The Aging Lion

Headline of the Week In the New York Daily News:

ROONEY. A PINT, BARES MARRIAGE TO A FIFTH

In his acidulous prime, Gossipmonger Walter Winchell stood second to no columnist for journalistic terseness, ferocity and cheek. A chronic vendettist, he repeatedly bared his teeth and his quill in Winchell feuds: against Singer Josephine Baker ("pro-Fascist, a troublemaker"). the Stork Club's Sherman Billingsley (they quarreled over a pack of cigarettes), Ed Sullivan (''style pirate"), the New York Post ("pinko-stinko sheet"), the "fourth estate" ("All those columnists rapping me--where do you think they get their material? They go through my wastebasket"), and everybody ("Look. I want to get back at a lot of people. If I drop dead before I get to the Zs in the alphabet, you'll know how I hated to go"). Chips, plugs and crusades burdened his shoulders; he told Presidents how to run the U.S. and statesmen how to run the world.

Lost: Tooth & Growl. Against this gothic backdrop, the contemporary Walter Winchell has become virtually unrecognizable. Gentled by his years--or by something--the aging lion has lost much tooth and growl. The gossip content is redolent with secret mergers, splituations and apartaches, sexcess stories about hat-chicks and rot-and-roll singers, nawdy titles (what a fourcabulary! ), pufflicity seekers. Subdued is the shrill attack and jugular slash. There are more handsome compliments ("Hedda Hopper's attractive hairdo and apparel" ), more sentimental excursions into history ("[George Washington] was the father of our country. Even more--he was a brother to every American"), and more nostalgic poetry ("How long ago and far away you seem . . . As fragile as a whisper in the dark").

The famed Winchell legwork has slackened to an amble. His Manhattan jungle prowls are intermittent now; he prefers to let his 40-odd faithful squad of Broadway volunteers pump up the bulk of the gossip. When he does walk abroad, he likes to visit the scenes of old triumphs: "This is where I got Lepke." He is often alone--an isolation the big game he once stalked is pleased not to invade. He was seen alone recently at Rashomon, at the Louis Prima-Keely Smith opening at the Copacabana, and the other night he sat peaceably at Sardi's, a solitary diner, ignored by first-nighters streaming in to be met by Columnists Earl Wilson, Leonard Lyons and other Winchell competitors.

Gained: Six Pounds. The taming of Walter Winchell may have stemmed from a 1952 illness, which put him to taking things easy. "I'm not the chicken I was," said Winchell, who is 62. He is in a position to coast: he gets $1,200 a week from his parent paper, Hearst's New York Mirror, and additional income from his radio newscast, show-business appearances ($70,000 for two weeks in Las Vegas last year), and his column syndication--down to about 145 papers--keeps him in the 91% income tax bracket. The old lion has not only grown mild, but flabby ("I'm six pounds overweight right now").

For all the complaisance, there are those who still keep a wary eye on the lazing erstwhile king. "Sure." said Broadway-TV Actor Horace (Naked City) MacMahon, "you're always hearing people say, 'Well, Winchell can't fight any more.' Maybe so, but it's like old Sugar Ray Robinson--you know anybody wants to fight him?"

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