APRIL 15 is always a day of rare rejoicing and unbridled revelry throughout the nation. For that is the day when all the citizens of our fair land may practice their inalienable rights of sending a fat slice of their yearly increments to Washington; in return, our Congressmen will forward packages of radish seed or intimate candid-camera shots of themselves weeding their farms or kissing their grandchildren. Most Congressmen are very human, if nothing else.

Among my myriads of gentle readers, there are doubtless a goodly number whose appreciation of April 15 is marred only by the intricacies of wrestling with an income-tax blank. Forsooth, there are some citizens who feel so cowed by this imposing document that they ignore it altogether. I number at least one such person among my acquaintances (I say "number" because that is what he is now at Alcatraz, pronounced Al-cat-razz).

And yet, filling out an income-tax blank is as easy as rolling off a logarithm; just to prove it, my friends, I will lead you step by step through the process. And do not for a moment fear that I shan't be meticulously correct in every statement. Correctness runs in the Fields family. Even today I can remember how often Daddy used to declare: "I'd rather be correct than be President." As a matter of fact, that is probably the reason he skipped the White House and ended up in the House of Correction.

But to get down to business: In order to pay an income tax you must first have an income and that income must be in excess of $1,000. In other words, the government fixes it so that you have a choice of (1) starving to death by having an income so low that you do not have to pay a tax; or (2) having an income high enough to pay a tax-and then starving to death after you've paid it.

This is a plan that is not only fundamentally false, but also shamefully misleading. Take, for instance, the case of a friend of mine, Mr. O'Hare, who took out his citizenship papers many years ago and worked like a Trojan, day in and day out, as a tonsorial artist. After thirty-five years of standing behind a barber's chair, discussing the affairs of the day, touching up every subject from Ty Cobb's unethical antics on the field to the tax the Governor should put on gum drops-all the while trying to make himself heard above the customers' snores-he still could not make enough to lift himself into the income-tax class.

But he was a man of ambition, so he finally developed a sure-fire business idea. He opened a new barber shop and engaged deaf-and-dumb barbers who couldn't even write. Thereby the customers were permitted to think whilst being tonsorialized, and to pick their own winners. The bootblack was deaf and dumb, too.

The news of his unique new venture spread like wildflowers. Mr. O'Hare opened tonsorial emporiums in every large city and hamlet from the rock-bound coast of Maine to the snow-capped mountains of California. As an added attraction he engaged deaf-and-dumb manicurists with dark hair.

Money poured in so thick and fast that his estranged wife, on advice of her relatives and counsel, decided it was the better part of value to sue him immediately for alimony and community property. She sued on March 2,1937.

Alas! There was nothing to sue for. For, while a short time ago Mr. O'Hare was only a poor barber and consequently had no business paying an income tax, today he was paying an income tax and consequently had no business.

However, I am not the type to dictate, and if any of my readers want to be as foolish as Mr. O'Hare, and go and make $1,000 and more, so be it. I will try to guide them even in their folly.

So follow me closely while I delve into detail. In the first place, here are the principal things needed in filling out an income tax: one dozen tax blanks, six pencils, one slide rule, one Chinese abacus, three reams of inexpensive copy paper, an ice pack and various medicinal stimulants.

The first thing to do is print your name plainly on the proper line. If it is a joint return, we are instructed to print the given names of both husband and wife. But since some of the names that husband and wife give each other are hardly suited to print, we must proceed cautiously.

After yoii have filled in this information, the next matter you'll think of is what you can deduct and what you can't deduct, always keeping in mind the possibility that a tall man with a dark mustache and a blue serge suit and a gold star might come to the house with a piece of paper. Most of us know already that torn postage stamps are not deductible items; nor is the cost of telegrams to Senators asking that they reduce the income-tax rate; or the box of cigars you forgot to give the postman last Christmas.

But there are other questions of deduction that the general public is not so well informed upon. For instance, most of us are under the impression that Bad Debts can be deducted. I can assure each and every one of my ardent readers that this is not the case at all. Last year I tried to deduct a dentist bill of $143.00, which was one of my very worst debts, but it was disallowed. This hurt me worse than the dentist.

At any rate, here is my best advice on the matter of deductions: just count off on your fingers all the items that you suspect might be deductible-and then forget them, because they aren't.

Now that that issue is settled, the rest of the income tax problem falls into two divisions: whether you can add and subtract straight to arrive at your tax total; and whether you can pay the total once you arrive at it.

The first is a mere question of arithmetic, and will be dealt with further on in this pronunciamento. The second-how to scrape up the dough-is of extreme importance, and I should like to clear the matter up here and now.

With this in mind, let me say that I am a strong advocate of budgeting throughout the year so that in March the difficulty of paying one's income tax will be no difficulty at all. I recommend it to all my readers because I have seen budgeting work such wonders in the past. Of course an improperly arranged budget is apt to be more of a hindrance than a help. For instance, less than a month ago a young man came to me with tears in his eyes. He had run into the knottiest sort of a budgetary problem, and he begged me for expert advice. Here is how he had arranged his weekly budgeting schedule:

1. Income tax $ 0.26

2. Carfare 0.60

3. Room rent 4.50

4. Food 3.83

5. Clothing 1.27

6. Medicinal spirits 19.54

.....................................$30.00

Of course my practical mind grasped the basic trouble immediately. I merely advised him to shave down on the first five items and put the savings into bicarbonate of soda.

As a matter of fact, this lad's mistakes reminded me not a little of our own government's budgetary errors. Only too often do they pile up headaches without providing for relief. This will all be changed when I become chief executive of our fair land. To provide funds for a free public headache-powder service, I shall charge Pullman rates to all Congressmen caught sleeping in session.

