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I
I
^ LETTER FROM SHIRLEY TEMPLE
DECEMBER
lO
CENTS
THE LARGEST CIRCULATION OF ANY SCREEN MAGAZINE
DURBIN
a<f a. DOCTOR cwed . . .
|
1 J |
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A NY ONE of the charming Dionne Qyintuplets would make a mother's M X eyes beam with pride were she her own child. These wonder children of the world are startling living examples of what new-day knowledge will do for babies. Proper feeding, care and training combine to develop completely the peak possibilities of every child. The fact that Karo Syrup has been an important food in their daily diet is con- vincing evidence of the remarkable food-energy value of this delicious \ Table Syrup. Karo is rich in Dextrose, which is known as "muscle" sugar.
Dextrose quickly provides material for energy, wards off fatigue, sustains activity. Both Blue Label and Red Label Karo are equally rich in Dextrose.
Such excUemeni ! Crovded around the hroadcafil in^ mi- crophone, the " Quinis are curious, elated and ea^er to know "what it' s all ahoui .
A "swin^ lull" o/ loveliness—all five lots love to pose for pictures. They radiate health and pevsonalil y.
World Copyright, 1937, NEA Service, Inc.
THE GREAT FOOD
Cj rocers evei'vw sell Karo. It' s as nomical as it is CIO us and energi
SYRUP
MODERN SCREEN
She evades close-ups. ..Dingy teeth and tender gums destroy her charm ... She ignored the warning of "PINK TOOTH BRUSH"
PERHAPS you've seen her— this girl whose wistful beauty captures the eager glance. You stare— a little breath- less—waiting for that smile which will light up, intensify, her loveliness.
And then it comes— but with what bit- ter disappointment! For her smile is dull, dingy. It erases her beauty as if a candle had been blown out... another tragedy of dental ignorance or neglect.
NEVER NEGLECT "PINK TOOTH BRUSH"
The warning may some day come to you — that faint tinge of "pink" upon your tooth brush. It may seem harmless, triv-
ial, unimportant — but never ignore it!
At the first sign of "pink tooth brush" —see your dentist. It may not mean trouble ahead, but let him decide. Modern menus —from which hard, fibrous foods have largely disappeared — are robbing your gums of necessary work. They've grown flabby, sensitive. "Pink tooth brush" is simply their plea for help. And usually your dentist's suggestion will be "more exercise, more vigorous chewing" and, very often, the added suggestion, "the stimulating help of Ipana and massage."
For Ipana, with massage, is designed to benefit your gums as well as clean your
teeth. Massage a little Ipana into your gums every time you brush your teeth. Circulation within the gums increases- helps bring a new healthy firmness to the gum walls.
Why not take steps now to help pro- tect yourself against tender, ailing gums? Make Ipana and massage a part of your daily routine. With your gums healthy and sound, your teeth sparklingly clean- there can be no disappointment, nothing to mar the beauty of your smile.
• • •
LISTEN TO "Town Hall Tonight," every Wed- nesday, N.B.C. Red Network, 9 P. M., E. S. T.
NOV -3 1937
©CIB 354886
G-E MAZDA LAMPS
Begin to enjoy new eye-comfort tonight: Fill up empty sockets and replace burned out bulbs with brand-new G-E MAZDA lamps.
As a result of recent improvements made by General Electric research, the 1937 G-E MAZDA lamps give you MORE LIGHT ... at no extra cost for electric current and no increase in price. For example, the 60-watt size gives you 10% more light than it did last year, yet it still costs only 1 5 cents.
Get a fresh supply today. And when you buy, look for the G-E trademark. Then you will be sure to get lamps that Stay Brighter Longer.
MODERN SCREEN
Copyriaht. ^ 193 7, by Dell Publishina Co., Inc.
Regina Cannon Editor
Leo Townsend Hollywood Editor
Abril Lamarque Art Editor
NOW SHOWING
MANAGING MILTON 12
THAT GIRL'S HERE AGAIN 18
THE MISTAKES OF MADELEINE 26
LAUGHING THE WHOLE THING OFF 28
SINGING STOIC 30
A LETTER FROM SHIRLEY 32
M'LADY— MINUS MAKE-UP 34
MONTGOMERY IN A MELLOW MOOD 36
DIETRICH GOES UGHT-HEARTED? 38
GETTING THE BREAKS 40
THIRD BEGINNING 41
PERSONALITY— BETTER THAN BEAUTY 42
BUOYANT BATTLER 44
BEHE DAVIS' TRUE LIFE STORY 45
SHORT SUBJECTS
OUR PUZZLE PAGE 6
GOING TO A PARTY? 8
REVIEWS 10
GOOD NEWS 14
PORTRAIT GALLERY 21
FOODS TO THE FORE 62
INFORMATION DESK 64
BETWEEN YOU 'N' ME 66
FOR BED AND BRIDGE 68
MOVIE SCOREBOARD 70
DATE NIGHT 78
MACK HUGHES . VIRGINIA T. LANE BENJAMIN MADDOX IDA ZEITLIN FAITH SERVICE IDA ZEITLIN LOIS SVENSRUD CAROLINE S. HOYT JAMES REID VIRGINIA WOOD ROBERT MclLWAINE MARY MARSHALL GEORGE BENJAMIN GLADYS HALL
MOVIF X-WORD JUNE LANG IS FILM GUIDE MOVIE CHATTER OF YOUR FAVORITES ON THANKSGIVING THE ANSWER MAN PRIZE LETTERS BUSY NEEDLES CRITICS' RATINGS BOY MEETS GIRL
Modern Screen, No. 301773. Published rr.onthly by Dell Publishins Company Incorporated. Office of publication at Wasfiington and Soutfi Avenues Dunellen N J Executive and editorial offices, 149 Madison Avenue, N. y. Chicago, III., office 360 N. Michigan Avenue. George T. Delacorte, Jr., President, H. Meyer, Vice-President J F Henry, Vice-President, M. Delacorte, Secretary Vol 16, No 1 December, 1937. Printed in the U. S A. Price in the United States, $1.00 a year, 10c a copy. Canadian subscriptions, $1 .00 o year. Foreign subscriptions, $2 00 a year Entered as second class matter, September 18, 1930, at the Post- office Dunellen, New Jersey, under act of March 3, 1879. The publishers accept no responsibility for the return of unsolicited material. Sole foreign Agents: I he International News Company, Ltd., 5 Breams Building, London, h.C. 4, England. Names of characters used in stories and in humorous and semi-fictionol matter are fictitious. If the name of a living person is used it is purely a coincidence.
GENERAL @ ELECTRIC - MAZDA LAMPS
4
MODERN SCREEN
'aS cas^ '^^o P^^^lavets and .vJaUace
3i\\ieD^^ .-unlove sto^^^ VlllJ^^ 9^
..M" loan*-' .Soeocei ^" BIOS'' °, " '^"^ , - . .e"_..stai"««^' an, S^^i
*'^^ait V<"1 and M=
MODERN SCREEN
OUR PUZZLE
ACROSS
19.
20. 22,
23. 25, 27. 28. 29. 30. 32. 34. 35. 37, 40, 42. 44.
45. 46. 49. 51.
52. 56.
58.
& 5. The hero of this puzzle
Defensive ditch
Cinema
Subtle emanations
Irish star of "The Perfect Speci- men"
Youngest daughter in "Call It A Day"
Swedish star of "Conquest" Slow-talking Negro comedian Fred Stone's daughter in "Hide- away"
Ex-Mrs. Gable's first name
"A Farewell to - - - -"
Altar end of a church
Period of time
"- - - in a Million"
Mae West wrote "Diamond - - -"
Affirmative vote
Summer: Fr.
V-shaped member
Male star of "Double Wedding"
Kay Francis' latest is " I.ady"
Metallic rock
Cowboy star whose first name is Tom
" Love I'm After"
Extend over Near: abbr.
Director of "Love Takes Flight"; initials
Ann Sothern's real last name Texas-born blond juvenile; first name
John Clings
90. 91.
93.
94.
96.
97.
99. 101. 103. 104. 106. 108.
110. 111. 112.
113. 114.
115.
Card game "Better. . ." Recline
"- - - Them Live"
Song-and-dance film
Glamorous star of "Angel"
Famous Roman date
Femme star of "Romeo and Juliet";
initials Chemical symbol One by preeminence; slang "Clive of - - - ia" Biblical name Mend
Spencer's wife in "Big City" Deanna's father in "100 Men and a Girl"
Wherefrom you see the screen Party in power
Loretta's co-star in "Love Under Fire"
Bing Crosby's wife, Dixie American gangster in "Gangway" "- - - Asked For It"
"- and Evil"
In
Bare Unsealed Seethe again Build
Male star of of 1938"
French girl in
Long seat: var.
The girl in "High, Wide and Hand- some"
Pork
Former Russian rulers Parts of the head
"Broadway Melody ■'The Big Parade"
puzzle
DOWN
1. German actor named Veidt
2. Eager
3. He's a cowboy star named Tex
- - - ter
4. Long
5. Measure
6. Rustically
7. "Men - - - Not Gods"
8. Princess Paley's first name
9. Rip
10. Disorderly
11. Worthless leaving
12. Open space
13. Latest film of star pictured
14. His leading lady in "When
You're in Love"
17. Enrolls
18. Puffed
21. Nit: Scot. 24. Cut
26. Hawaiian actress named 0
Clark 29. Over: poet
31. " Love You Always"
33. European newt
36. " With the Wind"
38. "- - Could Happen to You"
39. Mexican actress named - - mida 41. "Paradise "
43. Birthplace of star pictured
45. Plenty of these in Westerns
46. Delicious game dish
47. Haughty
48. Shad
50. What films are wound on
51. Composes
53. He married Jobyna Ralston
54. Hero of "Old Louisiana"
55. Compound ether
57. Warner Baxter's latest is
"Wife, tor and Nurse"
59. "- - - Husband's Secretary"
65. Egyptian goddess
67. Male star of "Espionage"
73. First name of dead pan come-
dian
74. Initials of gravel-voiced come-
dian
75. The ex-Mrs. John Barrymore
76. Alcoholic beverage
77. Hero of "Captains Couraeeous"
78. Exclamation
80. Superlative suffix
81. Prevaricator
82. Annabella starred in
the Red Robe"
83. American girl in "Lost Horizm"
84. Mrs. Roger Pryor's first name
85. "Dead - • -"
87. Poplars
88. " Goes My Girl"
89. Dispatched 92. Lubricated 95. Eagle's nest
98. The other woman in "Some- thing to Sing About" 100. Screen try-out
102. Shoshonean Indians
103. German river 105. Comparative suffix 107. Greek letter
109. Anglo-Saxon coin
MODERN SCREEN
"ARAMOUNT GIVES YOU "EBB TIDE"... THE FIRST SEA
PICTURE IN
The story of a man who thought he was God ! . . .
Adolph Zukor presents
Oscar Homolka
(By arrangement with Gaumont British Picture Corporation Limited)
Frances Farmer Ray Milland
EBB TIDE
A Lucien Hubbard Production with Lloyd Nolan • Barry Fitzgerald
Based on the story by Robert Louis Stevenson and Lloyd Osborne Directed by JAMES HOGAN Photographed in Technicolor A Paramount Picture
HUISH, the little Cockney, had sobered up long enough to take a fling at stopping this madman with the rifle. Now he lay, dying a rat's death in a pool of vitriol. Thorbecke, outcast of the Seven Seas, had done the same. Now his hands pointed in mute surrender at the cobalt heaven of this island of pearls. Only Herrick was left to defend the girl against this man who thought he was God. Herrick! Uni- versity man turned beach-comber. The madman's gun lifted again, cocked. The girl saw his eyes, the eyes of a devil. The gun leveled . . . the shot rang out to shatter the somnolent quiet of the island . . . forever.
Had the madman won ? Had Huish's pitiful little life been tossed on the lap of the gods in vain? Had Thorbecke brought them through the fury of the hurricane for this?
Was Herrick to lose his one last chance to prove himself a man? Was this beautiful white girl to descend into the pit of a madman's private hell forever?
The South Seas , . . Robert Louis Stevenson's South Seas, with all their haunting beauty . . . with all their primitive, soul-searing adventure . . . with all the vicious fury of their mighty ship-de- stroying typhoons . . . now at last brought to the screen as Stevenson himself saw them in this greatest of all adventure-pic- tures, produced in natural color . . . Another thundering triumph for the company which gave you the first natural color adventure- picture, "The Trail of the Lonesome Pine" . . . PARAMOUNT!
7
Let June Lang lielp choose your frocks for dining and dancing
For that dinner date, a sheer black wool with dainty vestee of mous- seline de soie, is lune Lang's choice. When she's in a mood to dance the hours away, however, she wears this youthful waltz frock of iridescent moire taffeta.
BY ANM WILLS
GOING TO
RTY?
so YOU'RE going to a party? Oh, excuse us ! Not a party, but several ? And you want to know what to wear for each ? Then take a few tips from June Lang, one of Hollywood's most popular gay young things "who, even though she's a glamor girl, loves parties and party frocks just as you and I.
Now that winter is close upon us, we must turn our backs on the easy informality of summer and early fall, and really get down to cases on what we're going to be wearing on formal occasions this season. Now, when I say "formal," I don't necessarily mean evening gowns alone, though I know that's what you want to hear about. We'll get to that fascinating subject before we're through, don't worry.
But first, just cast an eye on June's black wool crepe, which she has donned for her tea date and which she is going to wear to dinner later on. The perennially smart black and white ensemble achieves new distinc-
tion in this two-piece frock with the tufting of the hip pockets echoing the softness of the ruffled mousseline de soie vestee. A huge clip of rhine- stones at the throat adds a touch of glitter to the black and white sim- phcity of this costume. A perky, bowed cone-turban, black patent tie- pumps and black accessories comple- ment the ensemble.
June, as you know, has been called the "Modern Venus" of Hollywood, and her figure has been described by artists as the most perfect in the film colony. And if she doesn't achieve the much-desired form divine in this frock, then we've never seen one ! Her sleeves are but slightly pufTed at the shoulder and the pencil-slim line of her skirt descends in a straight, slender silhouette all the way down from the slight fullness at the waist. She plans to vary this versatile frock by the simple expedient of changing the color and style of the vestee. It will be feminine and dressy with ruffled inserts of delicate shell pink or
pale yellow, trim and tailored with severe, high-necked white pique, dash- ing and sporty with dickies of bright- ly colored suede.
With the latter, she will wear a saucy little calot of matching suede or felt. This youthful hat style, so be- coming to almost any coiffure, is very popular among the starlets. Betty Grable and Eleanore Whitney are planning at least one felt or suede skull cap with each and every outfit, and it amuses them to see how many different clips, flowers or feather or- naments they can assemble for each cap ! And Constance Bennett, that arbiter of fashion, is acquiring an ex- tensive collection of these pert little headpieces, which make themselves at home on any occasion.
A smart, simple dark dress like this one of June's is invaluable to the girl who has an active social life but a limited clothes allowance. For it is adaptable for all daytime and infor- mal evening wear from luncheon in town to that {Continued on page 81)
MODERN SCREEN
THF IVrO.ST EXriTINO firPEElV KVENT OF ALL TIME!
The favorite play of America is
THE SCREEN HIT OF THE YEAR!
A year of preparation — 3 months be- fore the cameras — production costs breaking al! studio records — and now the-love-and-laughter show that en- thralled New York and London stage audiences for two seasons is ready to flash its glories on the nation's screens.
'Tonight s our ni^ht — then- may never
hi- a lomorrow
supported by a hu§e cast of famous stars including
BASIL RATHBONE ^ ANITA LOUISE ^
MELVILLE COOPER • ISABEL JEANS
MORRIS CARNOVSKY • VICTOR KILIAN . Directed by Anatole Litvak • Screen play by Casey Robinson * Adapted from the play by Jacques Deval • English Version by Robert E. Sherwood • Music by Max Stetner • A Warner Bros. Picture
BY LEO TOWNSEND
stage Door
Edna Ferber stage ^nsmal. '
veSon ustr almost s film ^ u jc^ a fast-movmg, The result IS a tas ^^^^
First Lady^
is the story
and Katharme Da^^W ^.^^ ^^^o^ter Walter Connolly, Ver a cast that does ] Preston tester , ^-ar^orie i^aic
l^=^°tts to work with a vengeance jeopardizes her
Logan.-
— ^^"-^^ ^Pf fi^^Fortunately
> '"^^ .' , whimsical tarce. , ^tments.
As « iffttei o< '»Seh .lio»'<l »'» ,30 0110,000.
,ogram F«>n^ t.^ek driver m t ^ $25, u
,'absent-mimnded
More Reviews on Page 108
grandma, Hugh Herbert
BlondeU's
IVai-ner
MODERN SCREEN
BOY MAKES GIRL MAKE FOOL OF
NEW YORK
CAROLE FREDRIC
LOMBARD - MARCH
In SELZNICK INTERNATIONAL'S Sensational TECHNICOLOR Comedy
NOTHING SACRED
WITH
CHARLES WINNINGER • WALTER CONNOLLY
by the producer and director of "A Star is Born" DAVID O. SELZNICK and WILLIAM A. WELL MAN
Screen play by BEN BECDT • Released thru VNITEO AltTISTS
11
Brinpi Bp Berk was tore than a man-sizeil jol, so :'iis:;ioier took it over
BY MUCK HDGHES
Here is Milton with Harriet Hilliard, the de-lovely who supplied the ro- mantic interest in "New Faces." Her top notes were good and blue, too, if you remember.
Milton Berle made a test for one movie company and was signed on it by another. His first picture, "New Faces," set him cinematically.
MANAGING MILTON, as you may imagine, has been no fool's job ! In fact, it's been one person's life work. And it is one Sarah Berlenger (Berle these days) who has taken on the task, and very successfully, we might add.
It all began, Mr. B confesses, with his mother's illness. "You see, I was born in the hospital. Mom was there at the time, and I wanted to be near her." But seriously, it is impossible to keep Milton's mother out of his story for, she is his story.
Preceding the advent of young Milton, his mother worked in various New York department stores as a detective, thereby acquiring "eyes in the back of her head." All the better to later watch her youngster get the right breaks in his chosen profession — the theatre.
"My mother and I are inseparable," Milton explained. "You see, Mom has looked after and plugged for me all my life and deserves the credit for my success. Her real name is Sarah, I call her Queenie, but — and how do ya like it — she wants to be known as Sandra ! Honest ! As far back as when I was a punk kid too young to go to school, I wanted to act. I used to stand in front of the
mirror making faces and when Uncle Moe would try to stop me, Mom would say, 'Let him alone. He wants to learn making funny faces.' "
It seems that Mrs. B. had her own thwarted ambitions, insofar as the footlights went, and resolved that little Milton wouldn't suffer the same fate. And so, she aided and abetted him. She was pleased one afternoon to learn that her son had, in his own ingenious way, embarked on a career.
Milton, it seems, had borrowed pants, coat and derby from his father's wardrobe. A fur muff of Mom's sup- plied the makings of a mustache and a little paste secured it in place. Unknown to Uncle Moe, his cane and shoes were pressed into service by our hero and he shufBed ofif to enlighten the neighbors as to how Charlie Chaplin did his stufif. By chance a theatre manager was passing and asked to see Milton's mother. (Continued on page 100)
MODERN SCREEN
Not since the days of Chaplin ./and Harold Lloyd has so much money,talent and creative effort been devoted to pure comedy — zestfully spiced with music, youthful
BILLY HOUSE
mSCHR. AUER
JtMIVIY SAVO
BERT LAKR
allure and romance
THE 4 HORSEMEN OF HILARITY
THE NEW UNIVERSAL presents
ERRY-GO
A TEN-STAR FUN FROLIC
with BERT LAHR • JIMMY SAVO • BILLY HOUSE ALICE BRADY • MISCHA AUER • JOY HODGES LOUISE FAZENDA • JOHN KING • BARBARA READ • DAVE APOLLON and His Orchestra
Screenplay by Monte Brlce and A. Dorian Otvot
Directed by Irving Cummmgs Original story by Monte Brice and Henry Myers
Produced by B. G. DeSYLVA
CHARLES R.ROGERS
Executive Vice-President in Charge of Production
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MODERN SCREEN
More goes on than tennis playing at the Beverly Hills Tennis Club, it would seem. Here we have Virginia Bruce and Johnny Green trying out "TheBigApple."
around, proceeded to help himseli. We still don't know whether or not Tony got his shirts.
