The Moving picture world (November 1926-December 1926)

398 MOVING PICTURE WORLD December 11, 1926 SeijBioe movie went in 200 The usual Halloween property loss was reduced by 97% in Chicago this year through a campaign conducted by the local picture houses acting in concert. News item. LOWLY, sonorously, the deep notes o£ chapel clock boomed. Ten I Eleven ! Twelve ! The knell of the twentieth century had been sounded. The year 2001 of the Christian Era had been ushered in with no greater formality than marks the passing of each midnight hour. Save for one room in the Science Building and the lamps in the radium lighted quadrangle, the windows of the University buildings were black oblongs against the time-stained walls. The student body slept, but a half score of the world's most famous scientific investigators were gathered about the glass cabinet enclosing a couch on which lap the inert form of a man apparently in his late twenties. Actually his age was a century grreater. For one hundred years he had breathed only sterilized air. For ten decades he had been fed artificially on predigested beef extracts. One hundred years before he had been sealed into the chamber as the clocks marked the advent of 1901 while riotous mobs with horns and other noiserrrakers had drowned out the solemn tones of the great bells. The glass case was unsealed and slowly Edward Smith was brought to animation by Dr. Volstead Anderson Blotz, grandson of the famous physician who had sought to prove his theories of suspended animation by this hundred-year test. Smith stirred, yawned and gaped. "What's the matter?" he demanded, looking from one to the other of the white robed forms. "Been in an accident?" "Don't you remember?" prompted Dr. Blotz. "My grandfather — " "Oh, yes — " Smith rubbed his head reflectively. "I got a thousand dollars to let your old man put me to sleep. What time is this?" "It is five minutes past midnight January 1, 2001," replied Blotz. "Quit your kidding!" Smith grinned broadly. "This ain't New Year's. Why, when I went to sleep they were cracking the windows with the noise. Fifteen hundred students and every one soused to the gills. Volstead Anderson Blotz shuddered violently. His companions looked horrified. "That has been done away with," said PJotz unctiously. "In 1920 the Congress abolished the sale of intoxicating liquor." "And did the folks stand for it?" Smith's tone was incredulous. "Not at first," admitted Blotz. "But as time went on propaganda in motion pictures educated the public. The last bootlegger went out of business in 1935." "Suflfcring cats !" Smith's eyes bulged. "To cut out booze on New Year's is like taking the firecrackers away from the kids on the Fourth of July. The Safe and Sane Fourth was inaugurated by the Motion Pictures in 1911," explained Blotz patiently. "Of course, it took a little time to do entirely away with fireworks, but by 1930 the entire country had been brought to the proper celebration — the reading of the Declaration of Independence and community singing." "Then I suppose they put the boots to Santa Claus," suggested Smith. "Assuredly. That myth was exploded in 1931. On that Christmas celebration a specially made motion picture was shown to every child in the United States by the AntiMyth Society. There was much protest from the toy makers, but a special film was prepared and shown to them. Toy factories are now devoted to the useful manufactures." Smith rose from the couch and walked weakly to the window, looking out on the sleeping world. "You should have let me sleep on," he muttered reproachfully. "I was happy so long as I didn't know. I suppose you junked Thanksgiving, too." "Oh, no !" Blotz brightened at being able to cheer his guest from the past. "We still celebrate Thanksgiving. Of course it has changed a little. In 1963 the Society for the Prevention of Dyspepsia brought out a propaganda film showing the foolishness of gorging oneself on holidays. The Poultry Dealers' National Association brought out a counter-propaganda, but the reformers won. Smith whistled a few bars of a song popular away back in the nineties, and stopped whistling to hum the refrain, "Please go way and let me sleep." The little committee of scientists watched him narrowly. He. had not been educated by the pictures. The reforms were perhaps coming too sudden for him. Smith turned his back to the window and faced the men of science. "Give it to me in a bunch," he said hoarsely. "Back in my time we used to go to the movies for fun. I guess you changed the brand. What else did you kill?" "We have corrected many abuses," explained Blotz with the air of one who reproves a naughty child. "For example, we have the uniform garment for both sexes." "The gals dress like you fellows?" gasped Smith, eyeing the garment which seemed to be a compromise between a smock and a toga. "It is only rational," suggested Blotz. "Beauty is of the mind." Smith gave utterance to words which had passed into history when the Society for the Suppression of Profanity had won its long propaganda fight. He turned back to the window. The nearly full moon broke through a rift in the clouds, hghting a statue in the quadrangle. Originally a splendid bit of sculpture, it was now worn and battered. "Who's that guy?" he whispered. "That Tom Edison?" "It is a statue to Will H. Hays, Czar of the Movies," explained Blotz. "It was erected by the Theatre Owners' Chamber of Contentment in 1953, when he finally wrote a uniform contract acceptable to both parties." "And he put it over with a propaganda film," suggested Smith. "I'm getting wise." "There was such a film," admitted Blotz. "It was written by Elinor Glyn and Vicente Ibanez and produced by von Stroheim and Lubitsch. It was shown only four years before the contract was put over." "And who threw the rocks at Bill — the kids?" "Unfortunately, yes," admitted Blotz. "Why don't you show 'em a picture to make 'em stop?" asked Smith with a grin. "That should reach them." The little group stirred uneasily. It was some moments before Blotz could conquer his emotion and speak. "You see," he said gently, "in 1992 the grandson of Canon William Sheafe Chase, who had been carrying on his ancestor's glorious warfare , for decency, put out a propaganda to prove that the pictures were themselves a menace, and so we had to stop making them." "And there ain't no more movies?" "Unfortunately, no." "Hot dawgl" murmured Smith. "Put me back to sleep for another hundred years. By that time we'll be back where we were. Good night 1"