks up (where does he get 'em? and he's so nice to all of them—encouraging, etc., etc.), and a grand evening is enjoyed by all. Clean fun, no vulgarity—what if a little wiggle does creep in?—it's a nice one.
No wonder we get mad at the Boss when he makes up his mind at 5 o'clock to dictate that last letter just when we had planned on grabbing a bite to eat in time to make the 5:30 show.
NOT A FLAPPER.
Editor's Note: Bet you belong to the Paul Ash Club.