Out on the "Bad Man of Brimstone" set, Joseph Calleia told us about the best advice he's ever had. It was from his brother, at the time Joe began his career. Said Brother : "If you get bad criticisms of your work, don't pay any attention to them. And if you get good criticisms, for Gosh sakes, don't pay any attention to them either."
Speaking of reading notices, Frances Farmer must have started a scrapbook when
Carole Lombard and Tommy Kelly, the little boy from the Bronx who is making good in big way, sit them- selves down on the steps of Carole's dress- ing bungalow for a heart-to-heart chat.
Our Number One spy spent all last week disguised as the Trocadero and reports the following information on the Errol Flynn-Lili Damita marital status : Mon- day— Damita drops vase in midair and an- nounces reconciliation ; Tuesday — Flynn announces plans to swim to Cape Horn, carrying needed supplies, but not Damita, in his teeth ; Wednesday — Flynn and Da- mita announce plans for new home in Bel-Air; Thursday — Bel-Air denies all; Friday — Flynn and Damita seen holding hands in Hollywood nitery ; Saturday— Flynn and Damita seen clutching throats in Hollywood nitery; Sunday — Flynn and Damita leave for three weeks at Logger- heads, their mountain hideaway.
Hollywood Tragedy: Less than two years ago, Martha Raye was just a nice kid who could sing and clown around, and loved to do both. She had night club jobs which didn't pay her much, but she was having a swell time. Today she is one of the biggest box-office sensations in the country, and her weekly income runs close to two thousand dollars per week. But she's not having much fun any more. Like many who get lamous in a hurry, she's having her troubles; family, relatives, lawsuits and everything. So the girl who used to sing for her supper now gels two thousand a week and cries herself to sleep every night.
16
Have you heard about Shirley Temple's Good Will Club ? Everyone who belongs gets a badge resembling a policeman's shield. A Hollywood writer who has one was recently arrested in Mexico for speed- ing and tossed into the local bastille. He suddenly thought of the Good Will badge and whipped it out on the jailer, who was terribly impressed. He gave our friend a nicer cell.
Tony Martin dropped into a Beverly Hills shop the other day to buy some shirts. The place looked deserted, but he finally spied a man bending over a shelf behind one of the counters. "Hey," said Tony. "How about some service?" "Right away, sir," replied the gent, coming to attention. It was Don Ameche, who had gone into the shop a few minutes before, and finding no one
Paulette God- dard. Modern Screen pre- dicts, will get the much-cov- eted role of Scarlett O ' Hara in "Gone with the Wind." Now, don't contradict, we know!
MODERN SCREEN
the critics lauded her in "Come and Gel It," her first big picture. Frances believed all the nice things they said about her, almost immediately assumed the role of a haughty star and entirely forgot the fact that she owed everything to a lucky break. So when critics panned her work in "Toast of New York," she couldn't understand their attitude. Finally it dawned on her that possibly she hadn't yet reached the stature of a Duse or a Bernhardt, so she set about to make re- pairs. She spent two months doing stock in the East, and now she's back in town a chastened gal. Or at least until her next big hit.
Embarrassing Moments Dept. : At the re- cent tennis matches, Clark Gable and Carole Lombard occupied one of the cen- ter boxes. Guess who had the box right next to theirs. It was Rhea Gable, and it can be reported that occupants of both boxes appeared intently interested in watching the tennis court.
Since the Orsatli-Lang break-up. the groom has been dividing his time between Virginia Field and Eleanore Whitney. The bride has been more consistent. She has devoted her time almost exclusively to Morrie Morrison, wealthy young local sportsman. On a good evening you can see Vic and Virginia at a table for two and June and Morrie holding hands at the same night spot. Incidentally. Morrie's hand is worth holding, for at the drop of a hat he can put it on two or three million bucks of his own money.
Here's a Hollywood arithmetic problem that's hard to figure out. Marlene Diet- rich draws down something like two hun- dred and fifty thousand dollars for mak- ing a picture, and her pictures seldom show a profit. Universal's "100 Men and a Girl" will make well over a million dollars, and its star, Deanna Durbin, receives two hun- dred and fifty dollars per week. How about dividing up some of the loot, Mar- lene?
(Continued on page 69)
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17
THAT GIRL'S HERE AGAIN!
IT'S THIS way," said the producer. "You've got the looks, Joan, but you can't dance !"
"Humph!" said Joan Fontaine and rumpled her bright hair and squinted those perfectly good hazel eyes of hers. "I thought Fred Astaire was to dance alone in 'Damsel In Dis- tress.' "
"You've been reading the papers again," said the producer. "Fred is going to do a number or two with the girl selected to be his leading lady. So-ooo . . ."
"So I'll be back!" said Joan. That should have warned him, but producers are seldom warned. He went right on searching for a new partner for Astaire.
Then one fine morning the producer's secretary an- nounced in no uncertain terms, "She's back." And there was Joan in a practice outfit going into her dance on his bearskin rug. Doing a symphonic tap that was tops almost on the animal's head. It was too much for the gentleman. He ordered a test made, few explanations.
Joan chortled. "That's easy. I've been taking lessons during my noon hour and at night. Then I went to the dance director here at the studio and I've been working out with him." P.S. She got the part.
Until she was two years old, Joan was so ill they had to keep her wrapped in cotton wadding. Then, at three, Stanford University professors gave her the Terman Intelligence Test and rated her ten points higher than a genius. That's Joan Fontaine for you.
She is nineteen now — and beautiful. However, it's the flame of her you see first. There is something so young and eager and fearless about her, it's almost tangible. Once, on the way to Tokio, the ship she was on struck a typhoon. Instead of huddling in the main cabin with the other passengers, Joan strapped herself to a post on deck with her belt and watched in a fervor of excitement.
She was born in Japan — October 22, 1917, in the In- ternational Settlement in Tokio, the second daughter of an attractive young British couple. The elder daughter, aged three and afTectionately known as "Ollie," asked Nikko for a baby sister. And Nikko, of course, could draw them from the sky. He was the estimable Oriental who divined your fortune in the sand for one yen and whose wisdom often startled even the older members of
She gets what she goes after, does our Joan, because she won't take "No" for an answer.
BY VIRGINIA T. L II N E
He ordered a
the interested community.
The first time he caught sight of Joan, he made an obeisance that swept the ground. His Nipponese calm crumpled surprisingly. "She will be great, this one. Among the famed of the earth," he said excitedly. But the mother only laughed gently. "You said that about our first baby !"
"That is well," Nikko nodded, unperturbed. "You are blessed."
She felt pretty much that way about it herself, even though the baby was so frail and strangely quiet. Finally the doctors gave their de- cision. If Joan were to live at all, she would have to live on the mainland. In America. Without further to-do the family left for San Francisco and settled in a small town near it, sprawling in a sunny valley, a town ready-made for healthy, robust kids. Ollie was one of them from the first. But not her sister.
It was enough to give anyone a man-sized in- feriority complex. But it made Joan want to fight. She had to show them, she had to travel under her own steam without help from anyone. It became the ruling obsession of her life and it explains much that happened later.
"Joanie, stop ! You'll kill yourself !" Terrified screams from the neighbors. But she paid no attention. She had never ridden a bicycle before. Now she was on Ollie's, coasting down the steepest hill in town. Loving it. By a miracle, coming to a safe stop five blocks away.
"Joanie, if anything had happened to you I would have died, too." Ollie's dark little head was against the golden one. They clung to each other. Sensitive, sweet kids. Worlds apart in temperament, closer than two little peas in a pod in devotion.
THE NIGHT they learned their parents were getting a divorce, they cried in one another's arms for hours. Then Joan suddenly turned and thumped her pillow. "Up," she said on a last half sob. It was a by- word between them. You had to keep your chin up no matter what happened.
After it was all over, Meg, as they adoringly called their mother, and the two girls drew more together than ever. Meg always was interested in the theatre and she had drilled them in Shakespeare {Continued on page 97)
Meet Joan Fontaine -Olivia DeHavilland's determined kid sister
18
A MARVELOUS NEW FORM OF CAKE MASCARA
Peep into the end
"yl hole in the center of ike calce" of the sparkling metal case.
See the round mascara cake hidden inside? And see the round hole that runs lengthwise through the cake? Well . . . you whisk the brush 'round inside this hole, and then proceed on your lashes in the regular way. Then is when you get your second surprise! Instantly, you make the thrilling discovery that this new style round brush goes between your lashes and colors them evenly all over instead of just on their
bottom side. What a difference this makes! Lashes look more luxuriant ...eyes look lovelier than ever before. And what a mascara this is! Newly smooth in texture. Oh! so smooth, and so quick to dry. Dries almost at once. Truly tear-proof, and actually curls the lashes. Non- smarting, and perfectly harmless of course. Then think! When you are all through making up your eyes, your Modern Eyes case is just as clean and neat as the day you purchased it. Black . . Brown . . Blue.
Tffoi^e^uu^ wdiv "MODERN EYES".. .250 AT ALL LEADING TEN CENT STORES
Mrs. Whitney's guests climb aboard . . . light up Camels. . . . With a "Hard alee!" Mrs. Whitney puts the helm over . . . heads out to sea.
The Whi tneys will be sailing in southern waters soon
SOCIETY EDITOR
MRS. HOWARD F. WHITNEY told me, the other day, that they hope to do some sailing in the South this winter. The Whitneys had a lovely summer on Long Island — and on the Sound. Mrs. Whitney is a skillful yachtswoman and handles a racing class boat like an expert Their converted New York 40, the Chinook, is a very "shippy" boat.
Mrs. Whitney will be remembered as the former Hope Richardson. Her wedding was an outstanding social event. I recall how enchanting Mrs. Whitney looked as a bride, in a gown of white satin with a yoke of net embroidered in tiny pearls, and her tulle veil held in place by a bandeau of orange blossoms. This year Mrs. Whitney's committee work had much to do with the success of the colorful Greentree Fair at Manhasset. During the summer she got in a lot of ten- nis, riding, and — as always — sailing and cruising.
Hope's enthusiasm for the ener- getic life is proverbial among her friends. "Don't you ever get tired?" I asked. "Of course," she laughed. "After a long trick at the helm, or any time I feel worn out, I refresh myself with a Camel — and get a 'lift'! I can smoke Camels steadily, without the slightest feeling of harshness on my throat." Which shows how mild Camels are! It's true that women find the costlier tobaccos in Camel's matchless blend more enjoyable.
(above) Mrs. Howard F. Whitney, of Roslyn, Long Island, at the helm of the Chinook. "lvalue healthy nerves," she says. "So I smoke Camels. They don't jangle my nerves!"
Camels are a matchless blend of finer, MORE EXPENSIVE TOBACCOS ...Turkish and Domestic
TVRHISII& DOMESTIC
BI^BNO ^ CUiARETTK.S
A^.h 2"d, Bo ,
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WITH A CAMEL
Fun-making Eddie Cantor and hit-maicing 20th Century- Fox now go to town togetherj -/fm/ cfsa C^i^titotH^u^ ^a^i^y/
CANTOR
WITH ALL THESE MERRY-MAKING ENTERTAINERS
TONY MARTIN • ROLAND YOUNG JUNE LANG • LOUISE HOVICK
JOHN CARRADiNE DOUGLAS DUMBRIUE VIRGINIA FIELD RAYMOND SCOTT QUINTET ALAN DINEHART PETERS SISTERS • JENI LE GON
Directed by David Butler • Associate Producer Laurence Schwab Screen Ploy by Horry Tugend and Jack Yellen • Based on' a story by Gene Towne, Grohom Baker and Gene Fowler
1001 SIGHTS!
1002 LAUGHS!
. . a% Eddie turns Bagdad in- to gag-dad and streamlines the Sultan's swingdom!
Hundreds of dancing horam dorilngt! (Wfioopsiecfoops/)
About a million wild-riding Arab horsemen (d// aft«r Eddie!)
The Raymond ScoH Quintet {putting the heat in swing .')
Countless kisses under the desert moon (at Tony sings to June!)
1938- model Magic Corpets {with Hoating power!)
A hundred or so other hi- de-highlights!
Gorgeous, spectaculor, tune- ful, surpriseful Cantortoin- ment!
Yes! You've got something here!
Si W
Sin
^^,T CANTOR
lorooh
Oarryl F. Zonuck
in Charge o* Prodwcdor
23
PR9DRIC
Freddie looks pretty serious here, but he shouldn't. Not after romping through "Nothing Sacred," with Carole Lombard for a playmate. Mr. M. is one of the most popular men in — and out of — pictures.
KHTHRRine
HePBURR
Oh, my! And doesn't our Kate look too hoity-toity! But never mind, she's still the same madcap she al- ways was, and this is all in the spirit of good clean "drah- ma." Don't tell us she isn't having fun!
SHE LOOKS like a dream on the loose. Her private life sounds as though she is the last of the Cinderellas. But when she talks to you, the vibrant flesh-and-blood woman who is the acclaimed Madeleine Carroll pops out from behind the glamor legend. You learn, then, of her errors, and it's a woman's mistakes and how she manages to overcome them that tell her true story after all.
I found that the reason we've never heard of the mis- takes of Madeleine is simply because no one ever asked her about the dilemmas she's had to face down. She's never made the mistake of whining, so no one realized that she, too, has had troubled hours. Both professionally and romantically she's scored such bulls-eyes. She was Britain's reigning screen star when she came to Holly- wood. Triumphantly she's combined her career with an exciting brand of matrimony. She even has extraordinary beauty and youth to boot. But all because of her mistakes and how she conquered them !
It was at the Brown Derby that I ran into her. She was lingering over a demi-tasse in one of the little booths against the wall. She'd chosen an afternoon dress of clinging black, green beads for a clash of color, and an absurdly feminine, wide-brimmed hat.
"Do join us and sit down on this side!" she called gayly. "With this hat on I can't see a thing on my right."
Beside her was Captain PhiHp Astley, her wealthy, fas- cinating husband. Then there were two studio girls who were spiritedly explaining why she should come to their respective studios on the morrow for portraits. Captain Astley was speaking on the telephone that had been whisked up. He handed it to Madeleine and she gesticu- lated frantically, "Who is it?" Before he could reply she
BY BENJAMIN M i B B 0 X
was saying "Hello" in a composed tone. Then she listened simultaneously to his "It's the shop about that new lug- gage" and went on talking to the distant voice. She's quick like that.
She uses only lipstick for personal make-up. Her gray eyes don't have to be framed in mascara. It's her contagious sense of humor that is the surprising thing about her, though. She is quality with a kick, a cosmo- politan citizen of the world who admits that she'd laugh out loud if she ever caught herself behaving pompously.
Shortly the captain had to dash to a business appoint- ment. "I'll see you later, darling," he told his wife.
"You'd better have tea and a snack," she thereupon vowed. "I can't eat a thing, for I've just been to an elegant luncheon and last night Myrna Loy entertained for us. There is a connoisseur of fine food !" She sighed appreciatively. She isn't one of those actresses who exist on a perpetual diet, yet she illustrated that she's wise enough not to go on an eating jag.
"You have so much," I said then. "You were an over- night hit and then you fell in love with a story-book fellow. He presented you with a swanky flat in Mayfair, a country castle outside of London, and that villa on an estate in Italy where you were married with all the peasants crowd- ing around your private chapel. You're too perfect. Didn't you ever make any mistakes?"
She smiled. "Oh, yes indeed !"
"What were they?"
She picked up her gloves and began counting the fingers. "The major oiies might be under ten. But at the time, when I was completely confused by what had hapoened, believe me they loomed Uke (Conttnued on pacre 75)
27
LAUGHING THE 1VH0LE
BY IDA Z E I T L I N
DICK POWELL and Joan Blondell settled themselves on the divan.
"What side of our life would you like to know?" asked Joan politely. "The rectangular lefthand corner?"
Dick interrupted. "You gave that away last week. To the little guy with the purple whiskers, who walked back- wards. Remember?"
"So I did. Well, what have we got left?"
"How about that wedge at the side, painted green, with ramblers and ants creeping over it?"
"I thought we were keeping that for our old age." She gave him a bright smile, and her voice was edged with sweetness. "Look in your little book, darling. Maybe you've got it all written down there. You see," she went on to explain, "he's supposed to have the memory in this family. I used to follow him around wide-eyed, watching him remember things. Then I noticed a little book that kept slipping in and out of his pocket. So one day I stole it, just in a spirit of scientific investigation, you under- stand, and discovered the worst. My husband's memory was all in his book."
"Jot-it-down-or-it's-gone-with-the-wind Powell. That's what they used to call me in school," Dick informed me pleasantly.
Whether this was spontaneous combustion or just the effect of each on the other, I couldn't tell. Asking them throws no light on the subject.
"Dick's the cheerer-upper," says Joan. "I plunge into the depths of despair, prepared to spend the rest of my life there. He hooks me out."
"I'm the Grade A worrier," says Dick. "Or was, until this woman came into my life. They wouldn't give me better than a C now."
So toss up a coin, and take your choice. Not that it matters. The effect's too pleasant to bother about the cause.
JOAN AND Dick have plenty to laugh about. They're young. They're prosperous. They're in love. They have a baby in the house who would dissipate gloom from the face of Hamlet himself. On the other hand, they've also had their share of thorns in the flesh, more than their share, you're sometimes tempted to think, when you re- member that the ways of publicity denied them even a honeymoon in peace.
It was when the New York newspapers decided to make a Roman holiday of their wedding trip that Joan and Dick sought deliberate refuge in laughter. Before that, they'd laughed for the fun of it. Through that period of nerve- strain, they learned to laugh so that Joan wouldn't weep, and Dick wouldn't clench his fists to keep from socking people.
Why did they go to New York at all, you may ask, if they wanted peace? They should have known better. Not at all. On previous visits, each had been allowed to go his way unmolested. Why should it occur to them that, because they were going together as man and wife life would be made a burden to them. Thev took the
contrary for granted. That because it was a honeymoon, their privacy would be respected like that of any other newlywedded pair. They , laugh at their naivete now. Which is one up for them. The whole thing might have made them bitter.
"I wanted to go to New York," says Joan, "because it was my home town. I'd spent so many years there, with hardly one dime to rub against another. I'd been back just once since I'd made any money, for a week of personal appearances, and five shows a day didn't leave me much time for gadding. I thought it would be fun to drag Dick 'round to the places I'd known as a kid, and see plays from the orchestra instead of the gallery, and go really shopping instead of just window-shopping. Besides, my sister Gloria was rehearsing for a play. We wanted to attend the opening." She laughed briefly. "I still think all those things would have been fun. But I'll never know. Because they were just the things we didn't do."
Dick didn't care where he went, so long as Joan went with him. They knew they'd have to meet the ships' news reporters. They were prepared to attend a party for the press. The rest of the time would be their own.
On the morning of their arrival, the reporters clambered aboard at six-thirty. The Powells were ready for them. They'd had a happy trip. They'd be good sports about this. It would soon be over. "It's no more fun for them than for us," they told each other, and went out on deck.
