Moving Picture Exhibitors' Association.

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between Chicago and San Francisco. It was here, so the story
goes, that Al Jolson first donned blackface. It was the burnt
cork that changed the mediocre performer of that time to the
great star he is today.

Years before that Fred Stone was playing Topsy about the
state in a tent show production of " Uncle Tom's Cabin." And
Montana has sent to the films Kathleen Williams, Gary
Cooper, Lane Chandler and Julian Eltinge.

Montana also sent Myrna Loy. Indisputable evidence to
this fact, even if Myrna appears like the slim princess of a
fabulous tale of .\rabian Nights.

She is racially a mi.xture of Welsh, Scotch and Swedish. Such
a mingling of bloods could scarcely fail to create an interesting
person. She has the reserve of the Welsh race and a good deal
of the canniness of the Scot. As to the Swedish heritage —
didn't Sweden produce Garbo, the exotic?

If her personality is a contradiction, outwardly her facial



features are more than a contradiction. Myrna has the
strangest eyes of the screen. They are narrow and slanted and
they seem to see farther and deeper than most eyes. They are
twin chameleons, changing from gray to green and blue. And
they are a little cruel.

Beneath the eyes is a nose that is just a nose. Her mouth is
a rosebud — detestable expression for a perfectly good mouth.
Her hair is dark reddish-brown. All the most successful sirens
of history had red hair. She has nice, splattery freckles, and
freckles are always reassuring.

HER manner is shy, and, paradoxically, assured. Elinor Glyn
would undoubtedly say that Myrna had that certain inde-
scribable something, and who am I to contradict F^linor Glyn?

"I never really went to school in my life," she told me. "I
had private instruction in the courses everyone should have.
That part of my education seems unimportant. I loved to
draw, model statues, and to dance. I took dancing almost as
soon as I could walk.

"When I came to Los Angeles with my family I went on with
my dancing. I began with ballet work and then took Spanish
and Oriental dancing from a wonderful Spanish teacher. I
studied with Ruth St. Denis for a time. She was a great in-
spiration to me, for she has the marvelous gift of grace.

"It was while I was dancing at Grauman's Chinese Theater
in Hollywood that Natacha Rambova saw some pictures of me.
She was preparing for a motion picture production, and she
wanted a number of girls. I was chosen to play a sophisticated
girl, and I was given an amazing, black trailing gown to wear.
After that I was offered a [please turn to page 112 ]




ow



Th



ey



M



anage




By
Alma Whitaker]



Where Clara Bow lives. Not a very big house, containing seven far from

large rooms. Furnished according to no particular period or style, it

reflects the varied tastes of its owner — the aggregation of all her ideas on

house-furnishing and home-making



CLARA BOW, for all her shuck of dashing red hair, her
flamboyant IT-ishness, her reckless flapper intensity,
has a remarkabh' sensible head on her shoulders.
Mind you, she is no housekeeper herself and is a
dub at finance, but she has the sense to know it and to grapple
a brilliant young secretary to her soul. Said secretary, not
much above Clara's own age. Daisy De Voe . . . (her name
was De Boe, ''But we couldn't have two Bows in the family,"
grins Clara), is a miracle of placid efficiency. She runs all
Clara's affairs, financial and domestic, does all the purchasing,
pays all the bills, sees that the income tax is settled to suit
Uncle Sam's exactions. And manages marvellously — e.xcept
Clara's personal allowance.

" Clara has never yet kept within the allowance I feel she
should," sighs Daisy, "and I have given u]) the stnggle. I
just try to make up the difference by cut-
ting down on the household expenses. "

Clara has purchased a comparatively
modest little home in Beverly Hills —
quite big enough for a bachelor-girl estab-
lishment, but no mansion. Seven rooms,
and not very big rooms. Original too, in
that she has not gone in for 18th Century
interior decoration ... no Napoleonic
splendor ... but just bought to suit
herself. Her taste runs considerably to
Chinese, to be sure, but she hasn't been
arbitrary about it. Where a jolly, downy,
comfy, modern, American divan and an
overstuft'ed chair caught her fancy, it just
went in to take its place next to the Chi-
nese hand-carved wood and iron chair
with claw legs and a mother-of-pearl in-
laid back, and was expected to be sociable.

The effect is good — and very sociable.
This little girl, who was a very humble
nobody a few j'ears ago, has shown ex-

The Chinese room. This little
room is decorated in the rich color-
ings and fabrics of the Orient and
furnished with many valuable Chi-
nese pieces. Bridge games are won
and lost here, often the setting
for gossip over the teacups



cellent taste — nothing bizarre|
or oulre.

