We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.
Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.
{fitter Qif/s
to
wallow
Between Panhandlers and Panners James Hall Has Found Life in . Hollywood Is No Story-Book
By Gladys Hall
YOU pay Hollywood for what it gives you. You pay — and you pay until it hurts. Make no mistake about that.
Sometimes Hollywood appears to single out a favorite son or a favorite daughter. To these rare ones she seems to give liberally, without stint. Like a painted, pampering old harridan of a mother, she bestows luxurylollipops and lines the toboggan with velvet and oil of orchids.
Sometimes Hollywood is niggardly. She defers payment. She evades. She vouchsafes a little nibble, then pulls it away again. She starves and forces knees to bend and hands to supplicate.
But she always presents a bill.
She has presented a bill to James Hall. And the coin he pays is bitter coin minted in heartache.
It was so easy in the beginning. It showed such a favoring face. He thought "Heck, there isn't any cloud, there is only the silver lining !"
Let's turn back the calendar.
Jim was "born in the theater." When he was knee-high to Eve's grasshopper, he played in vaudeville with his folks. He. was a bell-hop. When he grew too big
to be a cunning bell-hop, he passed the role on to his sister, and he himself passed on to Broadway.
He has gentle gray eyes and a frank, laughing mouth. Broadway liked him a lot. He danced and sang in "The Matinee Girl," "Merry, Merry" and others. He fell in love. First love. It was sweet, and he believed in it and in people and in life and everything. It's anticipating my story, but he doesn't now — not any more.
One day an emissary from Flo Ziegfeld came to call. He suggested to young James Hamilton — for such was
the name he used then — that he remain in New York for the summer in order to go into rehearsal for the Follies in July. Mr. Ziegfeld liked his face.
Jim had never summered in New York. The idea didn't appeal. He said so. The Ziegfeld emissary searched about for bait. He said, "What if I get you in the movies ? You're just the type. Scads of money. If that could be arranged, would you stay over?" Jim said tish or tosh or something. The Z. E. presented the unbeliever with a letter to Walter Wanger of Famous Players. Jim put it in his pocket along with the letters he had forgotten to mail for his girl and other innocents. And he forgot it, too. Movies — money — apple butter! These things never happen to a "young man trying to get along on Broadway.
A few weeks or months later Jim and a pal were out strolling. They had nothing in particular to do. The (Continued on page 116)
71