MAYBE BECAUSE it wasn't fun for the reporters, they decided to inject their own brand of fun into it. Maybe news was slack, and they had to build up the story. At best, newlyweds are in a spot, even when they quietly board a train, even when they enter a hotel unattended, praying that no one will recognize them for what they are. It took humor and dignity to face the barrage that waited for Joan and Dick.
They fired questions, regardless. They clamored for leg art and, when Joan refused, they pretended not to hear her. The Powells remained patient throughout. They knew their press, and how easily its feelings are hurt. They clung to the thought that this would soon be over.
Suddenly, such a fearful din arose as drowned out even the noise on deck. Tugboats {Continued on page 101)
Nothing is as bad as it seems if you can take it witli a grin
28
Joan Blondell — who Is IMck PoweU— whoisiiot Mrs. Dick PowelL T^- Jocm Blonde
Norman Barnes with The Dick Powdte, look- Ids famous mother, in' elegant, dine out.
SINGING
Allan Jones practiced scales to the
BY FAITH SERVICE
THE CUSTOMARY crowd of fans stood outside the Four Star Theatre here in Hollywood the night "Firefly" was premiered and a new star was born. They stood on soap boxes, on camp stools brought from home. They shinnied up each others' backs, they crawled on each- others' shoulders, the better to see the stars, my dear. They elbowed, shoved, jostled, waved autograph albums, made personal remarks such as one does about the sup- posedly non-comprehending animals in the Zoo. Voices hissed, whispered, rose to shrill splinters of screams.
"Boyohboyohboy, there's Joan Crawford, ain't she sumpin'. There's Loretta Young with Tyrone Power, thought he was goin' with Janet Gaynor now. Look, there's Warren William, he's in the pitcher, too. Say, Where's Jeanette? Aw, she's on her honeymoon, don't you know anything? Say, is that Garbo or is it Shirley Temple?" So it went. And no one paid much heed to a quiet young man who went in with Irene Hervey on his arm. There were murmurs of, "Say, there's Irene Her- vey. ■ Who's she with ? Oh, yeah, he was in 'A Day At The Races,' huh?" That was all.
Then the preview was over. The fans, more patient and persistent than the seven-day mara- thon dancers, still seethed and shoved. By the mysterious agency which seems to vibrate in the air waves and announce, without words, the rising of a new star, the word had passed. It was on the lips of the preview audience as they came out. It was on the elated faces of Pro- ducer Hunt Stromberg, Director Robert Leonard. It was in the congratulatory handshakes of his fellow players. For the quiet, almost unnoticed young man
STOIC
beat of a coal miner's pick!
named Allan Jones would be quiet nevermore, would never again go unnoticed. Allan Jones came out of that theatre, figuratively if not literally, carried on the shoulders of his peers, besieged by the very fans who had passed him by as he went in, hosannaed by the audience who had applauded his songs to the last echo, cheered him in his final fade-out.
"Jeeze," bleated one of the crowd, one of the chroni- cally envious for whom fame is always something to be envied, never to be earned, "jeeze, how's that for easy does it? One pitcher and the guy's in the Big Time. Jeeze!"
"Easy does it?" Ah, no, my friend.
Daniel Jones, father of Allan (an only child), was a slate picker in the coal mines of Pennsylvania when he was eight years old. His people had pulled the hardy fibres of their family tree out of the soil of Wales and trans- planted the lusty shrub to the Land of Promise, America, Scranton, Pa. In Scranton, on October fourteenth, Allan was born.
Allan was four when Daniel realized that, a miner with neither stocks, bonds, annuities nor social position to be- queath his son, he had yet provided him with an "inherited income." For Daniel's fine tenor voice was born again in his son. "The Welsh," Allan told me, "are like the Italians in one thing, they sing as naturally as they breathe. They sing at their work and at their play. My father sang with coal dust in his lungs, down in the bowels of the earth. I sang, too. I sang before I could talk. I sang at my play. I sang while I ate.
It took "The Firefly" to make movie moguls and fans realize what a gem they had in Allan Jones. Above, Allan with his wife, Irene Hervey, and her little girl, Gail.
And when I was four I sang my first song in public. I stood up in church and gave them 'AH Through the Night.' "
When he was eight, young Allan had a regular church position, as boy soloist of St. Luke's Episcopal Church in Scranton. He took lessons from a local teacher twice a week. He took a few piano lessons when the family ex- chequer allowed. And wise in the way the sons of work- ingmen are wise, he knew that a voice was not enough; that he could sing in the mines as his father before him for the rest of his life but that if he would sing in opera as men like Caruso, Scotti, Rubini had done, training would have to be superimposed on nature. And training meant money. And money, in young Allan's language, was something you earned. And so he did. The "easy does it" of Allan Jones is the sweat of his body, the strain of his heart and muscles, rigorous deprivations, strenuous labors, almost all work and no play.
At the age of eleven he was working in Silverberg's Clothing Store in Scranton, delivering suits. He worked, after school, from three-thirty in the afternoons to "any old time at night." He earned ten dollars a week and trolley tickets. Even at that (Continued on page 89)
31
LETTER FROM
I'M WRITING this letter to everybody who reads it. I'm not really writing it with a pencil. I'm saying it, and the lady is putting it down. That's how my daddy and Mr. Zanuck and other gentlemen do when they have an office. I have no office, but I like it anyway. When you write, it takes longer, and the spelling isn't so good, but when you talk, the words just come out and the lady spells them.
I'm eight years old and my name is Shirley Temple, and I play in pictures for Mr. Zanuck at the studio. It's a nice studio, because everybody laughs and makes jokes with me. I like jokes.
I have a little house there and Mr. Revel has the house next door. Mr. Revel writes songs with Mr. Gordon and he plays with me. He puts a lampshade on his head, and he holds an electric light in his hand, and then I hide, and he makes believe he's a lamp and he's looking for me. My goodness, how I laugh! Because it's funny to see a lamp with a coat on, walking up and down.
HE SINGS rounds with me, too. Do you know rounds? You start, and then somebody else starts, and you're all singing different things at the same time, but you mustn't miss. There's one round, "Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream, merrily, mer- rily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream." Mr. Revel never misses, but sometimes he says, "We'll have to stop this boat, I'm getting seasick." Of course, there isn't any boat at all, so he couldn't get seasick. He just likes to pretend, so then I make believe I'm sorry for him, not to hurt his feelings.
Mr. Revel knows how to swing music. First I play "Silent Night" on the piano, then he swings it for me. I
take piano lessons from Miss Chaudet, but I don't think I'll ever play as good — I mean, as well — as Mr. Revel. When I know my lesson, I get a gold star, and when I have ten gold stars, I get a little statue of Wagner or Liszt. Pretty soon I'll have a whole list of them. That's a joke.
Would you like me to tell you another joke? Then you can tell it to somebody else. You say to them, "Spell two kinds of two," and they spell it. Then you say, "Spell the name of the man who wrote 'Tom Sawyer,' " and they spell it. Then you say, "Now say all those words," and they say, "Two two twain," as if they were a baby and didn't know how to pronounce choo choo train. Then you say, "When you grow up, I'll teach you how to say locomotive." It's funny, because they're mostly grown up already.
DO YOU know what a deadpan is ? It's trying not to laugh when somebody tells you a joke. My daddy and I practiced it one day, and the next day somebody told me a joke. This is it. A girl who never saw a cow before saw one, and she said, "What are those things on his head?" And they said, "Horns." Well, pretty soon the cow mooed, and the girl said, "Which horn did it blow ?" I wanted to laugh, but I didn't. I made my face straight, like Daddy showed me. The poor man looked so sad. He said. "Well, I thought it was funny, but I guess I'm wrong." Plis face kept looking more and more disappointed, so finally I couldn't stand it, and I told him about deadpans.
Besides jokes, I like the radio. I like "Lone Star Ranger" and "Little Orphan Annie" and "Buck Benny Rides Again." I just like them, I guess. I couldn't tell you why. Oh, and I like Ben Sweetland verv much. He's nice. I'm going to write a letter and rec- ommend him, he does such a lot of good in this world. I liked the Russian flyers, too. They're not radio, they're just flyers from Russia over the North Pole. I talked English and they talked Russian and we didn't understand each other, but we all laughed. One of them had such white teeth when he laughed.
Besides radio, I love animals. In "Heidi" I had to milk a goat. Heidi is a little girl who lives in Switzer- land with her grandfather, and she takes care of goats. I never milked
SHIRLEY
B Y
IDA Z E I T L I N
Life is just one big joke after another to Shirley, so she seldom, gets mad. But when she does, she does it in Chinese! You'll be seeing her in "Heidi."
a goat before. It wasn't quite easy, but finally I got some, and I had to laugh, because it came squirting out all over my hands, and the goat looked surprised. I wiped them off, and did it over again, because I was Heidi, you see, and Heidi wouldn't get it all over her hands.
There was something else I never did before, and that was yodeling. In the story Heidi goes for a drink of water, and she sees a man with a feather in his hat and he yodels, so she yodels, too. I tried to make it sound like the man with the feather, be- cause he yodeled some- thing beautiful, but it sounded pretty different, I can tell you. Well, any- way, Heidi wasn't experienced in yodeling, so I guess maybe it doesn't matter so much.
Oh, and there was the sweetest baby goat, his eyes were so blue. He was only four days old, just imagine that. Four days before he wasn't even born yet, and now he was working. He was Heidi's pet, and I had to hold him in my arms so he'd get used to me and wouldn't be frightened. I loved to hold him, he was so sweet and soft. And you know what? He got to like me. Really he did. Wasn't that wonderful? But, shucks, I guess the director didn't think so, be- cause after a while he was supposed to run away from
me, and he wouldn't run, he wanted to stay with me. So they had to get another one. I'm glad I didn't see him to say goodbye, because I might have cried.
I don't cry very much, just once in a while, like when Ching was run over. Ching is my dog, but they saved his life in the hospital, and he's fine now, thank you. He comes to the studio with me every day. Any- how, I hope that little baby goat has a nice home, with plenty of grass.
Did you know some animals don't care so much for grass? F'rinstance, my rabbit, Blackie, eats pine needles. You'd think they'd (Continued on page 71)
Little Miss Teiple speaks her piece while the lady puts it down
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MONTGOMERY IN MELLOW MOOD
SAID BOB, "If I should tell you what I'm really like, you'd be bored to death. If you should write what I tell you, your readers would be bored to death."
I said, "I'll gamble on myself and on my readers. Tell me."
"I'm just a man who wants to improve himself on his job," said Bob gravely. "I'm an actor who wants to become a better actor. I'm a business man who hopes for promotion. Meaning, in my case, better stories. I am no different from the banker who studies economics in order to 'raise' himself, no different from the doctor who studies his glandular systems and bio-chemistry, experiments and observes with the ambition of bettering his technique, his knowledge of his subject. I'm an actor who wants to develop into a better actor. And works at it. All of the time."
Which statement didn't bore me. Nor surprise me, either. I have always known that Bob is not, really, the casual, wise-cracking smart young sophisticate he has for so long and so consistently appeared to be on the screen. For Bob is a crusader at heart. He is a breaker of lances. He can turn a nifty phrase with the best of the cocktail bar sophisticates. He can also spit forth iron indignations. He can flirt. He can also fight. He is J Y raw to any injustice, any wrongs of his people. He is, invariably if not always popularly, on the side of the . oppressed, the put-upon. Much as is Jimmy Cagney, one of his good friends. Together, they've waged many a battle.
Make no mistakes about Bob. If you have been mis- taken about him, let me help you rectify your misappre- hension. Bob has a slick patter, off the screen as well as on, true. He even seems a "tech" mad now and again. He is debonair and sleek and suave. He loves to play, occasionally. On the surface. But his mind is like one of those powerful, intricate motors concealed be- neath the streamlined, shining hood of a very expensive car. There is speed and a silken murmur. And you do not realize, at first, the power, the steel strength of the engine because of the "lines" and the paint job.
Bob wears a slick paint job. It's deceiving. The superficials are all gay and glib and in the mode modeme. But the powerful engine of the Montgomery brain, the hot strong motives of the Montgomery heart are all there. There is little of philosophy, psychology, matters politic or sociological, that Bob has not read and studied. He is Duco-ed with the drawing room manner. He might, superficially, seem to fit in with the Hemingways, the Noel Cowards, all the Bright Young People. But he can, also, hold his own with scientists, engineers, medical men, learned professors.
There is no family in the film colony more conserva- tive, more decorously mannered, less exhibitionistic than
the young Montgomerys. Unless it be the young Fred Astaires. There is a screen over the private life of the Montgomerys behind which neither public nor press ever peeks. Bob will not talk, for publication, about his wife or the babies. Their friends are the Chester Morrises, the Fred Astaires, the Fredric Marches, the Leslie Howards, others.
When they are at home on their farm in New York State, they live the quiet, unobtrusive lives of country gentlefolk. They ride to hounds. They go to football games. They wear old, tweedy clothes, sweaters a bit shapeless, ancient and honorable raccoon coats, walking boots. They sip a little sherry, dry, before dinner. The children go to Sunday school and are brought in, for dessert, after dinner.
Bob's interests, his real interests, are not vested in cocktail shakers, dizzy parties on the blue rim of Holly- wood swimming pools (as so many of his pictures would indicate), nor yet in wise-cracks. I have talked with Bob for an hour, two, three hours and not a wise- crack flips off his lips.
Bob's real interests are in heavy matters. Such as Guild shops for actors and writers, the promotion of better working con- ditions for every member of his pro- fession, beginning with extras. He advocates a home, a hospital, down Santa Monica way where the sea breezes blow, for indigent, ailing actors. He says, "The survivors of the well-known fittest should help the unfit to survive. This is the only humane law for all human beings."
He is interested in providing for old-timers in pictures, old-timers who want work and can't get it. He believes in keeping green (and well-fed) the memories of those who, in the past, have made us laugh and cry and forget. He would like, by publicity and persuasion, to build the loyalty of the American public for stars who have aged or faded.
He is against censorship of all kinds. And does things about it even though it might well be to his own interest to stop doing things about such things.
He cares about working hours for actors, the limita- tion of working hours. He would Hke to establish the fact that actors are not cans of soup nor automotive parts to be run through machines, neatly labelled and so ready for the ultimate consumer.
He believes that actors should be temperamental if their natures so dictate. "For the actor," said Bob, "should have temperament. It is what gives him phfft! It is the throb in the song. It is the color on the canvas. It is the stir in the blood. I would encourage tempera- ment if I had anything to say about it. I believe that Oscar Wilde once said that women only take lovers for the scenes they make. Well, if I were a producer I
CAROLINE S. HOYT
Man-about-town? Thai's what you think-but here's a surprising new slant on our fine friend Robert
would take actors for the off-scene scenes they make !"
He cares terribly about his work, does Bob Montgomery. He cares, not only and exclusively, about his own work, however, but he cares about the screen as a potent and powerful medium of ever bigger and better things.
He said, "There is no art form in the world today, neither stage, nor radio, nor literature, nor sculpture, which embraces the whole world and ever3d:hing in it as pictures do, or could do. For the screen can com- mand the earth and all of the arts and science, engineering, literature, great personalities, the past, the present, even the future are at the beck and call of the Great God Studio. I believe that we have been playing down to tile public.
"When we previewed 'Night Must Fair I asked that the first preview be shown at a little hick town here in California. A community of farmers, ranchers and their wives. The kind of people who cook a big family dinner, clear away, wash up, sigh and say, 'Let's go to the movies tonight.' They were the people who first saw 'Night Must Fall.' I was there with Dick Thorpe, the director. We were having the jitters. I said to Dick, 'This will decide it. We will know tonight whether we were right or wrong, whether we have suc- ceeded or failed.' And you could have heard a pin drop there in that crowded little theatre. And when they came out they came up to me, men and women I'd never seen be- fore and may never see again, and they shook hands with me and the words' they didn't say made me know that they had 'got' it, that we had succeeded. It proved what I have always contended, that people do not go to the movies with their minds. They go with their emotions. And emotions are all and basically the same, whether they live in the heart of an illiterate farm-hand or the heart of a polished cosmopolite {Continued on page 76}
Whcrt to do next? That's the problem Bob's trying to solve these days. So how will you have your Mont- gomery, gay and debonair or seri- ous and dramatic? He wants to know.
DIETRICH GOES LIGHT-HEARTED?
Tch, tch, perish the thought, shudders sultry Marlene, who would rather be mysterious than Duchess of Windsor! Well, why not?
38
BY JAMES R E I D
IT'S ALL very well to speak of Miss Dietrich's legs. They are very beautiful. And they haven't been a detriment to her. Maybe they've even helped her a little bit, but . . .
"So far, too many of Miss Dietrich's roles have been too much alike. Exotic manners, enchanting smiles, dreamy eyes, and — the legs.
"She has something else, something we are going to show in her next picture: a talent for comedy which the putjic knows little about."
So said Erilst Lubitsch, firing the first gun in the publicity campaign for "Angel," starring Marlene Dietrich, directed by Mr. Lubitsch.
And his statement, which was much broader than it was long, started something. A rumor that Marlene was going light-hearted. A suspicion that she was weary of being an Exotic Enigma, sultry in a sombre way, or, if you prefer, sombre in a sultry way.
If Marlene, who has gone to so much trouble to change her personality, is now going in for an un- expected change, it is news. News worthy of ex- planation. And if she isn't wearying of the Exotic Enigma business,, that, perhaps, is news.
Whichever is true, she should be willing to answer a few questions, to' establish the truth. Even if she doesn't have much use for interviews any more.
It is difficult sometimes, but I still can remember when she was not always thus.
I can remember when she was a contradiction of practically everything that she seems to be today.
I can remember when she first arrived from Ger- many, the new-found discovery of Director Josef von Sternberg, and Paramount gave a huge party to introduce her to the Press.
The Press was more impressed with the party than by the guest of honor.
She was pretty, in a round-faced, wide-eyed way. But wasn't she a bit — er — plump ? At least, the frills and ruffles that she wore gave that impression. If she had glamor, it was the glamor of youthful fresh- ness, not of sedvictive sophistication and poise. She was nervously self-conscious. She was obviously awed by Hollywood. She was almost pathetically eager to be friendly.
The writers, that day, had a vague impression of a pretty German hausfrau, amazed to find herself in this strange new world.
Paramount publicized her as the last word in ex- oticism, and the writers wondered what Paramount was talking about. Until they saw "Morocco." Then it was their turn to be amazed.
Here was no pretty hausfrau, self-conscious and timid. Here was a dazzling, daring creature, ex- otically mysterious, impelling seductive, such an "attractress" that it didn't much matter whether or not she was a great actress.
Writers clamored for interviews. And Marlene, flattered by the clamoring, eagerly granted them. Grateful for friendliness from these strangers who could do her so much good, she was friendly in return.
But the writers, who were willing to admit that their first impression had been wrong, and were pre- pared to be startled now, came away with amazing stories. Not stories about a woman with an exotic, mysterious past. Not stories about the secrets of attracting men. But stories that painted her as still a hausfrau at heart. Stories {Continued on page 82)
BY
VIRGINIA WOOD
A tense moment from "The Adven- tures of Marco Polo." Gary, in the title role, bids farewell to his princess, played by Sigrid Gurie. But he promises hell be back. And who could blame him, after taking one look at the beauteous Sigrid?
GETTING THE BRE
IF GARY COOPER hadn't been forced to spend a couple of years on his father's Montana ranch when he was a kid, if he had followed his father's law profession, if he had landed a job as cartoonist on a newspaper, he probably would never have become an actor.
Unlike most of the present-day stars, the idea of taking up acting had never occurred to Gary. When he came to Los Angeles, with his sketch-book under his arm, Gary wanted nothing more than to get a job as cartoonist .on some newspaper. And even this ambition was not a driving passion. The only reason he thought of sketching was because he had a flair for drawing and had had a smattering of newspaper training back in Helena, Mon- tana, after he left college,
Gary wasn't even interested in acquiring great wealth. All he really wanted out of life was a small car (hopped up for racing), enough money to eat on and possibly rent a horse to ride occasionally. Outside of that, the only thing he honestly longed for was a real handsome saddle.
