All those old celebrity clinkers about fading luminaries of tube, turntable, picture palace, theatre, and nite spots. It's all extracted from mulch of the morgue -- yards and yards about Sinatra and Vegas, Hope and Howard Hughes, the Bogarts, Burtons, Billingsley and Toots, Winchell, the Latin Quarter, Ingrid and Rossellini and even Godfrey and La Rosa (howzat?). But the last three chapters contain salacious material left over from Wilson's syndicated columns with offensive stories and salivations about nudity and smut on Old Broadway. Anecdotes and naughty snappers from ""country boy"" Earl -- just right to hang on that nail.