But to give all you dear, dear folks a graphic example of the miracles a well-balanced budget can achieve, I am going to set down, right before your eyes, a word-for-word first-of-April conversation in the household of the Homer N. Cluffs, a typical American family consisting of one husband, one wife, one three-year-old son and a canary that has just started to molt. The Cluffs were kind enough to allow the W. C. Fields Budgetary Research Foundation to install a dictograph in their cozy little living room. I quote from the record:

Homer: Now, my phlox, my flower, let us look over the budget envelopes and straighten out the month's expenses. Income tax is due in two weeks, you know.

Lucretia: Yes, pet, here are all fourteen envelopes.

Homer: Fine! Now, Income Tax amounts to thirty-seven dollars.

Lucretia: Something is wrong! There's only eleven dollars in Income Tax!

Homer: What? There must be more. All I took was sixteen dollars for those new golf clubs.

Lucretia: Oh, dear! I can't think where it went t~unless I took the money for my last permanent out of this envelope.

Homer: Well, for Pete's sake, why didn't you take it out of Incidentals in the first place?

Lucretia: Now, you know we paid the insurance premium out of Incidentals.

Homer (weakly): Is there an aspirin or an analine-dye tablet in the house?

Lucretia: I'm sorry, dear, we're all out of them.

Homer: Never mind, let's make up Income Tax out of Savings. We'll double Savings next month.

Lucretia: For pity's sake! There's only six dollars in Savings.

Homer: Now, look! The only money I took out of that envelope was eight dollars for the plumber.

Lucretia: I-I guess I must have taken out a teentsy bit for the first installment on my mink coat.

Homer: Teentsy bit! Mink coat! Godfrey Daniel! What do you think the Clothing envelope's for?

Lucretia: Now, Homer, you must remember that we used Clothing to pay off the Smiths that night we played for a quarter of a cent a point and you went down four tricks doubled and vulnerable.

Homer (hoarsely): I'm going down to the drugstore for some aspirin. Give me a dime out of Medical Attention.

Lucretia: Medical Attention's already gone for Amy's wedding present. But there's a couple of ginger-ale bottles under the sink-take those.

Well, my friends, I think this sprightly little interlude should prove to even the most skeptical that budgeting can help you to pay your income tax painlessly. But-and this is a big but-the mere fact that you can pay your income tax will avail you little unless you are able to sum up what your tax should be. Thusly, I will now plunge into the arithmetical phase of the income-tax problem, as I promised I would.

Many of our most successful citizens have forgotten even the rudiments of arithmetic they learned in school.

Therefore, for the benefit of any of my readers and those who repeat this incident to their friends and any who may be weak in their ciphers, I will run through an exercise in simple addition. To add a realistic touch, I will use as a model the income tax I myself filed last March.

Here is the sum-or something:

Salaries, compensations: $7,180

Dividends: 2,370

Interest on bank deposits, etc.: 1,260

Interest on corporation bonds: 3,140

Income from fiduciaries: ?

(This last is a knotty technical phrase concerning which you have to see your attorney.)

The usual procedure is, first, to add up the rows of figures farthest to the right. Now, it is plain to even the layman's eye that the four zeros are equal to nothing at all, so we may ignore that row altogether. However, the figures in the second row from the right add up to 25, and that brings us to a very tricky piece of business. The first thing to do, under these conditions, is to write down the 5 neatly, with calm determination, thus:

5

The 2 in the 25 must be disposed of by a process called "carrying," but to understand that, you must know solid geometry; so just take my word for it that you should add it in with the third row of figures. This row, with the 2 included, adds to 9 -- a dismal number indeed! For the last twenty years I have made it a strict policy to avoid the number 9. It probably all stems back to the summer of 1920, when I played third base for the Germanic-Amerikanisch Brewing Company Nine. Whenever the team traveled out of town for a game, it was a standing rule that the last player into the hotel room at night had to sleep on the floor.

Of course, I realize that my aversion to the figure 9 is not shared by the nation as a whole, but I'm sure that few would begrudge me the whim of changing it to 8 in this case. So our total so far stands at:

85

The column farthest to the left adds up to 13-and I can get a C. P. A. to vouch for it. However, everyone knows that 13 is fast becoming obsolete these days. As a matter of fact, apartment buildings and office blocks don't even have thirteenth floors any more. But a Fields is nothing if not magnanimous, so let's throw in the 3, at least. Thus our final total turns out to be:

$385

Of course, I realize that it is not easy for my dear pupils to understand, at first glance, all the mammoth complications by which I arrived at this interesting figure. However, the boys down at the Internal Revenue office have had long experience with my remarkable mathematical prowess, and they will doubtless follow me in short order.

It might be apropos to mention here that Federal finances closely resemble personal income taxes, and are added up much the same as I have just demonstrated. The only difference is that in the case of Federal figures, a great many zeroes are added to the end of each item. I do not hesitate to proclaim myself one of the craftiest adders in the country (and if a President can do nothing else, he must be able to add and add). I also have an uncanny knack of describing circles, so I am sure I could outzero any other candidate-with the possible exception of F. D. R. himself.

Well, we must be getting on to multiplication -- an extremely important subject. In fact, the government gives prizes of $400 exemptions for multiplication

But pardon me for a moment-there goes the doorbell. My little son Warner looking out the window informs me: "That man is here again."

Ah, it's the Internal Revenue inspector. "How do you do, Inspector You say they're asking for me down at the Collector of Internal Revenue's office? Well, I suppose I can spare an hour or so, if they're really in a bad tangle What's that? You say 'come quietly'? Why, Inspector, you cut me to the core! (Oh, Mrs. Fields, don't wait up for me tonight, dear. I may not be home for a year or two.)"

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