At any rate, after a long, hard siege of looking for jobs, just doing anything, when he was finally called into the casting office to work in a western picture, which meant riding a horse and getting paid for it, Gary at first couldn't imagine what had happened. He was sure there was something phoney about a business which paid people for doing the things they thought were fun. But he had no choice in the matter. He'd spent too many days living on crackers and milk to ask questions.
And then, when those same crazy people chose him out of two hundred extras to play the role of Abe Lee in "The Winning of Barbara Worth," just because he was tall and lanky, Gary was convinced they were all nuts. A modest gent, to say the least.
"Why, any of those extras could have played the part as well as I," Gary remarked one day while we were chatting on the set of "Marco Polo." "Gosh, I couldn't act at all, still can't." Gary blushed a little and smiled that crooked smile of his.
"It was just the break I got that landed me in pictures, no matter what you say. The way I look at it is if I hadn't happened to be there at that particular moment, I probably wouldn't have been cast in the picture at all and some other guy would have been lucky instead."
To say that Gary is modest would be silly. Gary doesn't know what the word "modest" means, at least, as applied to himself. He's so darned humble and honest about himself he still, to this day, doesn't believe he has a thing any other guy hasn't. Screen personality? Gary thinks that's a lot of poppycock. To his mind, anyone could do any of the things he's accomplished on the screen and be successful if he's given the same breaks.
Yet in spite of this lack of confidence in his own knowl- edge and ability, Gary has an uncanny intuition about his roles and the pictures in which he appears. You never hear Gary express the opinion, as so many actors do, that a part isn't "right" for him or criticize a script because it doesn't suit his own ideas. But occasionally, at the most unexpected moments, possibly when he's half completed a film, Gary will pop out with some unexpected remark like, "Picture's no good," or "It'll be a hit." Out- side of that, you'd never hear him complain. He just goes on, doing the best he can, without comment.
Gary isn't even what you might call a self-made man. If anyone was ever literally kicked up the ladder of suc- cess, that person is "Coop." Gary never even looked for a ladder, in the first place. (Continued on page 9d)
Gary Cooper admits if s luck and not pluck that gets you tiiere
40 i
ANNA MAY WONG is not staging, a comeback, American style. She is b^inning a movie career — for the third time. Yes, Anna May and her make-up box are parked on the Para- mount lot, where she is playing in "Daughter of Shanghai," the first of a series in which she is to portray a lady detective.
Paramount is making the pictures, not due to the current conflict in the Orient, but because of the tremen- dous success of those Charlie Chan features. To begin at the beginning — which is just as good a place as any to start — ^the idea is new to the studio, if not to Anna May Wong. You see, she offered it to them three years ago, when they didn't think it worth while. However, recently our hero- ine was speaking to one of the Big Boys on the lot. She asked him which of two other companies would be better to handle the series.
"Hey, what about us?" he de- manded. I
"But, I didn't think you would be interested in anything exotic, with Miss Dietrich on the lot," replied the very modest Miss Wong.
It appears that they were, for Anna May is back, as we've said, in the throes of her — Third Beginning!
YOU SEE, my movie life has really been divided into three distinct parts," Anna May explained. "The first period was taken up with my struggle to win recognition. After that was accomplished I got into sort of a rut, neither progressing nor being re- tarded. You know, there are so few roles that I can play and at the time they seemed to be always small ones.
"The result was that I had to stretch my salary over the lean weeks when I had no assignments. Well, just at this time, along came an offer to go to Europe and I accepted promptly.
"In Germany, they wrote stories for me and I became a star. This achieve- ment, I consider my Second Begin- ning, for I went from there to Lon- don and was successful in films as well as on the stage. After finishing there, I returned to America where my pic- ture progress once again seemed" at a standstill, until recently . when my Third Beginning got under way."
There is no one more qualified to portray Chinese characters than Anna May Wong, even though she isn't Chinese. Just a moment, you incred- ulous, who take for granted that Anna May comes from the land of cherry blossoms and lotus flowers. When first this little "Oriental" saw light of day, she opened her eyes on noth- ing more exotic than the palm trees of our own California. What's more, she never set foot on Chinese soil until a year ago. Yep, Anna Mav is an American {Continued on page 80)
Anna May Wong is back again — er, pardon us — beginning agcrifi in ct series of detective stories, the first of which is "Daughter of Shanghai."
BY ROBERT MclLWAINE
It's an old Chinese custom for a talented girl to return to the scene of her success
41
Frccnces Farmer (left) is going places be- cause she's different from the overage good-looking blonde. Judy Garland (above) isn't a classic beauty, but listen to her sing and watch those black eyes!
Unhappy 'cause you're not
I'M . off on a different tack this month! I hope you won't feel cheated if I do an article on personality and give the beauty hints the go-by to a great extent. I'll find space for a coupla beauty notions toward the end, so hush, and listen to what I have to say.
The title speaks the truth : Personality is better than beauty. Personality can get places where beauty finds locked doors. Personality plus beauty is, of course, an unbeatable combination and those who have it don't need my help. But personality with only moderate good looks — or personality, even, accompanied by downright physical plainness is far, far more to be desired, my fellow country- women, than Dumb Dora beauty alone. Personality — its development and expression — demands gray matter, chic, talent, perseverance and a good heaping cupful of courage. It often needs a little help to bring it out. I'd like to help.
You've heard people say of a girl you know, "Have you seen her lately? Why, she's a different person! So at- tractive, my dear. And remember what a mousey little thing she used to be?" Obviously, this enviable girl has the same set of features she's always had. She may have learned how to doll them up a little. She may have learned how to fix her
beaui.
hair and she Change is du. this girl has others. She h a kick out of l can happen to yt
There are a • personalities get b day. You're afraia And — a most impo. young personalities- yourself. Pardon my up first, because if you
When we're young, wt others expect of us, instea a pretty involved sentence, bu to explain what I mean. I did i and early twenties doing it now. from a book or a movie and tried . There is such a hunger for approval i that young people put on a great show objects and matters for which they don
I've heard young things express a gr<.
aas ver.
Camera-wise even at the tender age of five months! Looking right at the birdie, no doubt, Bette poses informal like, with her Ma.
Papa Davis doesn't seem to share Bette's two- year-old enthusiasm over this one. That's little sister, Bobbie, on the left. Some hats, what?
A SMALL, fair-haired child of four years stood over her smaller sister, shears in hand. With grim deliberation she cut off every strand and curl of the little sister's pretty hair. Then, as her mother's horrified face appeared in the doorway, the four-year-old exclaimed triumphantly, "Now she isn't going to be pretty. She isn't going to be pretty any more!" A problem child.
At the age of three this same infant would jump up and down, point to an infinitesimal wrinkle, a barely discern- ible spot on her clean gingham dress and cry, with rage and revulsion, "Take it oft! Take it off!" Which her mother, feeling that this passion for cleanliness denoted - feminine daintiness, encouraged.
Yes, a problem child, laughs the mother of Bette Davis today. But a problem only to those who were in intimate contact with her, who could watch her strange little habits and characteristics come out of their covets. So far as any outsider could tell, she was a plain, quiet little thing, with pale hair, pale eyes, pale skin, kinda skinnj', with nothing to say for herself. She was, superficially, a most unexciting little girl. She gave no promise of any sort.
In the New England town of Lowell, Massachusetts, where Bette, christened Ruth Elizabeth, was born, not a person could have been made to believe that "the little Davis girl" would ever become an actress. An actress? Fantastic! Why the poor little thing was as plain as a pipestem, didn't say "boo" for herself, didn't even have that provocative thing called "personality," that promising thing called "precocity." She didn't even speak little pieces for company, like some little girls did. Besides, people like the Favors and the Davises didn't produce play-actresses. Such didoes were not in the staid New England blood. Yes, the good Lowellites would certainly have pooh-poohed any such preposterous prophecy, had any such been made. None was.
An hour or two after Ruth Elizabeth was born her young aunt, her mother's sister, made the first recorded comment ever made about Bette Davis. She stood looking down on the delicate, five and three-quarter-pound atom, whose hold on life seemed so thread-frail, and she murmured, "Too bad, too bad."
Probably only Ruth Davis, the mother, with her gift of "second sight," suspected from the first that the pale, quiet surface of her first-born masked banked fires and hidden furies and forces, not frail at all.
For Mrs. Davis will tell you, "Bette never could control
herself. Always, too, she had to be the center of every- thing or she wouldn't play. In small ways, she would give in pleasantly enough. Because she didn't care. But what she really cared about she fought for, from the first. For those who believe in astrology, Bette is an Aries child, born on the fifth of April. She was, as Aries people are supposed to be, always intolerant of criticism. She is still. Criticize anything she does, or plans to do, and she will seem to pay no attention at all, to shrug the criticism oft, resentfully. In the end, she always accepts it and usually acts upon it.
"Her one outstanding trait, as a child, was her neatness, which was a positive passion. And it grew into a complex, a monomania, which Bette is, only now, beginning to out- grow. She will tell you that her house looks, always, as though she were just about to move! Rugs being cleaned, drapes being cleaned, bureau drawers turned out. When she has guests, she will watch them with eagle eyes, pounce upon an ash-tray the instant it has been used, and clean it out, plump up cushions even as guests are relaxing on them. She will go over things with a dust cloth and, five minutes later, go over the same surfaces again.
"But I think," laughed Bette's mother, "that she is in the process of being cured. Only the other night a guest in her house walked out of it, saying, 'You may keep your house spotless, Bette, but I am leaving.' She had cleaned an ash- tray, plumped up a cushion, straightened a rug under guest's feet once too often."
BETTE'S maternal grandparents were French. They came to this country with the Huguenots during the Persecution and settled in New England, where, in one locale or an other, all of Bette's forebears on both sides lived.
The family name, on the maternal side, was, originally, Le Fevre. Later it was Anglicized and became Favour;-] finally, in the present generation, plain Favor. Bette, when she first went on the stage, considered using her mother's maiden name. She rejected the idea because she felt that people would believe it a made-up name. Bette Favor "Too literary," decided Bette, "too fictional."
On both sides of the family there were lawyers, minis- ters, doctors. Bette's maternal great-grandfather was an inventor. He invented, among other things, the first sew- ing machine. He did not, I believe, market this invention. But it was used by the women of his family. Bette's mar- ternal grandfather was a civil engineer. Her paternal grandfather was the president of a Southern college, also
.e I
1
a minister. On both sides were the strains of the stern Calvinists, the Puritan tradition.
Ruth Elizabeth Favor and Harlow Morrell Davis met when, as children, they spent their summer vacations in Maine. They met every summer throughout their child- hoods. Neither ever went with any other girl or boy. And while Harlow Davis, a graduate of Bates College in Maine, was still finishing his studies at Harvard Law, the young couple were married in Lowell, Massachusetts, in the home of Ruth Elizabeth's parents. And there, in the yellow clapboard house in which her mother had been born, on a chill April morning when the iron New England winter was giving way, grudgingly, to the first pastel push- ings and prongs of spring, Ruth Elizabeth, and eighteen months later, her small sister, Barbara, were born.
THERE WAS little to distinguish Bette's first eight years from the first eight years of any proper little girl in a proper New England town. Bette and Bobbie were brought up to mind their manners, say their prayers, respect their elders, curtsey to guests. They went to the village school; they attended Sunday school wearing their "best dresses."
hey were taught the Ten Commandments and the Golden Rule. Grandmother Favor drilled them in the way things were done "when I was a girl."
Perhaps the only "different" element in the conventional
Miss D. is growing up! And rather pleased about it, too. You'd never think to look at her, that she was a problem child, now would you? Just ask Mama sometime!
Demure was the word for Bette when this was taken. But even in those days she dreamed of becoming an actress and, with Bette, that meant it was os good as done.
pattern of their days was their mother. She was "ahead of the times." She loosed the girdle of the New England repressions wherever and as often as she could. Long before the little girls wore bloomers with their gingham dresses, Ruth Davis made bloomers for her small daugh- ters. She knew that they would kick up their coltish legs; she even knew that they had legs (oh, pioneer!) and made allowance and provision for same. She was, also, frank with them. She was gay and- himiorous and casual and companionable. She became their friend almost in the same hour she became their mother. Bette was to be very grateful for this in the years to come.
Bette, as a child, never cared for dolls; never, so far as her mother can remember, played with a doll at all. She never had a "best girl friend." She had no hobbies. She did not collect stamps, press flowers, monograms, scraps for patchwork quilts. She ran with the pack or played by herself. And from the time she could hold a book in her hand, she read. She read everything. She read the books of Louisa M. Alcott. She read "The Five Little Pep- pers," the "Little Colonel" books. She read Grimm's Fairy Tales. And her mother read her the classics, Dickens, Scott, Bulwer-Lytton, Stevenson, Bret Harte.
When Bette was eight, her parents divorced. "We were sent to Florida that winter," Bette remembers. "When we came back, it was all over. There has been endless discus- sion, innumerable books and articles written about the 'children of divorce.' I can only know how it affected me. It didn't. Not at the time. That it affected all of my later life, there can be no doubt. For had my mother and father remained together I would never have gone on the stage. My father would not have approved. And by the time it would have been necessary for him to forbid it, I would have been beyond rebellion.
"The girdle of New England repression would have quite staved in my ribs. I would have grown up in New Eng- land, gone to college, married, no doubt, settled down and become an outwardly placid and contented housewife and mother, an inwardly frustrated and bitter woman. But at eight years of age I think I accepted the fact that it was better as it was.
"Bobbie, on the other hand, took it terribly to heart. She brooded over it and was miserable. Which certainly indi- cates that you can't hold blanket theories about how chil- dren of divorce are affected. It depends entirely on the individual child. I had been uncomfortable — I won't say unhappy, it wasn't as definite as that — by the sense that
She might have been a second Povlowa if she hadn't preferred dramatics. Bette studied danc- ing with Roshanara and this is the result.
Looks like the boy friend's leaving Bette, in spite of everything. Grover Burgess and La Belle in "The Earth Be- tween." a Provincetown Players opus.
my mother was unhappy, that something was wrong. I didn't know what. That was part of my trouble. I always want to know what! When it was over, that was finality, and I always could, and still can, accept finality. We did not have to face the twisted problem of living part time with one parent, part time with the other. That's very bad. That's tearing and confusing. We didn't see our father again for many years.
"I do think that the children of divorced parents feel a little strange, a little different from other children. There must have been some self-consciousness about it in my mind, because I never once told anyone that my parents were divorced. I always evaded any talk about 'mama and papa.' I remember thinking, 'There is something funny about us.' "
WHEN THE children came back from Florida, the home in Lowell was dissolved and the former life was as though it had never been. Ruth Davis, always interested in pho- tography, had decided to go to New York to study in order to make of her amateur ability a professional and money- making career. There would have been ample means, too. Harlow Davis provided sufficient alimony for his family to live quietly and with the ordinary comforts. But Ruth Davis wanted more than the ordinary comforts for her children. She wanted the extraordinary comforts and culture. She wanted travel and study and the best schools, all kinds of extra riches.
So, Ruth Davis went to New York. She placed Bette and Barbara in boarding school in the Berkshire Hills. And here Bette and Barbara lived and worked and studied until Bette was in her teens. It was a good life. The school was a farm and Bette learned to keep house, learned something df farm life, of growing things, of seasons, of the earth turning and the fruits it gives as it turns; learned the "facts of life" from the unabashed and so unsullied habits and matings of the animals.
"My childhood," Bette remembers, "was pretty much of a monotone. If I had any distinguishing emotion at all, it was that I was waiting for something. I didn't know at all what I was waiting for. I can't remember that I ever thought, much less said, that I would become an actress, a waiter, an artist. I just sort of lived in a pleasant, static
If Bette'd done them in- stead of Doncdd Meek, the title of the play might not have been "Broken Dishes." Bette hit Broadway in this one and got raves.
mist, reading, doing what was expected of me, punctuating this placid pattern with occasional rages when something I wanted penetrated the coma, and I fought for it. Even there I stuck pretty much to my own last. I didn't have a roommate because I didn't want one. I was the type who preferred a room of my own. I didn't have any confidantes. I played hockey and tennis with the others as part of the school curriculum. I hadn't then, I haven't now, any flair for- athletics. I was an apt enough student. I never plugged. I never gave any very brilliant scholastic per- formance. I liked history and languages. I detested mathematics and, later, chemistry. I was an A student, I'd say, until my last two years in high school. Then I decided to rest on the oars of my past record and have some fun. But that was later on."
Bette was ten when the accident occurred. It is still referred to in the family as "the accident." The dreadful accident which so nearly made of Bette a charred mass, unrecognizable as a human being, for all of her life.
It occurred at Christmas time. Ruth Davis was, then, hostess-house-mother at Miss Bennett's School for Girls, at Milbrook, New Jersey. She could not, because of her duties, be with her children that Christmas.
At Bette's school they were having their school Christ- mas tree. Bette, dressed as a small Santa Claus, with red flannel suit, cuffs and collars of cotton wadding, was play- ing near the tree. A candle snuffed out. The child struck a match and relit the candle. The flame caught the easily inflammable cotton stuff. And when the flames were extinguished there was nothing but a blistering jeUy where the child's face had been.
Bette says, "I think I displayed my first instinct for the dramatic then. For as the flames were put out I heard horrified exclamations all around me. I heard one of the teachers wail, 'She is blind! Oh, God, she is blind!' I didn't know whether I was blind or not. But I do remem- ber feeling, with thrills and chills of morbid pleasure, that this was my moment, my big dramatic moment. And I deliberately kept my eyes tight closed, groped helplessly about with my hands, until the full savor of that moment was extracted."
Then there occurred one of those circumstances which cannot be explained, which never has been explained, to
Don't look now. but that's Bette Davis 1 No won- der Leslie Howard got the jitters in "Oi Human Bondage," with ^fiss D. in a mood like this.
this day. No medical aid was given the child. She was not rushed to the nearby hospital. No doctor was called in. The resident nurse applied a few home remedies, scented cold cream being one of them. And then, with a teacher weepingly in charge, with the weather sub-zero, Bette was sent to New York on the train with a group of children going home for the holidays. The freezing cold, the cinders from the train, worked further havoc with \ the ravaged small face. And it was this unrecognizable face which the mother, summoned by telegram to meet the train, knowing that something had happened but not know- ing what, was called upon to meet.
Ruth Davis will tell you today that she swore, for the first time in her life, when she looked upon what seemed to be the remains of her child. She swore such oaths, she says, as she didn't know then, and doesn't know now, how she ever knew at all. That frightful burn, that exposure to zero weather less than an hour after the accident occurred, the lack of medical attention, the trip on the train, hundreds
of cinders embedded in the raw flesh, the terrified, weeping young teacher, Ruth Davis cursed it all.
BETTE," her mother tells, "proved then, that shfe can meet the big things in life like a thoroughbred. Whatever her faults, they do not include flinching in the face of catastrophe. Nor welching. For the first words the child said to me were, 'It was my fault, Mother,
really it was. Miss W told me not to go near the
Christmas tree."
Ruth Davis rushed the child to the nearest doctor. She thought, "He may tell me that she will live, he will surely tell me that she is maimed for life."
Bette says now, "I was too young to be worried about the possible loss of future beauty. I was still not in acute pain, that came later, and was still enjoying, little monster that I was, my first undisputed spotlight."