The house itself is one-story I
Spanish adobe effect, set far I
back on a broad lawn, and the!
path to the front door is lined j
with standard rose trees. The
door, however, has a Chinesian
aspect. It opens into a wee
hall, just big enough to ac-
commodate a Chinese throne i
chair, which cost $400; a deco-l
rated metal console table of j
Italian nciirc, on which stands!
a dazzling peacock lamp, the
spread tail being gorgeously

illuniinate<l in color. The lamp cost $75, and its charms arci

retlecled back in an Italian mirror. A little Sarouk rug, which!

cost $250, adorns the floor. With the drapes, Clara's hall '

represents $910 worth of miniature charm.

THE living room furnishings cost a total of $7,624.50, lots of
it represented by French needle-point tapestry wall pieces at
$500 each, and Chinese rugs ranging from $1,250 down to
$27.50; Chinese chairs at 875, ahandsomedavenport at $1,000,
a carved, cushioned love-seat at $,S50, a phonograph at $450,
an Italian lamp at $125 and ven,- effective French window and
door drapes of costly material. The fireplace has tall, Chinese
brass candlesticks at either side, anrl in the center the huge
silver cup won by Clara from the Wampas — the trophy for
the baby star who had reached the highest achievement.




their Homes



Clara Bow's Beverly Hills
bungalow is run on a strict
budget system, worked out
and kept effective by her
efficient secretary



There are lots of jolly things that come under the heading of
ohjeis d'art — a model of the Mayflower, a Grecian screen, Chinese
plaques, warrior shields, velvet batik, wall panels, etc. Smoking
paraphernalia stand around sociably — one marble ash tray
caught Clara's fancy, for S8S. Oh yes, and French dolls — several
of them on a Chinese chair, and valued variously at $37.50,
S18.50, etc. The books in this room — piled on a table near an
autographed picture of Ehnor Glyn — are "The Art of Thinking, "
"Dark Hester," "Elizabeth and Essex," "Henry VTII,"
"Jerome," "Katherine Paris," and "Manon Lescaut."

HERE it may be remarked that Clara is avidly studying elo-
cution and English literature — her instructor arriving at
noon for two hours every day. Clara must read aloud, write
reviews of the books, essays, etc., and she sticks to it nobly.

Off the living room there is a "den," which is really Daisy's
office. It is just a wee box of a room, furnished with a handsome
desk, a saucy red typewriter, a big picture of Clara on the wall
above the desk, a bronzed Roman bench, a carved chair, and
a duck of a window seat with black velvet cushions and orange
drapes. Another French doll here — with red hair — dressed in
black lace. Also a piece or two of Korean pottery and an Ha-
waiian guitar. It cost $1,028 to furnish that little den.

In a narrow corridor stands the linen cupboard. Daisy buys
the linen wholesale — everything good and plain ... a couple
of hundred dollars' worth, perhaps.

A spare bedroom is occupied by a young man cousin at this
writing, out West to break into the movies. It's a stylish little




No Beverly Hills home seems complete
without its arched doorways. Pertiaps it's
because they make such perfect back-
grounds for posing lovely stars




room, with a four-poster bed and walnut dressers, all in gold
and blue, furnished at a cost of $1,349.75. His bathroom
boasts scales and Roman shower curtains.

There is a Frenchy touch about Clara's
own bedroom — old rose rug, with cano-
pied curtains of a deeper rose, the canopy
effect also gracing the head of the bed.
The bed was specially made and cost
$250. The dressers, chest of drawers, chif-
fonier, bench, etc., are of ivory enamel.
An autographed portrait of Valentino as
The Sheik stands beside Clara's bed.
Floor lamps, night stands, an ottoman,
bead flowers, more dolls, saucy telephone
stand. Old French prints on the wall,
give this room a rather crowded effect.
Clara's toilet articles are of shell, enam-
elled in blue, and jewelled. A large blue
velvet jewel case adorns the dresser.

Clara's bedroom is valued at $2,506.75
— on the exact accounting of the admi-
rable Daisy, who watches every outgoing
nickel. No fireplace here — just a little
electric [ please turn to page 78 ]

Clara's bedroom. The bed is can-
opied and covered in old rose,
matching the canopied window
drapings. The rug is a lighter rose,
and the furniture is ivory enamel.
An autographed portrait of Valen-
tino in sheik's costume stands on a
table next to her bed

65




Happened



tn



Hollywood



By

Vivien R.
Bretherton




oi^-fcUE s:^, ."<' ^ «♦**- '^*-



How Seville Hawthorne came to
Great, and what befell



THERE \vas a time, perhaps, before Peter Dunsany
became famous as Peter the Great, when he'd beheved
in chivalry and all its accoutrements. When he'd been
ten, for instance, he'd had a very definite desire to go
riding about the world on a white horse, fighting dragons and
rescuing damsels in distress.

