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Richard Arlen and Jobyna Ralston find happiness in the seclusion of their lakeside home, which is always
open to the most "regular" Hollywood folk.
Checking Up On Dick
A close-up study of Richard Arlen shows that in spite of his rise to stardom, he is still the same natural youth of his struggling days, and one of the few players who do not act in private life.
B? William H. McKegg
IT is either gratifying, amusing, or painful to checkup on certain movie youths, on whom you have kept an interested eye during their climb to fame, and learn what new truths they have gleaned, since coming into a new estate. You can weigh very few without finding something wanting.
For the past five years I have been watching Richard Arlen — from the time he played a bit in Colleen Moore's "Sal!y," under his real name, Van Mattimore, from the day he was placed under contract by Paramount, at seventy-five dollars a week, and until he recently became one of their stars.
Now you might think I'm joking in repeating the trite, but often incorrect statement, that Dick Arlen is the most untheatrical, natural chap you could ever meet among the cinematic hordes. I know only about three. Dick is one of them.
As an unknown bit player, during his first appearance on the Paramount lot, Dick worked with various one-time celebrities. I remember he greeted Agnes Ayres and others one morning as he came on the set. An icy silence was accorded him. His smile died away, and he walked miserably over to a corner by himself.
These cuts used to hurt him. But to-day Dick has a good laugh, while the former high-and-mighty ones have faded into oblivion.
In those early days Dick was almost less than an extra. He and Mary Brian were signed at about the same time, but neither was given a chance at anything worth while.
While Lawrence Gray and Betty Bronson were getting the breaks, Dick and Mary remained in the background. To-day it seems to be the other way about.
My more intimate acquaintance with Dick really began when I spent some time with him at Jacumba, on the Mexican border, during the making of "Beggars of Life." In the winter Jacumba is hot indeed. In summer, when we were there, it is like the nether world. Not that I know, but I've been told what it's like by my friend, Mr. Arlen.
At seven in the morning we left the small hotel, climbed into a freight car and were taken to a desolate spot ten miles from the town.
One morning we went to a horrifying spot called the Carriso Gorge, an evil-looking place, through which a shallow stream irregularly flows. To a sensitive soul from Hollywood it looked exactly like one of Dore's illustrations for. Dante's "Inferno." Steep, beetling cliffs on either side made us all seem very unimportant. We were in the depths of the abyss, among huge boulders worn smooth by a torrent which comes hurtling through the gorge in the flood season.
Dick and I were sitting in the shade. I felt a bit fed up, because I wasn't allowed to wander away. The reason being that he took delight in warning me not to stray, because snakes abounded. The wriggling little things hide under rocks and strike out at you for no reason at all, except that you have no right to go wandering alone in the Carriso Gorsre.