The doctor told Ruth Davis that there was one way of saving the child from permanent and horrible disfigure- ment. But it was an impossible way unless thiere could be a succession of nurses on the case. For the one way was to keep the burned areas moist, constantly, unremit- tingly moist, for fourteen days and nights. Every fifteen minutes for a fortnight, pads saturated with a boric solu- tion would have to be applied to the burns. "It means," he told the mother, every bit as grim as he, "that you will have to stay awake, day and night, for fourteen days and nights. If you can do this the burns will not heal and
Nothing demure about our Bette here! The Holly- wood influence seems to have set in and we have real dyed-in-the-wool glamor girl, no less.
Bette, Ruthie (her mother, to you) and the pup arrive in Hollywood.
form scar tissue, they will slough oft and new skin will form. It is the only way. I don't believe you can do it."
Ruth Davis said, "I'll do it." And she did. She took Bette to Milbrook with her, at Miss Bennett's insistence. And there, keeping the child in her own bed, a bell tied to her wrist at night, the alarm clock set for every fifteen minutes, she swabbed those burns every fifteen minutes for fourteen days and fourteen nights. "I used," Mrs. Davis remembers now, "jars and jars of boric solution, barrels of bandages. Her hair was burned oft, of course, and she wore wool caps with gauze underneath.
"Her suffering, after the first shock to the nerves, which anesthetized them, was horrible. For three months her eyes were red and inflamed. And this is curious, but it was after the burn that her eyes became large, as they are now. She never had eyes like that before the acci- dent. I can't account for it, but there it is."
When, at long last, the buirns were healed and the new, fair, unblemished skin had become a matter of miraculous fact, Ruth Davis did one of the most courageous and healthy things in a courageous career — she sent Bette back to the Berkshire Hills school. She felt that it was, psycho- logically, the sound thing to do. As there was to be no scar on the child's face, she wanted no scar on her memory; no place, no person who could, in the future, spell horror to her. The only way to efface a memory of horror was to build new memories over it, as new skin had been built over the burns. Bette went back to that school. And no scar tissue is left, either visible or invisible.
BETTE went, briefly, for one term, to the Northfield School. And then entered the Gushing Academy in Newton, Mas- sachusetts. It was at Gushing that Bette was to fall in love. It was at Gushing that Bette first met Harmon Nel- son. And it was at Gushing, too, that the formless dream which, like a hidden current, invisible even to her, but shaping the whole course of her life, began to take definite form and meaning. She was to find love, she was to find her career, she was to find herself.
It was not until Bette was between fourteen and fif- teen that her looks changed. And little tendrils of beauty touched her pale hair with gold, her pale skin with richer cream and roses, her thin little body with delicate curves.
Bette tells you,. "I was standing in front of a cheval mirror one evening while Mother tried on my first dinner dress. She had made it for me, daringly, with^the neckline
cut almost to the collar-bone! I also remember Grand- mother Favor looking at me and saying, 'Ruth Elizabeth, you are not going to wear that where gentlemen can see you, are you?'
"Anyway, I remember looking at myself and wondering whether a stranger was standing there. I think it was the first time I ever really saw myself. Gertainly it was the first time I was ever conscious of myself as a woman. I had been so plain. When I was around twelve or so I think even Mother gave me up. She used to braid my hair in two skin-tight braids as if she were saying that she just couldn't make any further effort to gild the limp lily, that there I was and what about it! I had skinny arms and legs, teeth every which-way, never knew what to say to people, couldn't get out a bleat when I was with a boy, oh, awful! But as I looked at myself in the mirror that night I exclaimed, 'My goodness, I think I'm quite pretty!' "
The miracle of the transfiguration must have been as obvious as flags flying, the gold and blue and white flags which were Bette's young beauty.
"For from the time Bette was fourteen," her mother told me, "boys were interested in her. We were boy-ridden. Wherever we were, wherever we lived, and we have lived in seventy-three houses, all told, boys swarmed in the living- room, in the garden, on all of the front porches! One despair- ing lad mooned about our house in Newton threatening the most ingenious methods of suicide for love of Bette."
But Ruth Davis was New England enough, perhaps with enough of the French prudence where les jeunes filles are concerned, to keep Bette pretty much a child until she was past sixteen. She was well past sixteen before ever she was allowed to go out with a boy alone.
It was on the occasion of one of Bette's dates that Ruth Davis gave her first demonstration of "second sight," a gift, if gift it be, she never suspected herself of possessing. Bette had gone, one night, to a dance at Pemaquid Point. It was summer and they were vacationing in Maine. Ruth Davis, knowing that she was with two boys, felt, she says, perfectly comfortable about her. But she always waited up until the girls came in, and it being a mild summer night, she thought she would take a walk, take in a movie while she waited.
She was watching the movie when, suddenly, as though a glass of iced water had deluged her, she broke out in an actual physical chill and felt the still more horrid chill of some formless but terrifying premonition. She cast a wild
Bette, John Boles and Raymond Hackett in a scene from "Seed."
Always somebody's sister, in her early picture days, Bette is Mae Qarke's in "Waterloo Bridge," with Douglas Montgomery.
Because he wanted dignity as well as youthful charm, George Arliss chose Bette for "The Man Who Played God."
Meet Mr. and Mrs. Harmon Nelson.. Bette calls him "Ham," so it's probably just as well he's not an actor!
Less dignity, but plenty of charm is displayed by Miss D. for Dick Barthelmess' benefit in "Cabin in the Cotton."
look around the darkened theatre and, in the row behind her, recognized a boy she knew, another friend of Bette's. Ruth Davis beckoned the youth to follow her. Outside, her voice hoarse, she begged him to take his car and go for Bette at once, at once. The lad, nothing loath, though considerably perplexed, drove the twenty miles to Pema- quid, told Bette her mother was very ill and needed her — he had to say something strong enough to make her leave with him — and brought her home.
Bette, of course, finding her mother perfectly well and feeling, by this time, a little foolish,' was indignant.
"What," she demanded, "is this all about?"
Ruth Davis said, "I don't know."
Two hours later the phone rang. Ruth Davis answered it. She hung up the receiver and waited a long cold mo- ment. Then she woke Bette and said, "The boys, the two boys you went to the dance with. Their car skidded and went over a cliff on the way home. They were killed."
THE FIRST day Bette attended class at Gushing Academy she saw Harmon Nelson. She says, "I liked him imme- diately. I think I liked him, at first, because he had such curious eyes, cold eyes promising warmth. Then I liked him because he was such an indifferent louse. He never paid any attention to any of the girls. He didn't seem to know we were there. He didn't, certainly, pay the slight- est attention to me. I went home and told Ruthie about , him. I said, 'I'm going to get him if it's the last thing I ever do. You wait and see. I'm going to get him yet!'
"I don't suppose I was really in love with him. By this time I'd begun to realize that I wanted to be an actress more than I wanted anything else in the world. Yet it was something, something that must have gone on through all the time and all the things that happened in between, because, after all, I did marry him! But at the time I think my main interest was figuring how much fun it would be if he should be interested in me.
"Ham was in charge of the Music and Minstrel Show at Gushing that year. One day I met him in one of the halls. He beamed down at me and said, 'Miss Davis, would you be interested in singing in my show?' I said that I would be. We practiced and rehearsed together. And I had a lot of fun, skipping octaves on him and doing all kinds of cute little tricks. I remember I sang, 'Gee, I'm Blue For You' and wore a blue dress for the occasion, which seemed to me to be just too subtle for words. I guess it was. So subtle that neither Ham nor anyone else got the big idea!
"We did several theatricals together while we were at Gushing. We did Booth Tarkington's 'Seventeen,' Ham playing Uncle Georgimus to my Lola Pratt. We sang in the Glee Club together and I would pour forth my heart
I
A star is born. Bette and Gene Ray- mond get clubby in "Ex-Lady," her iirst starring picture.
and soul in the more sentimental songs. But in vain. It was humiliatingly obvious that Ham's interest was in the music, not in me. On Saturday nights, from seven to nine, we attended the regulation academy dances and I must have harried my mother for new and fetching gowns to wear. I know I sirened all over the place. But Ham seemed to be as blind to my sirening as he was to deaf to my song. And there really wasn't much chance for me to be the seductress I fancied I could be, for the dances were so weU chaperoned that the walls were perfect hedges of chaperones. And the gardens were picketed, a picket for every student!
"Sundays were made bright by what was known as the co-ed hour. During that hour the girls and boys were permitted to pair off and do a little sedate strolling about the grounds. I used to pray for rain. I figured that if it rained, an umbrella would be necessary and much might be accomplished under the privacy, so to speak, of an um- brella. But maybe one of our protectors had second sight, too, or had once been young or something. At any rate, it was suspicioned that perhaps kissing might go on under- neath an umbrella and the privilege of the co-ed hour was taken away, 'unless the weather is fair.'
"It was while I was at Gushing, too, that Mother called a cute little turn on me. Ruthie was helping to pay for my tuition by taking photographs of the graduating classes and deducting them from the school fees. One day the princi- pal of Gushing called me in and asked me if I wouldn't like to help my mother by waiting on table. I was ex- tremely indignant. I didn't say anything, but I just knew that my mother wouldn't dream of allowing me to do any- thing so menial as being a waitress. However, I sat down and wrote Ruthie a sweet, filial little letter, telling her how I realized all she was doing, how hard she was working and couldn't I please help her out by waiting on table, thus helping to pay my own way. You may imagine my blank astonishment when I received, by return mail, a crisp and appropriately grateful little note from Mother saying, 'Very sweet of you, dear, go ahead!'
"I did, and after my first pangs of outrage and humilia- tion, learned one of the most valuable lessons I've ever learned in my life. For I found out that the girls and boys were fifty per cent nicer to me, seemed fonder of me, re- spected and admired me more than they ever had before. I've never been afraid of work since, however humble. Wise Ruthie, she knew.
"She knew, too, I think, that I was beginning to entertain a few delusions of grandeur. Perhaps, with her second sight, she knew what was ahead for me and how much a wedge of humble pie would help my digestion! I don't know, I try," Bette laughs, "never to ask Mother anything
A couple of smoothies. Bette and Bill Powell, try a little double-crossing in "Fashions of 1934." Nice outfit. Bette.
about the future. She would tell me! Anyway, I had be- gun to think of myself as quite the actress. I never had any trouble with the school plays. I learned the lines easily. I loved rehearsing. I never suffered from stage fright. I felt no self-consciousness. All of my quietness and shyness and dullness and inability to talk to people seemed to drop away from me, once I got a taste of acting, even as an amateur. I've never been shy since, heaven knows!"
Ruth Davis had been wise. For it was during those two years at Gushing; that the pace of Bette's life which, so soon, was to place the little New England girl, a star, on Broadway, began to accelerate at appreciable speed. Things began to happen.
THERE WAS a summer at Gamp Mudjkeewis in Maine where Bette played in the camp production of "The Gourt- ship of Miles Standish" and received such an ovation that the very pine trees shivered under the sign of Aries. And shortly after the performance, at a game of fortune telling, Bette drew a card on which was written, "You are destined to become a great actress."
At the end of two years, Bette graduated from Gushing, and the principal said to her, "You can become a fine actress, Ruth Elizabeth. But I hope you won't."
It was during the summer vacation preceding her last year at Gushing that Bette and Bobbie and their mother spent the summer at Peterborough, New Hampshire, where Mrs. Davis had a house and a studio and Bette studied dancing under Roshanara. It was Ruth Davis' skilful^ manoeuvering which made that possible. For the Mariar- den School of Dancing, where Roshanara was teaching, was expensive. Four hundred and fifty dollars for the two- month term. And that was beyond Ruth Davis, who had Bobbie's college tuition facing her, the expenses facing Bette when she should embark on her career, whatever it was to be. Perhaps dancing? For Roshanara had talked with Bette and wanted her for a pupil.
Ruth Davis enrolled Bette in a small, relatively unim- portant school of dancing next door to the Mariarden. She then asked Roshanara if she would be good enough to come over and watch the child dance. Roshanara, already intrigued by a quality she felt but couldn't name, went over. Bette danced and the famed dancer said, "I want the Davis child." And so it was arranged.
Bette worked eight hours a day. She took the leading parts in all the pageants. She felt, for the first time, the definite knowledge that her personality was "getting over," that audiences "felt" her, were aware of her. At Gushing they had been her friends, her schoolmates; that was different. Here they were all strangers, there were many
Look out, Leslie, she's not as sweet as she looks! Bette and Mr. Howard in a sentimental mood from "Of Human Bondage."
professionals. And they knew that she was there, oh, they knew! Roshanara wanted Bette to become her protege, to continue her studies with her in the fall. But before any such arrangement could be made, Roshanara died and, with her, Bette's dream of becoming a dancer.
It was at Mariarden that Frank Conroy first saw Bette. And he said to Ruth Davis, gravely, "She is something you can't buy and can't imitate. When she is on the stage you will never see anybody else, even if she never says a word."
And it was during her last year at Gushing that Bette saw Peg Entwhistle (later to die, so tragically, in Holly- wood) do Hedvig in "The Wild Duck," with Blanche Yurka. "Then I really knew," Bette tells you. "Then everything focused to one pin-point of burning ambition. I remember saying to Mother, 'If I can live to play that part I shall die happy.' And Mother answered, with a flash of that second sight of hers, I suppose, 'You will.'
"The year after I graduated from Gushing we spent in Newton, Massachusetts. Mother took a house there, had her work. She said to Bobbie and me, 'We'll take this year to do some catching up, financially. In the fall you will be going to college, Bobbie. In the meantime it won't do you girls any harm to have a year at home being capable housekeepers. You can cook and clean and darn and mend and do the things every woman should know how to do.'
"We did. I've always had the suspicion that Mother in- sisted upon that year of domesticity with the idea of test- ing me, trying me out, waiting to see whether my desire to go on the stage was real, or would dwindle away. It didn't dwindle. I wasn't happy. I was champing at the bit. I saw Ham occasionally. I still threatened to 'get him'! But I was too obsessed by my desire to get to New York, to get on the stage, to have much time or emotion for any- thing else."
THE YEAR passed. Bobbie was safely enrolled at Denni- son Gollege, in Granville, Ohio. Bette and her mother closed the Newton house, packed bags, entrained for New York. Bette's heart was set on studying under Eva Le Gallienne, being admitted to her stock company. "My whole heart was set on it," Bette will tell you now. "It seemed to me that the very blood in my veins coursed in that direction, that my feet pointed that way, that I pointed Le Gallienne-wards, like a setter."
Dr. Favour was discouraging. The family frowned upon the fantastic pilgrimage. No good, they said, would come of it.
In New York, Bette and her mother took a room. A
very modest room. What did the room matter? They were on the brink of the great adventure. They were launching a career. "When you are living," says Bette, "what does it matter where you live?"
Bette set forth, alone, for her interview with Eva Le Gallienne. Every day, every week, every month, every year of her life had, she knew^ been but steps to this climax.
Bette says, "I had my interview. Eva Le Gallienne sat there. She asked me to read the part of an old Dutch woman. I did. She told me (how could she have known?) that I did not take the theatre seriously. She told me, in
Thinking up a little verbal dynamite. Bette was a newspaper gal in "Front Page Woman" and maybe she didn't prove some competition!
effect, to go to hell. It was as brutal as it was unexpected.
"That was the first and almost the last time, until we came to Hollywood, that we ever hit rock bottom. Under Eva Le Gallienne's coldly critical eye I seemed to see myself as — as the family saw me. That little Davis girl, without beauty, without personality, without promise. So cold and complete was this expulsion from my hope, my dream, my very life that even Mother faltered. We de- cided to give it all up as it had, so effortlessly, so curtly, given me up before ever I began.
"Ruthie took a house in Norwalk, Gonnecticut, got a job in a photographic studio again and I went mad. I walked the streets. I talked to myself. I really was out of my mind. I had to be an actress. I wasn't an actress. I had to be an actress. I wasn't an actress, like a crazy pendulum, my mind swung from nauseating discourage- ment to furious rebellion. I would end it all, I would show the world, show Eva Le Gallienne, Ruthie, the whole family. I would stun, startle, astound; give performances that would ring through the very hierarchies of histrionics and become history: I would do nothing, be nothing, suc- cumb, surrender. So it went. So I went almost crazy.
"There was a Yale boy. I'd go for long rides with him, grim, silent. He wanted me to marry him, to give up my crazy idea about being an actress. He said, I believe, that I'd have to give it up or not marry him. I laughed like a maniac.
"Four months of this, or was it five, or ten, or forever and a day? I don't know. Then, one morning, I woke to find Mother standing over me, shaking me, all but pinch- ing and scratching me. 'Get up!' she commanded loudly, 'get up! We're going to New York. You're going on the stage.' I thought, for an instant, that- insanity was infectious and that she had gone off the deep end, too.
She got my best dress. I put it on. She told me how to fix my hair. I fixed it. Then, looking, Ruthie often says, like Lillian Gish in one of her most wistful, wild moments, we entrained for New York, bag and baggage. This time, I think I knew there would be no turning back. There wasn't.
MOTHER STEERED me straight to the John Murray Anderson School of Dramatics. She managed to barge right into the presence of Mr. Anderson himself. She said, 'My daughter wants to be an actress. You've got to make her one. I can't afford to pay your tuition fee all at once. I'll have to do it on the installment plan, a little at a time.'
"Mr. Anderson asked to see me. His instinct of self- preservation doubtless dictated that request. Ruthie, I feel sure, looked quite wild. As she looked when she saw me getting off the train after I was burned. She's often said that my face, during those months in Norwalk, was more terrible than.it was after the accident. Mother walked into the outer office where I sat waiting, nipped me by the sleeve and, quite literally speaking, commended me to Mr. Anderson's professional care. He took a look at me (looking my best at the time. Mother had seen to that) and said, "I'll take her."
"Mother got a position at St. Mary's School. There were three scholarships given at the John Murray Anderson School. I managed to Win one of them.
"Also, for the first time, I was on my own. I entered the school late, you see. There was only one girl who hadn't paired off with- some other girl by the time I
arrived. A girl named Virginia C . We took a room
together in an old brownstone front house. And I had my first taste of eating in cafeterias, doing my own wash, drying my handkerchiefs on the window panes,' doing a
Miss D. seems to hove drunk a hearty meal in this scene from "Dangerous," while Franchot Tone keeps up his spirits with a glass of water.
little light cooking over the gas-jets. Good for me, all very good for me. Virginia was good for me, too. She was the first girl I'd ever known who used lipstick and much too much of it. She was the first girl I'd ever known who had had to fight life with her own hands and wits and did. She was uneducated academically speaking. But she was a Phi Beta Kappa in most of the subjects worth knowing. She was all wool and several yards wide. I not only became very fond of her, I also felt a wholesome respect for her. "We had a lot of fun those months. When Ruthie came
to stay with us we had a time rigging up a bed for her. She wouldn't share our bed with us or let us take pot- luck, because we were both working hard and, she in- sisted, needed our sleep. So she'd tote herself up on two chairs with a suitcase wedged between them to make a 'bed.' Every now and again during the night there would be strange earthquakish sounds and they would be caused by Ruthie falling into the suitcase, onto the floor, or fol- lowing one of the chairs around the room when it parted company with the other chair. Then we'd wake up and laugh like three fools."
Bette didn't graduate from the John Murray Anderson School. She didn't want to. She had got some confi- dence. She had got over the chill dealt her by Eva Le Gallienne. She wanted to get going. She felt that she needed practical experience. And coincidentally with this decision came a chance to go to Rochester, to play a bit in "Broadway" with George Cukor's stock company there.
At the train as Bette was leaving, Ruth Davis said to her, "I want you to learn the two major girls' parts in this play, Bette." Bette said, "What for? I'm not going to play 'em." Ruth Davis smiled. "Oh, yes, you are," she said, "for on the opening night the girl who plays the lead is going to break her leg." The train started and with the shriek of the engine was mingled Bette's shriek, "Whyyy, Mooother!"