When he'd been twenty he'd exchanged the white horse for
a speedy roadster and the dragons had been dropped by the
wayside, but he'd gone on rescuing damsels, fromboredom or
whatever ailed them. He'd been a genius at rescuing.

But by the time he had been transposed from Peter Dunsany,
obliging cavalier, to Peter the Great, feminine America's big
moment, the influence of the white horse and the distressed
damsel had gone down to final defeat.

Peter the Great had had opportunities to learn what plain
Peter Dunsany had never imagined, namely, that it is the men
in this world who need the rescuing.

Not that Peter Dunsany stayed awake nights worrying
about the Fate that had cast him into such a world. Fate,
indeed, had been more than kind to him. It had given him,
to begin with, a line of forebears who had made the name of

m



Dunsany synommous with fame on the English stage.

It had obligingly endowed him with his own share of his-
trionic ability, so that when the Armistice was signed he'd
stepped into the public eye as another of those delightfully
restrained, charmingly accented young actors which England
produces so easily.

And when the era of importation hit the motion picture
industr>' of America, he had answered the call, and had promptly
stepped into a popularity that grew with each new picture
he made.

YES, the world was very satisfactory to Peter Dunsany, at
thirty. And Hollywood was an advantageous place in which
to live.

And the motion picture industry was a very clever thing.
It gave him, to be e.xact, four thousand dollars a week, and
all it asked in return was that his pictures stayed at the head
of box office successes, which they invariably did, Peter being
a very tine actor as well as a star.

Beyond that he was permitted the little peculiarities which
set him apart from his contemporaries, such as refusing to




Filmland to capture Peter the
during the thrilling chase



'■go Hollywood," living in an inaccessible house, collecting
books to read instead of to be photographed with, and politely
but firmly declining to have his name linked with women,
visiting celebrities or black marble sunken baths.

Now Peter Dunsany, who had once believed in chivalry,
had also held a healthy contempt for people who indulged in
eavesdropping. Nevertheless, upon a certain day in late
October, he was eavesdropping for all he was worth. Which
was quite natural, since he seemed to be the chief topic of
conversation of the two who discussed him so coolly.

He couldn't see who they were, since they occupied a table
behind a pillar of Matton's, Peter's favorite lunching place,
but he knew what they were — their voices having that delicate
assurance possessed only by attractive women. He listened,
with growing indignation.

''My dear," a very lovely voice was saying, and sounding
as if it meant it, too, " I am going to get Peter the Great or die
in the attempt!"

Peter stiffened at the proi)rietar)' air with which she used
the name that was as definitely his as "America's Sweetheart"
was Mary Pickford's. He wondered, curiously, if this were



Peter Dunsany's patience
had reached its limit.
"Look here," he said,
firmly, "I know your
game. You came out here
— smashed somehow
through my gate — just to
get in. But it won't work.
Privacy isn't just a pub-
licity stunt with me.
When I want to meet a
woman, I find a way. If
your car is smaslied, use
mine. Good night!"



1 1 1 11 ilraU il
hy

CHARLES D

M I T ( • H E L L



that new Andalusian actress
who had announced herself
as madly in love with him,
on the strength of which he'd
been dodging her for a month.
He made certain that escape
was open behind him and
cocked his ears again.

A second voice came, lazily
intriguing, "^■ou never die,
darling, in your attempts.
Peter the (Ireat, I perceive,
is yours before the first shot
is tired. But—"

Peter could almost see the
pout on the first voice's lips.
"That was so like you, Claire,
to have a little 'but' up
)'our sleeve. 1 suppose Peter
the Great is already spoken
for — or else surrounded in
silence. "

The lazy voice sighed. " .\s
if any thing in Holly wood were
silent now," she murmured.
"However, I have heard it
said he isn't on the market . '
"He will be," stated the first voice, so firmly that Peter

jumped. Then, confidingly, it continued, " Darling, don't you

love the dignified way in which he swaggers across a room!

He'll match so perfectly my present manner — discreet, to say

the least. "

WELL, thought Peter, she wasn't the Andalusian,at any rate.
Nobody, not even herself, could call that lady discreet.
He passed by the "swaggering" as just one more thing to be
endured for the sake of that four thousand dollars a week.

The second voice spoke. "Discretion is the better part of
valor? Is that your idea, Seville, darling?"

