Bird

At the tag end of the Prohibition era, sad-eyed, quail-like Helen Morgan, with he. tousled black hair, piano-sitting technique and a voice like a pent-up sob, was the best known torch singer of them all. In the sweeping Americana of Edna Ferber's Showboat she was the modern note. Her House of Morgan was the nattiest in Manhattan's satiny nightclub belt. Last week in Philadelphia, plumper, still tousled, sad-eyed and sobby-voiced, Helen Morgan sang in three-a-day variety at cheap Fay's Theatre on Market Street. The matinee audience was unenthusiatic. "I got the bird," she reported, demonstrating with a lady-like version. "Only," she added, "it was worse, much worse. They had their tongues out, the bums."

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