Bette learned the parts. To this day she can't explain why she learned them, why she obeyed her mother who was just being amusing, of course. Still, she remembered Pemaquid. On the opening night the girl who played one of the two leads tripped on the narrow circular stair- case coming down from the dressing rooms and — ^broke her leg!
Bette said, "I thought, 'Ohmigod, Mother has done this to this girl!'"
But Bette played the part. And it was on the strength of her having saved "Broadway" for George Cukor that she became, shortly thereafter, a regular member of his stock company in Rochester.
BEFORE LEAVING for Rochester, Bette had chance to do a play, "The Earth Between," with the Provincetown Players, that cradle of so much dramatic talent. James Light, who was directing, had seen her work in "Broad- way," and been sufficiently impressed to offer her the part. But Bette turned it down, then. She felt that she needed a great deal more working experience before she "came into New York," as it were. And so, Bette and her mother set up housekeeping in
The winnah! Bette captured the Academy Award for her performance in "Dangerous." Vic MacLaglen was another Academy winner.
And here we have Bette Davis just be- ihg herself. When she first hit Hollywood they called her a "little brown wren." Not much re- s e mblanc e here, d'you think?
One false move will fix Bette and Les- lie Howard. At least that's how Hum- phrey Bogort feels in "Petrified Forest."
"You see, it was like this , . ."or words to that effect. Wayne Morris and Bette in "Eid Galahad," above.
Rochester, about which there are amusing anecdotes. Ruth Davis will tell you, "Bette was earning fifty dollars a week. I decided to give up my job to be with her. We took an apartment in Rochester and after we had been there a day or two, Bette hated it. She has always been ab- normally sensitive to her surroundings. And she would wake up there and have the blue jitters. She said she couldn't stand it, it was murky. We had a lease. Well, we'd have to get out of that lease. But how?
"I finally devised a scheme. I took a shoe, a man's shoe, and made tracks in the soft mud all around our windows. Then I went to the landlady, told her my daughter was extremely nervous, that a man had tried to break into our apartment the night before and that if we were forced to remain there my daughter would not be able to work, the rent would not be paid, and what to do? Then I went back home. A little later, as I had expected, the landlady came sniffing around. She knew the ground was muddy, that, if I had been telling the truth, which she more than suspicioned I had not, there would be the marks of a man's feet. There were. And we were released."
It was in Rochester that Bette fell in love. And one of the most poignant dramas in her dramatic life began. For it was the old, old fictional angle of the young busi- ness man of good family falling in love with the actress. The old story of prejudice and parental opposition and cross purposes and broken young hearts and tears. They were very much in love, Bette and the young business man. They became engaged. They planned to be mar- ried. Bette met the family. They admired her, admitted her charm, her gentle birth but deplored and rejected her profession. Especially the father, who held the mid- Victorian axiom that, married to an actress, his son were better dead. It was as bad as that, and in the twentieth century.
And so, when you say to Bette, "And what happened?" she answers, "He threw me over. Shortly after George Cukor fired me, for he did, I had. a letter from him. Rather a cruel letter. He told me simply that it was all- over. It sort of broke my heart. I didn't understand how love could be 'all over' when it wasn't. I remember so well the day that letter came. A scorching hot day. I
was in Newark, New Jersey, rehearsing for "The Wild * Duck.' I was about to play Hedvig and I had said that if I could live to play that part I would die happy. How young and green I seemed to myself remembering, the letter in my hand, that now I could never be happy until I died. I thought, 'This has killed me.' I even put my mutilated little rag of pride into my pocket and wrote to him and told him that I understood (I didn't), that I would wait. He never answered. I never heard from him again, not for several years."
Bettfe knew heartbreak then. For five months, Ruth Davis tells me, she went about like a wounded little ani- mal. Then came the day when she cried out, "I'll make him sorry!" And Ruth Davis knew that convalescence had set in.
. ONLY A few years ago, in Hollywood, Bette had a letter from that boy she had loved. He had never married. He wrote that he was flying West to see her. Bette and her mother entertained him. Bette swam with him, danced with him, dined with him, laughed with him, at him, at herself, at that old pain he had caused her, at her recovery from pain. And then he went away again and Bette's hurt was vindicated. Not that she cared any more, not even for vindication. She remembered that she had loved him and did not find it hard to believe. But the wound was healed. And Ham had come into her life and her heart again; love that was honest and humble and strong and sure.
Bette never quite knew, doesn't know now, just why George Cukor fired her from the Rochester Stock Com- pany. Ruth Davis suspects that she may have been a little bit to blame. Because she would never allow Bette to go out with the company after the evening perform- ances, nor any other time. Bette left the theatre with her mother, went home with her mother. She was not, per- haps, the kind of a person who put her fellow players at their ease. Whatever the reason, she was fired. And felt, again, that it was all over. Her first real job, and fired. But Ruth Davis had learned a lesson from those four months in Norwalk. Never again would she allow Bette to suffer as she had suffered then. Action was the only remedy. She said, "You telegraph James Light at the Provincetown Players. Tell him you will play the part in 'The Earth Between.' No, of course he hasn't cast it yet. I know that he hasn't. He wanted you then. He will want you now."
Bette played in "The Earth Between." She didn't, she says now, have the least idea what the play, which dealt with certain perversities of human nature, nor her part were all about. Which is why, no doubt, she gave to the character the young bewilderment, the sense of moving in a mist. The play went to New York and all that night, that opening night, Ruth Davis sat up, unable to sleep, afraid, when morning came, to see the papers. Friends brought the papers in, read the reviews aloud, sang them. The most eminent and caustic of the critics told the world, not only that "that little Davis girl" had promise, but that she had kept her promise.
Ruth Davis said to the new young star, "If you let this go to your head, you're through." And Bette answered, "I can't let it go to my head, I think I'm terrible." Bette has never, she will tell you, believed in her own success. It is, still, the will o' the wisp which evades her.
She had a chance to understudy one of the Gishes. Again Ruth Davis advised her. "Never be an understudy, or you will never have an understudy."
There came, one day, a call on the telephone. Bette was never to be sure just what the voice said. She managed to pick up "Cecil Clavelli — Ibsen Repertory . . . Hedvig . . . "The Wild Duck" . . . you . . ."
So, she was to play in "The Wild Duck." She got her heart broken. She came down with the measles. She remembers, "One of the most ebb-tide moments of my life was when, with my heart in tatters, the part I wanted to play more than an5rthing in the world put right in my lap, I had to call and say, 'I can't do it. I — I've got the measles!' "
The company waited for Bette. She learned three Ibsen plays while in bed waiting for the more noticeable of the spots to disappear. Then, still ill and feverish and "miser-
ably measley" she went on and played Hedvig. She says now, "I'll never know how I got through that first night. A more wretched, sick at heart, sick of body creature never walked the boards. I thought, as I went in, 'I don't knoW the lines. I don't remember one of them. I don't know what I am supposed to say, or do, or be. Somehow, I got through. Fools and children, I suppose . . . and after- wards I went on tour with 'Wild Duck.'
THE FOLLOWING summer, deciding that I needed more experience in stock, and having met a plausible young man in New York, who told me that he was the manager of the Cape Players and that I would be a too, too welcome addition to the company, Ruthie and I bought an an- tiquated Ford, piled into it every stick and ribbon we possessed and chugged up to the Cape. We arrived, having rented a cottage, by mail, in advance.
"We found that one Mr. Raymond Moore was the real manager. I said to him, 'I am Bette Davis.' He looked politely blank, more blank than polite. I said, 'Your Mr. —
told me I would be engaged.' He said, 'Mr. has no
authority.' I said, 'But here I am. What can I do?' He said, 'You can usher.' And I did.
"All summer long I was head usher at the theatre where the Cape Players gave their plays. And a very efficient usher, if I do say so. Then, just at the end of the season, Laura Hope Crews, who was coaching and producing the Cape Players, needed someone' to warble, 'I Pass By Your Window,' in 'Mr. Pim.' I rendered the number. And the question was, was I an usher who had become an actress or an actress who had become an usher?
"The question was never resolved to anyone's satisfac- tion, but I didn't care. I didn't care much about anything that summer because I had found Ham again! He was playing in the Amherst Band, across the Cape, in the Old Mill Tavern.
"I remember well the first night I saw him. Ruthie and I had gone to the movies. I even remember the picture we were seeing. Norma Shearer in 'A Free Soul.' I happened to look around and there was Ham! I let out a blood- curdling yell and got a good kick from Mother.
"All that summer, whenever I wasn't ushering and Ham wasn't playing with the band, we went around together. We tore around the Cape in the old Ford. We went swim- ming. We lay long hours on the beach and talked and talked and talked and grew to know, I think, even though no words were said, that this was somehow very right, that we belonged together.
"In the fall we went back to New York, Ham went back to Amherst. Now and then, during the year, I'd go up to Amherst to see him. He never saw me on the stage. Never. He had a feeling about it. He said, 'I'd always think I was annoying you.' "
In the fall of the year after "The Wild Duck" closed, Bette tramped the streets, made the rounds of casting offices, had what was really her first and was to be her last taste of the experience of job-hunting. She and a girl friend took a room on Fifty-third Street, another of the old brownstone fronts, and the interlude of laundry- done-in-the-basin, gas-jet meals, Ruthie sleeping on two chairs with a suitcase wedged between.
And then, again the pace accelerated. Bette played the part of Elaine Bumpstead in Marion Gering's production of "Broken Dishes." Twice, Producer Gering had post- poned rehearsals because he could not find the right Elaine. Instantly Bette entered his line of vision he hailed Elaine. And the critics hailed her, too.
During this winter Bette went out on dates for the first time in her life. She remembers the first big date. She says, "A girl I knew asked me if I would go on a double date with her. She said, 'Could you manage a man of forty, do you think, dear? You'll have to drink, my dear.' I said I thought I could manage. We went to the Ritz-Carlton for dinner. I was so excited. It was the first time I had ever been to the Ritz. Cocktails were served. I played with my glass, hoping to escape detection. Later, we went on to a night-club, my first night-club. And I was twenty-one! And when we started home, the 'man of forty' said to me, 'It's so wonderful to meet a girl smart enough not to drink!' I couldn't resist a triumphant and distinctly malicious wink in the direction of my friend."
IT WAS while Bette was playing in "The Solid South," starring Richard Bennett, that Sam Goldwyn asked her, through Arthur Hornblow, to take her first movie test. Bette had never even thought of the movies for herself. The test was for "Raffles." And it was, she says, horrible. It was a silent test but it spoke, Bette recalls, with the tongues of scorpions. From the test she found out, among other things, that her teeth had to be straightened. Noth- ing came of the test but a bill from the orthodontist. And she did the last weeks of "Solid South" "with my mouth bristling with bands."
The second movie test was for Universal. It was a cold, cold day. She had to go to the extreme edge of New York. Her nerves were on edge. And as the lights went on and the director called "Action!" she gave him action he had never expected. She went out, cold. When she came to, she said, "Don't mind, I do this quite often."
"I was 'invited' to go to Hollywood, to Universal on a three months' contract. I tried to get a new play before leaving for the Coast, hoping that I might be able to stall the inevitable. I didn't want to go to Hollywood. But I didn't get the play and we did go to the Coast.
"We landed in Hollywood December 13th, 1930. The meeting out here, I must tell you! No one met us. We didn't know a soul, didn't know where to go, what to do. I might not have minded so much if I had never done anything in New York. I had been, indeed, rather spoiled and pampered. And here we were, finally checked in at the Hollywood-Plaza Hotel. I called the studio and said, 'My name is Bette Davis. I am here. I just came in on the . train. What am I to do now?' There was an ominous pause on the wire before a voice, very pallid, said, 'Oh, we were at the station when your train came in, we didn't see any- one who looked like an actress!'
"That stopped me. In the next few days I took a good ■* look-see about Hollywood. I should like to have died. Those were the days when the movie girls were all too damned flamboyant. Chromium blondes, clothes consist- ing mainly of feathers, white fox, sequins and a very little of those. And here was I, guiltless of so much as a Up- stick. I had never used a lipstick in my life, except on the stage. I had never been to a hairdresser's. My eyebrows were as God had made them. I wore my hair long, a nice neat bun at the nape of my neck. I smiled, a crooked little smile because I was still remembering the brace recently removed from my teeth. There wasn't an artificial thing aboiit me. I looked like Alice wondering about Wonderland!
"I must say this for Hollywood, whatever it may do for people mentally, it does force women to make the most of themselves, physically. You have only to look at the pictures of any of us then and now to know how true this is.
"But then, the terrible then! I hadn't been here very long before it was borne in upon me that they weren't going to do anything very great with me. Everything they did do made me squirm. They bobbed my hair, which broke me up, my 'crowning glory' and all that. They took stills of me that were horrible. They gave me my first part, the 'good sister,' in 'The Bad Sister,' with Sidney Fox.
"I did a picture for Columbia, on loan, called 'The Menace.' People fell out of closets and things. I don't know what I did, not that it mattered. I felt a ray of hope when I did 'Way Back Home' with the Philips Lord gang. I did 'Seed' and 'Waterloo Bridge.' The hope didn't last long. I was petrified of the camera. I always played somebody's sister. And at the end of the year Universal told me I could go. Where, they didn't say, nor, I can guarantee, care.
MY LITTLE screening spirit was all but broken. I knew that they had called me 'the little brown wren' and that lamed my little ego which had been so pleasantly propped up on Broadway. But I was really crucified when I was told that one of the top producers at Uni- versal had said of me, 'I know she's a good actress, but you've got to be careful about casting her, same as you have to.be careful about Shm Sumonerville!' I died forty dusty deaths when I heard that. Nor was I exactly resur- rected when my informant went on to quote the producer
as saying, 'She has no sex appeal. No one will believe that a fellow would walk to the corner to get her!'"
Bette and Ruth Davis had just about dragged out the suitcases when there came a surprise call from Warner Brothers studio. The message was, "Mr. Arliss wants to see Miss Davis."
Mr. Arliss wanted to see Bette for the part opposite him in "The Man Who Played God." He wanted someone with dignity, someone who would make it believable that he would fall in love with her. Bette, with exciting mem- ories of the great Mr. Arliss on Broadway, Mr. ArUss in "The Devil," Mr. Arliss in "The Green Goddess," felt that a miracle had befallen her. And she remembers, "He scared me to death. His first words were, 'You look very young, my dear. How much experience?' I said, 'Three years,' and he smiled and answered, 'Enough to rub the edges off.'
"I got the part and went into screaming hysterics. But I must have managed the required dignity. For at the end of the picture I signed my Warner Brothers contract, a facsimile of the contract I had had with Universal, one of the old, original Hollywood contracts, the very same contract I have today!
"So, then I was a movie actress. Ruthie and I took a small rented house. Bobbie, college over, joined us out here. I began my endless chain. 'The Rich Are Always With Us,' with Ruth Chatterton and George Brent, 'So Big,' 'The Cabin in the Cotton,' with Richard Barthelmess, which was a step forward, 'Three on a Match,' '20,000 Years in Sing Sing' with Spencer Tracy, and what an actor he is! Nobody on God's green earth has any idea
how great he is, so great that no one knows he is acting! I told Ham," Bette laughs, "that it's just as well we were married just before I did , '20,000 Years,' because after I met Spencer it might have been just too bad!
"It was in 1932, during my first year at Warners, that Ham came out. And we knew that we wanted to be married. But I felt, then, that the very worst thing Ham could do would be to stay out here. I felt that it would handicap him, wouldn't be fair to him. We didn't have much time to talk it over, however, because one minute after he i^rrived, Warner Brothers sent me East on a personal appearance tour. Ham waited for me. And for want of anything better to do he picked up his trumpet and played in the Olympic Band at the Olympic Games. I've always regretted that I didn't see him in his sash and
Here's something pretty nice which we wouldn't mind having around the house! Hollywood brings out the best in a girl's looks, according to Bette and judging from this, she's right! ~
Together again. Bette and Leslie Howard seem to be pretty engrossed in each other in "It's Love I'm After," Miss D.'s current picture.
V
turban! He must have cut a dashing figure!
"I was away for two months and when I came back on the first of August, well, we were married on the eigh- teenth. I knew then what I had always known, I think. That Ham and I belonged together. I had just been afraid for Ham, afraid of what Hollywood might do to his career, afraid of putting hini in the position of being a star's hus- band. I've said before that women with careers should be shot, that the instant a girl-child shows any talent for anything other than minding the baby or making fudge she should be shot on sight. And I still say it. The things that women with careers do to their men is murder. Now, Ham is all right. He is with Rockwell O'Keefe, agents. He is on his way, his own way. And he is so generous of spirit, so considerate, so completely without mean rancors
or jealousies that we are all right. We've no worries now.
BUT THE wedding! That story must be told! When Ham first came out, in 1932, it all started as a rib, one of those wholly in earnest and partly in fun ribs. He'd say to me, over a soda fountain at Hollywood and Vine or wherever we happened to be, 'I think we ought to be married while I'm here,' and I'd say, 'Oh, I think that would be sort of silly!'
"We had a cottage at Zuma Beach that summer, Ruthie and Bobbie and I. Ham stayed with us and the day would be punctuated with our dotty dialogue. Ham: 'I think we should be married.' Bette: 'If you get a job here I'll think about it.' One bright morning Ham said, 'I think we'll get married today.' And I said, 'Don't be ridiculous.'
Mother took me upstairs that morning and told me I'd better stop my nonsense, that if I didn't marry Ham the chances were that he'd go away, feel too discouraged and not come back again. And then I'd be sorry. I knew how sorry. I knew how right she was. Characteristically, I didn't admit it, then.
"That night Ham drove us back to the Hollywood house. He said, 'You're going to marry me tonight.' I said, 'I am not!' He'd repeat, 'tonight' and I'd say, 'WeelU . . .' My young cousin, who was staying with us, told me that when I'd say, 'Weelll,' he'd get up and dress and when I said, 'I am not,' he'd undress and go back to bed again and that he kept that up for hours.
"Finally, close to midnight I said, 'Well' for the last time. And, with the endurance of all concerned at the breaking point, we set out for Ytuna, Arizona, two car- loads of us. Mother, my aunt and cousin, Bobbie, two dogs, Ham and I. Quite a nice little group!
"Came dawn and we were still a hundred miles from Yuma, which was hundreds of miles more than we had thought. The ther- mometer registered 107 in the shade! Ham and I hadn't spoken one word the whole way. It was on the tip of my tongue to say, 'This is horrible, I won't go on.' Ruthie stopped me. She sensed the furies boil- ing and said, 'Let's not go on.' Which was, of course, the one divine- ly inspired thing to say. For the mule in me immediately gave a back-kick of the heels and told Ham to step on the gas.
"We arrived in Yuma. Everyone was soaked to the skin. We managed to get three hotel rooms. We all took baths and sat around draped in the counterpanes while our wet rags dried. Ham had to go out and get a new shirt and a wedding ring. I kept muttering, 'This is so awful it's funny!'
"When I was asked whether this was my first marriage, I said, 'My third.' That got back to the studio!
"We were married in the house of a
Methodist minister. The two poodles washed themselves all through the ceremony. I wore a beige two-piece street dress which resembled the sands of the Arizona desert after the rain it never gets, brown accessories, and two limp gardenias. I kept thinking of the picture I'd always had of myself as a bride, dewy and divine in white satin and orange blossoms, coming up a white ribboned aisle to the strains of Mendelssohn, looking too divine.
"We then drove back to Hollywood. The next day I had to be at the Santa Barbara fiesta, a promise to the studio. We spent a hot, exhausted day fiesta-ing while I kept up a running monologue to myself of 'This isn't the way a wedding should be, this is revolting, this is per- fectly horrible.'