Seville! Spanish! Peter sat even more stiffly alert. Of all
women, he most distrusted these foreigners.

Seville, evidently, felt the need of emphasizing her discretion.
"But I really am, Claire, about this affair. I'm going to
appeal to the sympathy, not the pocketbook. I'm going to
make it self-evident that it's not merely a new acquisition I'm
after, but that it's a case of love at first sight. I'm not going
to stalk down Peter the Great as if he were Big Game, caiii|>
on his trail and therefore raise his [ please turn to page 100 ]

67



^ke Wisecracker Reveals

■ William Haines, the playboy, the life of the party,
shows a new and serious side in the strange story

of his life



As told to Marquis Busby




AT heart I am
not a wise-
cracker. Wil-
liam Haines,
the wisecracker, came
into being in Holly-
wood. The wisecrack
is my shell, my protec-
tion. Naturally, I am
sensitive to a fault.
When I first entered
pictures I was a human
doormat for people to
walk upon. I was get-
ting no place. In fact,
I expected at any time
to be out of a job.

With the first wise-
crack my career
changed. When Holly-
wood found out that I
had a sharp comeback

for a sharp remark it thought twice before it spoke. Then,
after "Brown of Harvard," the public began to accept Brown
as Bill Haines. I kept it up partly because it seemed the thing
to do, and partly because it is a sure buffer for my inner feelings.
Hedda Hopper once told me that I would be the last person



Mr. William Haines, in a pre-HoUywood pose, think-
ing up a way to kid some more cereal out of nursie




she would wish as an
enemy. I am not vin-
dictive intentionally. I
don't like to hurt
people. That is one of
my creeds. My own
feelings are too easily
bruised for me to walk
roughshod over others.
After establishing
a reputation for wise-
cracking it isn't hard
to keep up. I don't ,
have to do homework J
by reading joke books.
People just laugh atj
anything I say from!
force of habit. It might I
be funny, they think, J
so they laugh.

The William Haines!
who went to school in
Staunton, Virginia, was not a wisecracking kid. He was a
dreamer, moody, subject to despondency. He had a temper
like a skyrocket, and then forgot what he was mad about as
quickly as the skyrocket flares up and dies.

But most of all he was a dreamer. He day dreamed so
much that he wasn't any good in his studies. He was a bad
youngster, too, always the black sheep of an otherwise re-
spectable Virginia family.

IT is a lovely, old-fashioned Southern town — that is my im-
pression of Staunton. All the families had lived there a long
time. Those who arrived in '75 were regarded as new resi-
dents. I remember that the population was 10,200. I recall
the figure exactly because it was drilled into me by a long-
suffering geography teacher. The hills of Staunton, it seemed
to me, were higher than any other place in the world; the trees
grew larger, and nowhere else were the distances so great. I
wove dreams about the "tall" four-storied buildings on the
main street.

Once I returned there after I had become a leading man in
pictures. Somehow the hills were no longer so high, the trees
looked like any other trees, and the distances were not great.
The buildings, which once had seemed to tower into the sky,
now looked small, and the bank windows needed washing.
The illusion was lost, and one can never recapture an illusion.
It is never wise to go back to the past. One should always go
on in life.

There were five children in my famih', three boys and two
girls. I was the oldest. My mother was lovely and aristocrat-
ic — everything that a boy could wish of a mother. I adored

her, and as a child, was willing-
ly tied to her apron-strings.
My father I liked tremen-
dously, not just because he was
my father, but because he was
such a good scout. M3' sister,
Lillian, two years younger than
myself, was one of my few
playmates. There were never
very many, chiefly because I



Mr. William Haines, of
Staunton, Va., during his
early school days. After
some argument, he has at
last consented to watch
the birdie. The young
lady in lace bonnet and
striped pants is Sister
Lillian



68



Himself



did not care for other Lhildrcii. 1 preferred to be
with people much older than I.

When I was little it was my duty to go every eve-
ning to the coal shed back of the house and bring in
fuel for the stoves. I was scared to death of the dark,
a fear that Lillian never shared. She used to hide
and jump out at me, shouting "Goop!" Then I
would fall down and spill the coal all over the walk.

THE teachers always despaired of me. I would
sit in the schoolroom gazing years into the future,
romancing about myself and never hearing a word of
the lecture. I did like history because there is drama
in history. When I wasn't dreaming I was throwing
paper wads, making funny noises and pulling the
little girls' pigtails. One day, the teacher, a prim and
precise old maid, reached the end of her patience.
She locked me in the clothes closet for an hour.
When she finally opened the door 1 had improved
each shining moment by getting rigged out in her
tight-fitting rain coat. She was fond of Queen Mary
inverted soup-bowls for hats, topped off with birds
and gee-gaws. I had on the hat at a rakish angle,
and clutchetl an efficient looking umbrella in my
hand. I should have been punished, but .she laughed
instead.

