Casanova Club, on West 54th Street, is smart and fashionable. Here you can hear Ruth Etting sing and listen to Harry Rosenthal and his orchestra. Emily Vanderbilt and they do the snootier spots, of course, where the lorgnettes get in your hair. Rudy Valentino’s pet place was Texas Guinan’s, where I saw him last, a few nights before he passed away. It was at La Guinan’s 54th Street place that Rudy defended himself from the attacks of a Chicago editorial- First who poked ridicule at Valentino because he wore a slave bracelet “which is too effeminate in America.” My newspaper assigned me to ask Rudy about it. I never saw a fellow get so sore. He pounded the night- club table furiously and argued that every gentleman in Europe wore them. Rudy added: “It seems to me that almost every Yankee soldier during the war wore them too but at the time they were called identification tags!” “And.” he said, “I don’t care what anybody says about me wearing it. I wear it chiefly for the sentiment it packs. It was given to me by my first wife, Jean Acker, and I hope it’s there when I’m dead.” And it was on his lifeless wrist, at that. But it was removed before his interment and auctioned with his other effects. Speaking of Rudy reminds me that, when he died, over a million New Yorkers crowded Broadway and the funeral church to watch his cortege go by. A year after when his effects were auctioned at a Main Stem store only seven people came to buy! But his films are still going strong and they are the only films of a deceased star that seem to get over. “Monsieur Beaucaire,” for example, was a feature in New York recently. And, while the subject of Rudy has come up again, it serves as a moral to this piece on movie stars and others who Go Broadway. Rudy might have been alive today if he had heeded the counsel of physicians and others and stayed away from the sophisticated places. But Rudy, they will tell you, kept post-poning his visit to the hospital until it was too late.