"In October I had an appendectomy. We stayed at the beach for a time and Ham would drive me to the studio every morning, starting at five a. m. And would sit in my dressing room all day long, waiting to drive me home
She works a good racquet, tennis court. Here she is, the court at her
again. And I had plenty of quahns and fears that my first fears for him would come true. Now, it's all right. It's all adjusted, beautifully."
Bette went on with her "endless chain." She made "Bureau of Missing Persons," "Fashion Follies of 1934," "Fog Over Frisco," "Housewife." In 1934 she was loaned to RKO-Radio and made "Of Human Bondage" with Leslie Howard. "That picture," Bette says, "was the first honest- to-God rung.'" She had high hopes of what that picture would mean to her, the difference it would make. The hopes faltered. The difference didn't come true. She made "Bordertown" and "The Girl from 10th Avenue," "Front Page Woman," "Special Agent." She made "Dangerous" and won the Academy Award, but the Award was, ac- tually, for "Bondage." It was righting a wrong which, because of politics and deferred judgments, was done her when the Award did not go to her for "Bondage." She made "Petrified Forest" and "Satan Met a Lady" and "Golden Arrow" and others. And she was tired and tense
and discouraged.
And then she went away. She went abroad, for the first time in her life. She travelled. And, in Eng- land, she brought suit against Warner Brothers, seeking free- dom from what she felt to be the bondage of her old, original Hollywood contract. . Bette lost the case, a case so headlined as to .be familiar to every- one. But she is not sorry that she did what she did. She said, "I was in such a state of mind that I couldn't be a good sport about it any longer."
Bette did not make money an issue. The issues were the parts she played. She wanted the right to be loaned out once a year when, and as, particularly fine parts were offered her. She wanted time between pictures, a chance to rest, to travel, to refresh and refuel her used-up emotions and energies.
She lost. But she had, perhaps, the sat- isfaction which comes from striking out, even though the blows hit blank, unyielding walls. It was so much It was relief from tension. And
does Bette, but only on the all set for a fast game on Hollywood home.
out of her pent-up system she felt better that she'd done it.
She came back and made "Marked Woman," "Kid Gala- had," "That Certain Woman," "It's Love I'm After." She enjoyed the last two especially. She was plea'sed to be playing again with Leslie Howard. She was pleased that the studio got Henry Fonda to play opposite her in "That Certain Woman," a concession and a generous gesture since they don't custon\arily, borrow players. She was pleased because the two pictures offered a balanced diversity of characterization.
She is now, at least, content. She has made up her dis- ciplined mind to be content. The Powers That Be have been, she says, completely charming to her since she came back. The victors are generous in their victory as the loser is gallant in defeat.
Bette, who, from the days of her childhood, has always been able to accept finality, accepts finality now.
MODERN SCREEN
Now this New Cream with
Helps Tubmen's Ski/i More Direcfly
^^It keeps skin faults away more sur*
— ELEANOR K. ROOSEVELT
A NEW KIND OF CREAM is bringing more direct help to women's skin!
It is bringing to their aid the vitamin which especially helps to build new skin tissue, the vitamin which helps to keep skin healthy — the "skin-vitamin."
When there is not enough of this "skin-vitamin" in the diet, the skin may suffer — become undernourished, rough and subject to infections.
For over three years Pond's tested this "skin-vitamin" in Pond's Creams. In animal tests, skin became rough and dry when the diet lacked "skin-vitamin." Treatment with Pond's new "skin-
Eleanor K. Roosevelt on the Roosevelt Hall, her ancestral hom eateles, N. Y.
{Right) Sailing with a friend on yond the sloping lawns of the estate.
daughter of Mrs. Henry Latrobe Roosevelt of Washington, D. C, photographed in the great hall at Roosevelt Hall. She says: ''Pond's new 'skin-vitamin' Cold Cream keeps my skin so much smoother."
vitamin" cream made it smooth and healthy again — in only 3 weeks !
When women used the creams, three out of every four of them came back asking for more. In four weeks they reported pores looking finer, skin smoother, richer looking!
Same jars, same labels, same price
Now everyone can enjoy these benefits. The new Pond's "skin-vitamin" Cold Cream is
in the same jars, with the same labels, at the same price. Use it your usual way for day- time and nightly cleansing, for freshening- ups before powder.
Every jar of Pond's Cold Cream now contains this precious "skin-vitamin." Not the "sunshine" vitamin. Not the orange- juice vitamin. Not "irradiated." But the vitamin which especially helps to rebuild skin tissue. Whenever you have a chance, leave a little of the cream on. In a few weeks, see how much better your skin is.
TEST IT IN 9 TREATMENTS
Pond's. Dept. 9MS-CM, Clinloii, Conn. Kueh special tube of Pond'e new "ekin-vitainin" Cold Cream, enough for 9 treatments, with samples of 2 other Pond's "skin- vitamin" Creams and 5 different shades of Pond's Face Powder. I enclose 10(f to cover postage and packing.
Name
Street- City
CopyrlKlit. 1937. Pond's Extract Company
61
FOODS TO THE
MARJORIE DEEN
Cocosticks built into a little house are an interesting Thanksgiving table decora- tion. They're simple to make and delicious to eat.
Courtesy Borden's
THERE IS no doubt that, from a culinary point of view, the most in- teresting day of the entire year is Thanksgiving — when foods come to the fore to receive a greater degree of interest than is accorded them at any other time.
So I was naturally delighted when Spring Byington — that at- tractive screen player, who so charmingly enacts the mother in pictures about The Jones Family — discussed her Thanksgiving plans with me and gave me some of her favorite recipes.
First, we went into the subject of table decorations for this occa- sion. And I found that, in Miss Byington's opinion, no table decora- tions could possibly be more attrac- tive than the foods themselves, particularly the turkey surrounded by other delicacies in colorful array !
In describing the dishes she sug- gested, we'll omit the first course and start right oi¥ with the main event. "Let's talk turkey imme- diately," was the way she put it.
Both of us favored a light, dry bread stuffing rather than a solid, moist one. In outlining the rest of her menu. Miss Byington suggested many unusual ideas, several of which are given here in recipe form. Not too unusual, mind you, for there are certain traditional features which none would wish to omit. But a new dish is always good.
The bird and the stuffing we have already mentioned, and a giblet gravy accompaniment can also be taken for granted by us all. Cranberries are also sure to be in- cluded on every menu. This year why not try Cranberry Sherbet, for a welcome change? Its novelty will carry the day and it will make a particular hit with the younger fry who like ices of all sorts.
FEW youngsters should go in for rich pies and puddings. So why not make them up a batch of Coco- sticks, which you see illustrated here? You'll find the recipe easy to follow and the results will de- light old and young alike.
Maple Marshmallow Sweet Po- tatoes came up next for discussion. But, why discuss them? Nothing I can tell you could do full justice to this dressy dish, so I'll just give you the recipe.
Many people like squash served as a vegetable on Thanksgiving. Others who use squash for their pie, prefer to omit it as a main course feature. Here is a healthful and simple recipe, and also recipes for several other members of the supporting cast of tempting foods that appear on the same feature program with this popular poultry star. Read them carefully and if you try them out we'll be willing to wager you won't be disappointed.
BAKED SQUASH Scrub a three- to four-pound winter squash. Place whole on a rack and bake in moderate oven until it is soft and can be easily pricked with a fork. Cut in half, peel and remove seeds and strings. Mash the pulp and for each cup of squash add 1 tablespoon butter, 1 teaspoon brown sugar, % teaspoon salt and a light dash of ginger. Moisten with cream to the desired consistency, beating until light. Place in hot serving dish and sprinkle generously with seedless raisins and a few chopped nuts.
CRANBERRY SHERBET 3 cups cranberries 2 cups boiling water 2 cups sugar
1 tablespoon lemon juice }4 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons gelatin cup cold water
Pick over and wash cranberries. Drain, add boiling water and cook until berries are soft. Force through a sieve or food mill. Add sugar, lemon juice and salt. Bring to a boil, remove from heat and add gelatin which has soaked for 5 minutes in the cold water. Stir until gelatin has dissolved. Turn into freezing tray of automatic refrigerator and freeze quickly. Or pack in ice and salt in ice cream freezer for several hours. Stirring is not necessary.
62
MODERN SCREEN
FORE!
COCOSTICKS
yz cup sweetened condensed milk 1 tablespoon cocoa 7 slices day old bread
Yz cup finely shredded cocoanut Thoroughly blend sweetened condensed milk and cocoa. Re- move crusts from 1-inch thick slices of bread and cut each slice crosswise into 1 -inch strips. Cover bread sticks on all sides with cocoanut mixture, then roll in cocoanut. Place on greased cookie sheet and brown lightly.
These sticks taste like cocoanut- frosted chocolate angel cake. As a Thanksgiving table decoration, they can be built into a little house, as shown in the illustration.
MAPLE MARSHMALLOW
SWEET POTATOES 2 cups mashed sweet potatoes 2 tablespoons evaporated milk 34 cup melted butter Yz cup maple flavored syrup Y\ teaspoon salt 10 marshmallows
Mash cooked, peeled sweet potatoes until free of all lumps. Putting them through a ricer makes it easier. Add evaporated milk, butter, syrup and salt. Beat together thoroughly. Pile lightly into buttered casserole. Cut marsh- mallows in halves and place on top of potatoes, cut side down. Cook in moderate oven (375 °F.) until marshmallows are brown.
TURKEY STUFFING (10 pound turkey)
1^ small loaves day old bread 1 Yz teaspoons salt Ya, teaspoon pepper
1 teaspoon poultry seasoning
2 small white onions, minced
fine
1 cup butter Y\ cup water 1 tablespoon minced parsley Pick bread, crusts and all, into small pieces. Add salt, pepper, poultry seasoning and minced onions. Melt butter in large fry- ing pan. Add bread mixture and cook gently until thoroughly blended and a very light golden brown. Add water gradually, blending well. Remove from heat, add minced parsley.
MOTHER, MAYBE YOU WOULDN'T BE SO TIRED IF YOU GAVE US THIS GOOD SPAGHETTI OFTENER
ii
* TIRED FROM HOURS IN THE KITCHEN? WORRIED ABOUT RISING FOOD COSTS?
Let Franco-American Helpl
f
Isn't it a help, in these days of rising food prices, to find a delicious food that saves you money every time you serve it.'* And don't you think you deserve a little rest every now and then? That's what you get when you give your appreciative family Franco-American Spaghetti — ready to serve — on the table in a jiffy — hot, fragrant, sa- vory with that marvelous "eleven-ingredi- ent" sauce.
You can't fool friend husband! He knows Franco -American the minute he tastes it. So do the children. In two mouthfuls, they can
tell the difference between Franco-American and any other ready-cooked spaghetti. And they never seem to get tired of that marvel- ous Franco -American flavor!
Use it as a delicious main dish— it's packed with nourishment. Or combine it with left- overs to make the third day on a leg of lamb, for example, taste like the prize crea- tion of a French chef. Send for that helpful free recipe book that gives thirty appetizing ways in which to use Franco-American. And stock up at your grocer's today. It usually costs only lOi a can— less than a portion.
Ffonco-^lmeficaiv spaghetti
The kind with the Extra Good Sauce — Made by the Makers of Campbell's Soups
MAY I SEND YOU OUR FREE RECIPE BOOK? SEND THE COUPON PLEASE
The Franco-American Food Company, Dept. 612
Camden, New Jersey Please send me your free recipe book: " 30 Tempting Spaghetti Meals."
Name (printi —
Address
City
-State-
MODERN SCREEN
Germs just scram when I get my
Mennen Oil Rub/
•
"Boy, do I feel grand and Safe after my daily body-rub with Mennen Antiseptic Oil. You bet I do! 'Cause germs just hate it. When I was born my doctor said, 'I want this future president kept safe ... so rub him daily with Mennen Antiseptic Oil.' That's just what they've done. And you ought to see my skin; I don't know when I've had a rash or sore spot on it. What's that? You want to keep your baby's skin safe from germs, too? Then take a tip from me — rub him every day with Mennen Antiseptic Oil!"
Nine-tenths of all the hospitals important in maternity work use Mennen Antiseptic Oil on their hahies every day . Your baby deserves it, too'.
OIL
Wayne Morris (First print- ing. Number of requests 370.) Here is a boy who lias gotten tlie brealjs. and he's made the most of them. Born right in the heart of Los Angeles, he attended school and junior college in California, then joined the Pasadena Community Playhouse School. He appeared in numer- ous plays, the most successful of which was "Yellowjack." In this a Warner Brothers talent scout saw him and he was given a contract with that studio. His present ambition is to become a successful screen star, and if that doesn't work out then he'd just as soon be a salesman. At the present writing he is gaining in popu- larity by the day, but as yet he has no business manager and no secretary. He is six feet two inches tall, weighs a hundred and ninety pounds, has blue eyes and blond hair and is an all-around he-man. His first really big movie role was the prize- fighter in "Kid Galahad." He owns a pet police dog, hopes some day to have a stable of horses and a beach house, and his hobby is keeping a scrapbook.
Jeanette MacDonald (Last printed May, 1937. Total number of requests since then 053.) It's hard to believe that the breathtakingly beautiful Jeanette of today was ever scrawny and freckled, with teeth too wide apart and legs like pipestems. But it's true. In addition to these very definite handicaps, however, the young MacDonald girl possessed a will of iron, indomitable courage and an heroic ambition to succeed. At the tender age of three she stood all alone in a large Presbyterian church in Philadelphia and sang the difilcult hymn, "There Will Be Glory for Me." As she grew
If you'd lil^e to see a brief synopsis of your favorite's life in this depart- ment, and, incidentally, help boost his or her standing in our barometer, fill in ond send us the coupon on this page, or, if that seems too much trouble, just write. Your request will be recorded whether you bother with the coupon or not, as that is the only gauge we have in rating the stars each month. Try to save yourself two cents by using postcards whenever possible.
We answer general questions, too, in these columns, so if you want to know anything at all about anything at all pertaining to the movies, fire away, we're listening. Address: The In- formation Desk, Modern Screen, 149 Madison Avenue, New York, New York.
older, girls made fun of her and mocked her for this defect or that one. Jeanette took it on the chin. And she fought back. She exercised with spartan endurance. Followed a rigid diet and before anyone realized it there developed from the four- teen-year-old ugly duckling of 1914 the beautiful, golden Jeanette of today. While still little more than a child, she danced with Ann Pennington and others in Phila- delphia theatres and then entered the lists of Ned Wayburn's chorus girls. It was her vivacious interpretation of the title role of "Yes, Yes, Yvette" that won her her first important recognition. After that, her career shot upwards like a rocket, car- rying her to the very pin- nacle of success in Holly- wood. Her most outstand- ing pictures have been made with Nelson Eddy, but Mr. Eddy did not win her heart in real life. It was Gene Raymond who, this past June, marched Jeanette down the aisle in one of Hollywood's most spectacular wed- ding ceremonies. Her current picture is "The Firefly," with Allan Jones.
Robert Kent (Last printed January, 1937. Total number of requests since then 377.) One of Hollywood's rising young men, of whom big things are expected during the coming year, Robert Kent has been an able seaman, a prizefighter, a farm hand, a bank messenger, a riding master and a professional model during the course of his career. His father died when he was six years old, leaving his mother the sole responsibility of fitting her son for the years to come. She managed to make enough money to send him through a Brooklyn high school. After that he was on his own and moved from job to job, not as a drifter, but as a seeker. It was his modelling job, ac- quired because of his six- foot-out-of-door physique, that really began his the- atrical career. He became acquainted with a group of players who called them- J selves the Brooklyn Neigh-
.''tw^H borhood Theatre and they H Sn^^B gave Kent a role in "King Lear." Right then and there he knew where his future lay and he went after it hammer and tongs. From one small stage role to another, he finally landed himself a contract with Paramount. He found, however, that a contract didn't necessarily mean you worked in pictures, so he tore it up and went back to the stage to appear in "Kind Lady," with May Rob- son. Darryl Zanuck saw him in this one and he was signed by 20th Century-Fox, where he has made a number of successful pictures and where he still hangs his hat. Rest assured you'll be seeing a lot of Mr. K. during the coming picture season.
Most hospitals rub their . babies with it daily
64
MODERN SCREEN
Put your iavorite movie star at ttie top oi the liarometer-send your requests today!
Josephine Mazur, New Kensington, Pa. You lose. Jack Haley did not sing in "Wake Up and Live." The vocalizing was done by Buddy Clark. Alice F.aye's latest picture is "In Old Chicago," with Tyrone Power and Don Ameche.
N. Gaddis Heller, Rumson, N. J. Errol Flynu's latest picture is "The Perfect Speci- men." Joan Blondell plays opposite him.
A. Bothenberger, Orchard Park, N. Y. Tyrone Power is the son of the late Tyrone Sr., ' and was not adopted. He has one sister.
U. W. Marshall, Excelsior Springs, Mo. Ad- dress your request for pictures of the Mauch twins to Warner Brothers, Burbank, California. Enclose twenty-five cents for each photograph desired. Address Freddie Bartholomew, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, Cul- ver City, California.
Rhoda Newman, Brooklyn, N. Y. Judy Gar- land is thirteen years old, is four feet eleven Inches tall and weighs ninety-tive pounds. Ray Milland is married to a non-profes- sional.
Willette Stasik, Duquesne, Pa. The young man you refer to, who played the role of Dick Grovernor in "Stella Dallas," is Tim Holt. He is the son of Jack Holt and has just been signed to a contract by Walter Wanger. Address him Walter Wanger Productions, United Artists, Hollywood, California.
Ida Blanche Stage, Chattanooga, Tenn. At this writing Sonja Henie is still number one girl with Tyrone Power, so don't be- lieve those rumors about Loretta Young, Janet Gaynor, etc.
Jane Snow, New Rochelle, N. Y. Errol Flynn is twenty-eight years old.
Janet Vermillion, Washington, D. C. Write Nelson Eddy care of Metro-Goldwyn- Mayer, Culver City, California.
Mrs. L.. Anderson, Milwaukee, Wis. Carol Hughes is the girl who played opposite Joe E. Brown in "The Earthworm Tractor."
Sylvia Plachinski, Cudahy, Wis. It would seem you like Myrna Loy ! Well, here goes: She has dark red hair, has a stand-in and is now settled in her new home in Cold Water Canyon. She married Arthur Hornblow in 19.36. The question as to salary we are unable to answer.
(Continued on page 98)
INFORMATION DESK, MODERN SCREEN, 149 Madison Ave., New York, N. Y.
Please print, free of charge, a brief life story of
in your department
Name
Street
City State
If you would like our chart with weights, heights, ages, birthplaces and marriages of all the important stars, enclose five cents in stamps or coin with your coupon.
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65
MODERN SCREEN
WITH MY
LANE HOPE CHEST"
says Rochelle Hudson
20th Century-Fox Star
Give This TRUE Love Gift
WHEN you select this romantic gift in which your future home will start, be sure it is a genuine LANE — the glorified mod- ern Hope Chest, with exclusive features that give absolute moth protection — backed by a free moth insm-ance policy. Your Lane dealer is now showing a glorious array of the latest Lane models at surprisingly modest prices. See these ideal gifts for sweetheart, daughter, sister, or mother before you make up your gift list. The LANE COMPANY, Inc., Dept.M, AltaVista, Virginia. Canadian Distributor: Kneehtel's, Ltd., Hanover, Ontario.
BETWEEN YOU
Fans, have your say- for your letters.
If Ginger Rogers wants to go dramatic or stand on her head, her fans will back her up.
$5.00 Prize Letter G— W— T— W—
They're having trouble casting Miss Mit- chell's famous hit —
I'll have to take my pen in hand and help them out a bit.
Now, first there's Walter Connolly — I choose him for O'Hara —
Who so right as Walter for the bouncing Squire of Tara?