On important occasions when the school board
called I recited a poem called "Bivouac of the Dead."
I would be getting along nicely when I would catch
the teacher's eye. She would be frowning and
making faces at me. I had left out a verse. Then
I would stumble about and finally start at the
beginning again.

A particular joy I got out of my early youth came
every Sunday. In the South, if you aren't an
Episcopalian, you don't go to heaven. Well, I was
more than just a member of the church. I was an
Episcopalian choir boy. That, too, I liked because
it was dramatic. Like most children 1 didn't pay
much attention to the sermon.

I MUST have been a perpetual trial to everyone.
I've said I was the black sheep of the family. Once
the Staunton school put on a presentation of ''The
Mikado." I was a flower, all dressed up in Dennison
crepe paper. During the number, where the three
girls sing "Three Little Girls From School Are We,"
I stood in the wings and accompanied them in a voice
which changed from ba,ss to soprano. Everyone in
the audience was puzzled as to which girl had the
heavy voice. The "voice without" was stilled
suddenly when the dramatic coach grabbed me by
the seat of the pants and deposited me in the alley.

In the summer time I did odd jobs about town.
There have been publicity stories to the effect that I
attended Staunton iSIilitary Academy. The near-
est I ever got to it was during the summer vacation
when I earned §6 a week for painting bedsteads in
the dormitory. The students used to forget shirts
and underclothes and I would take them home and
wear them.

My life before the age of fourteen does not interest
me particularly. I doubt if anyone's life before that
age is very unusual. The things that happen after
one is fourteen are so



much more important.
After that age one' is
sex-conscious, and it is
always an important
discovery.

When I was fourteen
I ran away from home.

[ PLE.\SE TURN TO P.\GE

122]



And here is Mr. Wil-
liam Haines, of the
Virginia Haineses, at
the height of the
Hollywood develop-
ment. Mr. Haines is
thinking up some new
devilment, you may be
sure of that!





Reeling
Around



with

Leonard Hall



YOUNG THING— "Darling, I've discovered the cutest

way to bear this 18-day Hollywood diet. I just have my

grape fruit in cocktails three times a day!"



Talkie Love

l^ow ihal love has made us wise,
Darling, let ics synchronize!

Contract for a happy doom
In a churchly mixing room —

Speak our lines, in solemn , tone.
To some reverend microphone —

With a special Berlin score
Pledge our love forevermorc!

Thus, ^'in sink," we two shall be
One sound-track through ctcrnitv!



Anything for a Laugh

Hollywooc] reports an extra girl so dumb that she is studying
to be a moron. . . . After hearing a screen star speak, in her
first talkie test a spectator asked, "Can she juggle?" . . .
Pitching for the Metro-Goldwyn team in a ball game against
a Ford Motor team, Buster Keaton hurled a no-hit game,
but it is probable that the batters felt sorry for little Sad-
Pan. . . . Paramount is to establish a film exchange in
Athens. When Greek meets Zukor. . . . Eddie Buzzell, the
comedian, says of his Hollywood hotel, "The only thing they
object to is letting blood run under the door. "... Further
proof that France is the most civiUzed country on earth — the
city of Nancy passes a law forbidding the playing of saxophones
after 10 p.m. . . . Greta Garbo is passing her spare time
writing scenarios, full of the old Swedish punch. . . . Harlan
Thompson, scenarist, calls his wire-haired terrier "Option"
because he is never exercised. . . . Hollywood's latest gag —
"Have you heard from so-and-so?" "No, not a dollar!" . . .
Poor Mae Murray! All she gets in Chicago, for personal
appearances, is §7,000 a week for two weeks!



"Reeling Around" Wins!

"Reeling Around" recently offered itself a prize of six
wet pretzels for the best name for talking pictures.

The new name was to be simple, elegant, popular, gram-
matical.

"Reeling Around" won !

The new name is "Telephotophonovoxotalkalogacine-
maphonosee."

70



Getting Personal

The Citrus Growers' Association is reported behind the
18-day diet, such a rage right now. Note the grapefruit three
times a day. However, Molly O'Day is said to have lost
eight pounds in a little over a week on it, which is better than



Online LibraryMoving Picture Exhibitors' AssociationPhotoplay (Volume 36 – 37 (Jul. - Dec. 1929)) → online text (page 56 of 145)