I'd have the little Allan girl for Ashley's gentle wife ;
Poor Ashley couldn't be miscast more than he was in life.
And Ronald Colman I would cast to play the part of Rhett;
Of course, he's not a Southerner — he's English born — and yet
How eloquent his silences — his speech, oh, how laconic,
And, oh, this Englishman can be so terri- bly sardonic !
But Scarlett, no, I can't cast her — the soulless little harlot ;
I hope no woman ever lived who fits the part of Scarlett!
— Caroline Lawson, Oshkosh, Wis.
$2.00 Prize Letter Chastising the Chatterers
Somebody invariably shrieks, "Look out, Bob!" when some new, cute-looking youth crashes the local theatre's screen. Any minute you'd expect Robert Taylor to be shoved right ofif the screen for keeps. The endless stream of chatterers who are will- ing to bet most anything that Bob's down- fall will be greater and much more rapid than his quick rise, must expect more than a million admirers to suddenly forget that there ever was a Robert Taylor and start ranting about a new rising star whose
and win cash prizes Try your luck!
WRITE A LETTER- WIN A PRIZE
Make your letter or poem brief, and say your little say. This is an open forum, written by the fans, and for them.
These letters must be abso- lutely original! Don't copy or adapt letters from those al- ready published. This consti- tutes plagiarism and will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Until now, it hasn't been necessary for Modern Screen to bring this to your at- tention, but recently two of our contributors have been guilty of plagiarism. We hope this warning will put an end to any further unpleasantness.
Following are the prizes awarded each month for the best letters: 1st prize, $5; 2 sec- ond prizes of $2 each; 6 prizes of $1 each. Address: Between You and Me, 149 Madison Ave., New York, N, Y.
career is anything but stable at present.
I can't find anything anywhere that gives definite proof that Bob is waning in box office or fan mail pull. Yes, new boys are headed for the top at a steady pace, but they have done that ever since Adam.
The screen needs a variety of new per- sonalities. The new ones will eventually take their places, but just as Fredric March said in "A Star Is Born," they will be ready for their curtain when the time comes. Until that happens, my guess is that Taylor won't grow grey hair over "threatening" males. — Gordon Blackwell, Orlando, Fla.
$2.00 Prize Letter Battle Royal
Back in seventeen seventy-six.
This country was in a terrible fix,
The Red-coats and farmers were having
their fights. But now look at the Taylor and Tyrone-
ites.
Across the country is raging a battle, That can be heard from Savannah to Seattle.
From the young school girl to the old
schoolmarm Pour indignant letters filled with alarm Over some snippy, uncultured flirt Who had actually dared to assert That handsome, sparkling Tyrone Power Made Taylor look like a wilted flower. And ardent fans had better not go When Taylor was advertised at the show.
LANE
CEDAR CHESTS
THE GIFT THAT STARTS A HOME
66
MODERN SCREEN
9
N' ME
For it simply couldn't be a wow With an actor (?) like S. Arlington Brugh.
Oh, Robert is handsome and full of wit, All this and more I'm compelled to admit,
An Arkansan's candid opin- ion of Bob Burns is more bit- ter than 'tis sweet.
But what wouldn't I give for one measly hour
With a charming chap by the name of Power !
— Jeanne L. Stark, St. Louis, Mo.
$1.00 Prize Letter Patriotism or Temper
You may call this a letter of patriotism, criticism, or an outburst of temper. I call it another Arkansawyer's candid opinion of Bob Burns !
It seems as if Arkansas is one of the most ridiculed states in the Union, and I fail to see why, as would anyone who would care to investigate our state's history.
I think vigorously, savagely and furi- ously that the antics and so-called witti- cisms of Mr. Burns are nothing short of treason to our state. That anyone would poke fun at and make his state the goat of so many ignorant jibes is unthinkable. To become famous' by making humorous films about the hospitable, loyal and intelligent people who claim Arkansas as their be- loved home is not only very unjust but also dishonorable.
Bob Burns may be world-famous, but a few more pictures similar to "Mountain Music" will only increase the hostile feel- ings of his native friends. I'm from Arkansas and proud of it, and I don't see why Bob Burns shouldn't be, too. — Grayce Higginbotham, Nettleton, Ark.
$1.00 Prize Letter Backing Up Ginger
If Ginger Rogers wants to go dramatic, I'm here to back her up. I would very much like to see her in some more non- musical roles again. Remember that splen- did detective film, "Star of Midnight," that
she made with William Powell and those hilarious comedy sequences? And, too, that film she whipped up with Lyle Talbot called "A Shriek in the Night?" It mightn't have been an epic, but it had what every film needs — entertainment. I'm waiting for "Stage Door," for I have faith that Ginger will outshine Katharine Hepburn.
Now, don't get me wrong. My liking for the Astaire and Rogers team hasn't chilled. But I would like to see Ginger a versatile actress. Look at Irene Dunne. She switched from a musical, "Showboat," to comedy, "Theodora Goes Wild," and did a swell dramatic job in "Magnificent Obsession." So why can't Ginger Rogers? Please let her strut her stufif with Mr. Astaire and without him. Ginger's fans will back her up ! — Josephine Crutcher, So. Boca Grande, Fla.
$1.00 Prize Letter Those Misplaced Eyebrows
Something ought to be done about those slim-looking mustaches appearing on the upper lips of such movie personages as Errol Flynn, Clark Gable and Don Ameche. A real honest-to-goodness mus- tache lends quite an air to a certain so- phisticated type of face or can (so I'm told) cover a defective m.outh or a weak one. But these misplaced eyebrows do nothing but annoy.
As far as good looks go, the Messrs. Flynn, Gable and Ameche have nothing to hide, so why in Heaven's name they have affected these awful things is a mystery to me. What are they trying to do — look like Jack Oakie?— Dorothy Reilly, Pel- ham, N. Y.
(Continued on page 92)
"OKAY OFFiCER...HERE's) A TICKET FOR YDU !" J
THEN SHE MAKES THAT CRACK ABOUT MY BREATH AND HANDS
METHI5 DENTIST'S ADDRESS! WHAT DO YOU MAKE OF IT, JOE?
I'D TAKE THE TIP,DAN- BETTER 60 SEE THAT DENTIST!
BAD BREATH, HUH? MAYBE THAT'S WHY MARYS BEEN GIVING WE THE RUNAROUND. | WELL,ME FOR COLGATE'S FROM NOW ON!
WELL.DAN, TESTS PR0VETHAT76% OF ALL
PEOPLE OVER THE A6E OF 17 HAVE BAD BREATH. AND TESTS ALSO PROVE THAT MOST BAD BREATH COMES FROM IMPROPERLY CLEANED TEETH. I ADVISE COLGATE DENTALCREAM BECAUSE..
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-■^ ^ "Colgate's special pene- *, i (rating foam gets itito every tiny hidden crevice between your teeth . . . emulsifies and washes away the decaying food deposits that cause most bad breath, dull, dingy teeth, and much tooth decay. At the same time, Colgate's soft, safe polishing agent cleans and brightens the enamel — makes your teeth sparkle — gives new brilliance to your smile!"
r
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TICKET? NO MA'AM' I'M JUST WANTING TO THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIP IT SURE FIXED THINGS UP BETWEEN ME AND MY 61
M?U/—m BAD BREATH
behind his Sparkling Smile!
AND NO TOOTHPASTE EVER MADE MY TEETH AS BRIGHT AND CLEAN AS COLGATE'S!
67
MODERN SCREEN
llofUMBLE... No JUMBLE...
l|o Grumble/
..with the
KLEENEX
200 SHECr
Pull-Out Package
NEXT ONE POPSUP\
itEAvy Fon use!
200 sfieef KLEENEX nov^^ 2 for 25c . . . The handy size for every room
KLEENEX'
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{*Trade Mark Reg. U. S. Patent Office)
68
FOR BED
It
ND
BRIDGE
mart knits for day or niglit
2476— This is called the Tab Dress, and it isn't difficult to see why.
THE trend in hand knits has defi- nitely turned to one-piece dresses, particularly in designs as chic as the Tab Dress. You will always feel at your best in the smooth, smart lines of this dress, which will give you that new "poured in" look. And it's as easy to make as it is smart.
Plan to make two or three cozy bed sacques for Christmas gifts, besides the several you'll want for yourself. This stunning coatee is
made with a new gadget on which innumerable charming shapes, in eight different sizes, can be woven simply by winding the yarn around two metal disks that are adjustable. The coupon below will bring you free instructions for both garments.
1 309— New and flattering are the flower-shaped designs of this bed jacket. A grand Christ- mas gift, incidentally.
ANN WILLS, MODERN SCREEN
149 Madison Ave., New York. N. Y.
Kindly send, at no cost to me,
Knitting directions for 2476
Crocheting directions for 1309
I am enclosing a stamped, addressed (large) envelope.
Name
Street
City State
(Check one or both designs and please print name and address)
MODERN SCREEN
Loretta Young may look cute from here, but that hat didn't set well a-tall with the cus- tomers who sat back of it at the tennis matches. However, L. Y. serenely enjoyed the game with lid clamped firmly on dome.
Good News
(Continued from page 17)
Don't be surprised if Carole Lombard changes her name to Mrs. Clarlc Gable shortly after the Gable divorce becomes final. There has been no particular evi- dence of forthcoming wedding bells until the other day. We ran into a chap who just sold them a lot, which they bought jointly, out in Brentwood Highlands.
Joan Fontaine, blonde sister of Olivia De Havilland, got a break when she was given the role opposite Fred Astaire in "Damsel in Distress." And so did a little extra girl on the lot. although the studio hasn't publicized it. The extra gal doubled for Joan in all the dances. Doubles don't get much credit, but this one drew down a hundred dollars a week for floating about in the arms of Astaire.
One of the tragedies of Hollywood is that a star can't afford much publicity of the wrong type. Often, when a player is being maligned in the public prints, there are other angles to the case which the reader never knows about. Such, accord- ing to those close to it, is the situation with George Brent. Since he lost his re- cent suit for annulm^ent of his marriage to Constance Worth, Brent has been stamped as a villain by thousands of let- ters to the studio. Yet, people who know the couple say that if the whole truth could be aired, Mr. B. would appear in an entirely different light.
Know who's sleeping in Garbo's bed these days? Jack Oakie, of all people. The Oakies recently moved into Garbo's most recently vacated home, and Oakie is enjoy-
{Continued on page 101)
soon Girlishly Soft and Smooth
fheif Happiness for TWO
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urse-Size Bottle of Jergens
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Cincinnati, Ohio
(In Canada, Perth, Ontario.)
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Name _ Strcet_ City-
69
MODERN SCREEN
WORKED WONDERS FOR HER SKIN!
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Name
MOVIE SCOBEBOARD
Picture and Producer
Qily
Canadian readere pie.
Slate
i send 10c to cover poBtage and duty
General Rating
* Angel (Paramount). i-k
Angel's Holiday (20th Century-Fox) 1 *
Another Dawn (Warners) SVi
Armored Car (Universal) ^-k
Artists and Models (Paramount) 3 -A-
As Good As Married (Universal) 2~*t
A Star Is Born (United Artists) 4-^:
Back in Circulation (Warners) Of
Bad Guy (M-G-M) 2*
Bank Alarm (Grand National) 2V2*
Behind the Headlines (RKO) 2*
Between Two Women (M-G-M) 2*
Big Business (20th Century-Fox) 2-^-
Big City (M-G-M) S'A*
The Big Shot (RKO) 1 ★
Blonde Trouble (Paramount) iVz-k
Border Cafe (RKO) 1 ★
Born Reckless (20th Century-Fox) 2*
*The Bride Wore Red (M-G-M) 1 ★
Broadway Melody of 1938 (M-G-M) 3*
Bulldog Drummond Comes Back (Paramount) 1 -A-
Cafe Metropole (20th Century-Fox) 3
Call It a Day (Warners) SVz Ik- Captains Courageous (M-G-M) 4-^
Charlie Chan at the Olympics (20th Century-Fox). 2y2 Charlie Chan on Broadway (20th Century-Fox). . . 2 Ik
Confession (Warners) 2-^
Crusade Against Rackets (Principal) 2:^
Dance, Charlie, Dance (Warners) 2*
^Dangerously Vours (20th Century-Fox) 1 1k
A Day at the Races (M-G-M) 31/2*
The Devil Is Driving (Columbia) IVz^k
Dangerous Holiday (Republic) ^Vz'k
Dark Journey (United Artists) 3 Ik
Dead End (Samuel Goldwyn) 4-^
Double or Nothing (Paramount) i-k
*Double Wedding (M-G-M) 3*
Dreaming Lips (United Artists) 2V2*
Easy Living (Paramount) 2V2*
*Ebb-Tide (Paramount) 2*
• Elephant Boy (United Artists) 3 ★
The Emperor's Candlesticks (M-G-M) 31k
Exclusive (Paramount) SVzlk
Ever Since Eve (Warners) 1
*Fight For Your Lady (RKO) 2*
A Fight to the Finish (Columbia) ^•k
The Firefly (M-G-M) ^-k
*First Lady (Warners) 3*
Flight from Glory (RKO) 2*
Fly-Awav Baby (Warners) 2V2*
Fifty Roads to Town (20th Century-Fox) 2*
Forty Naughty Girls (RKO) 2-*-
Frame-Up (Columbia) 2lk
Gangway (GB) 2V2*
The Girl from Scotland Yard (Paramount) 2^
The Girl Said No (Grand National) 2^
The Go-Getter (Warners) 2*
The Gold Racket (Grand National) 2*
The Good Earth (M-G-M) 4*
Good Old Soak (M-G-M) SVzlk-
The Great Gambini (Paramount). 1
*The Great Garrick (Warners) 3-ik
The Great Hospital Mystery (20th Ceniury-Fox). . 1 -k
High, Wide and Handsome (Paramount) "iVz-k
The Hit Parade (Republic) 2*
Hollywood Cowboy (RKO) 2*
Hotel Haywire (Paramount) 2-*^
*Hot Water (20th Century-Fox) 1 *
I Met Him in Paris (Paramount) 31/2 Ik
Internes Can't Take Money (Paramount) iViif
I Promise to Pay (Columbia) l-k
It Can't Last Forever (Columbia) IV2*
It Could Happen to You (Republic) 1 1k
♦It's All yours (Columbia) 2*
■'It's Love I'm After (Warners) 3-*
Jim Hanvey, Detective (Republic) 1
Kid Galahad (Warners) 3y2*
King of Gamblers (Paramount) 2-^
King Solomon's Mines (GB) 2^
Knight Without Armor (United Artists) 31/2*
The Last Train fromJMadrid (Paramount) V^Ak
The League of Frightened Men (Columbia) 2^
Let Them Live (Universal) 2*
The Life of Emile Zola (Warners) 4lk
The Life of the Party (RKO) 1 ★
London by Night (M-G-M) 2*
Lost Horizon (Columbia) 4-:^
*Love Is on the Air (Warners) 1 T/k
Love from a Stranger (United Artists) 2V2-*
Love in a Bungalow (Universal) 2-^
Love Under Fire (20lh Century-Fox) 21/2 ★
Make a Wish (RKO) 2y2^
Make Way for Tomorrow (Paramount) 3V2X
The Man in Blue (Universal) 2*
Marked Woman (Warners) 3*
Married Before Breakfast (M-G-M) 2V2*
Marry the Girl (Warners) iy2*
Mayerling ^Nero) 4^
Picture and Producer S,'
Meet the Missus (RKO) 2*
Michael O'Halloran (Republic) 1 *
Midnight Madonna (Paramount) ^"k
Midnight Taxi (20th Century-Fox) 1*
Mr. Dodd Takes the Air (Warners) 2*
Mountain Justice (Warners) i'k
Mountain Music (Paramount) ■ ■ • • 2-^
*Music for Madame (RKO) 2-*
New Faces of 1937 (RKO) 3*
Night Key (Universal) 2y2*
Night Must Fall (M-G-M)
Night of Mystery (Paramount). 1
Nobody's Baby (Hal Roach) 1 ★
Oh, Doctor! (Universal) iy2*
One Mile from Heaven (20th Century-Fox). . iy2*
On Again— Off Again (RKO) 1 ★
100 Men and a Girl (Universal) .•• 4-^
On Such a Night (Paramount) ^"k
Ourselves Alone (GB) 2y2-*
Outcasts of Poker Flat (RKO) 2y2*
Parnell (M-G-M) 2*
Parole Racket (Columbia) 1 "A
"The Perfect Specimen (Warners)
Personal Property (M-G-M) 2y2*
Pick a Star (Hal Roach) 2*
The Prince and the Pauper (Warners) V^h'k
Prisoner of Zenda (Selznick-lnternational) 4-;^
Public Wedding (Warners) 1*
Racketeers in Exile (Columbia) 2y2'*'
Ready, Willing and Able (Warners) 2^
Reported Missing (Universal) 2-^^
Riding on Air 2y2*
The Road Back (Universal) 3'*^
Roaring Timber (Columbia) i'k
Romeo and Juliet (M-G-M) 4*
San Quentin (Warners) 2y2-*
Saratoga (M-G-M) 3-^
Seventh Heaven (20th Century-Fox) 3-;^
Shall We Dance (RKO) 3>
*The Sheik Steps Out (Republic) 1*
She's No Lady (Paramount) 1 *
Silent Barriers (GB) 3*
Sing and Be Happy (20th Century-Fox) 2*
The Singing Marine (Warners) 3^
Slave Ship (20th Century-Fox) 3*
Slim (Warners) 3*
The Soldier and the Lady (RKO) 2y2*
Something to Sing About (Grand National) 2V4*
Song of the City (M-G-M) 1 ★
Sophie Lang Goes West (Paramount) 2y2-*
Souls at Sea (Paramount) 3-^^
*Stage Door (RKO) 4*
Stella Dallas (Sam Goldwyn) A-k
Super Sleuth (RKO) 1*
Strangers on a Honeymoon (GB) 2-^^
Sweetheart of the Navy (Grand National) 1 "A
Swing High, Swing Low (Paramount) 3^
Talent Scout (Warners) 1 *
That Certain Woman (Warners) 2*
That I May Live (20th Century-Fox) 1 ★
That Man's Here Again (Warners) 1 ^
"There Goes My Girl (RKO) 2^
They Gave Him a Gun (M-G-M) 3 Ik
Thin Ice (20th Century-Fox) 3y2lk
Think Fast, Mr. Moto (20th Century-Fox) 2 ★
The Thirteenth Chair (M-G-M) 2 ★
*This Way, Please (Paramount) 1 -yk
They Won't Forget (Warners) 3*
This Is My Affair (20th Century-Fox) 3*
Thunder in the City (Columbia) 2Vi*
Time Out for Romance (20th Century-Fox) \-k
The Toast of New York (RKO) 3*
Top of the Town (Universal) 2Vilk
Topper (Hal Roach) 3 It
Trouble in Morocco (Columbia) 2lk-
Turn Off the Moon (Paramount) \-k
231/2 Hours Leave (Grand National) 27^
Under the Red Robe (20th Century-Fox) 2y2*
Varsity Show (Warners) 3*
♦Victoria the Great (RKO) 3 ★
Vogues of 1938 (Walter Wanger) 3*
Waikiki Wedding (Paramount) 3^
Wake Up and Live (20th Century-Fox) 3 ★
Way Out West (Hal Roach) 2y2 ★
Wee Willie Winkie (20th Century-Fox) 4*
We Have Our Moments (Universal) i-k
When Love is Young (Universal) "i-k
When Thief Meets Thief (United Artists) 2 ★
White Bondage (Warners) 1 ★
*Wife, Doctor and Nurse (20th Century-Fox) 3*
Wild and Woolly (20th Century-Fox) 2 ★
The Wildcatter (Universal) 2*
Wild Money (Paramount)