Screenland (Nov 1937-Apr 1938)

Bing, besweatered, and wearing corduroy slacks, rose from the shade of a gigantic palm tree, and smiled his greetings. "Welcome to my humble shack," quoth he. "All that I have is yours !" Though I had heard that greeting in the Orient, I had never heard it in the Occident. And when a bird like Bing Crosby utters it, he really has something to offer. I thought I would take him up on it. His Paramount contract flashed through my mind, but I didn't think that Paramount might care about that. I looked about me, and my eyes fell upon the largest and heaviest-bearing avocado tree I had ever seen. It was the size of a small house. My mind was made up. I like avocados. "Gracias, sehor," I replied, using the only two Spanish words I know. "I desire yon avocado tree." Bing grinned, and looked at his tree with affection. "D'you know, that was the first avocado tree ever planted in California. If you can carry it back to Hollywood in your rumble seat, you can have it !" Bing still has his avocado tree. After I had washed away the dust of travel, Bing showed me his domain. It had belonged to a Spanish grandee, and has played a part in California's early history. The original adobe ranch house (with walls three feet thick) still stands, and is now the guest house. The additions which Bing has built are the same type of architecture down to the last detail. The door handles, for instance, are the height of a man's knee, so that children can let themselves in and out without bothering their elders. Smart people, those Spaniards! They couldn't have been thinking of the Crosby dynasty. Or could they ? Of course, the first things we looked at were the horses — eight mares with their foals. Nice beasties all. But I saw that Bing was panting to get down to the new Del Mar race track, of which he is president, and where he has more than twenty thoroughbreds in training. For sheer beauty of setting, I believe it is unequalled in this country. Bing's own slogan for it is, "Where the turf meets the surf." Now, I'm not particularly interested in racing, but when Bing shows his horses, one cannot help but be impressed with his intense enthusiasm. He croons over them. "Here's a smart little two year old, foaled in California. His name's High Strike. And here's Rocco. He won four straight at Caliente." What interested me more than the horses was Bing's complete absorption in his stable. He doesn't care very much about riding himself, although he occasionally hacks about with Dixie. He is interested in horses for them Life at Bing's ranch near Del Mar is as informal as mine host's costume of corduroy slacks and windbreaker, and as warmly friendly as his smile of greeting to his guests. Below, the adobe ranch house, Right, Bing goes to work on a big platter of sandwiches. Lower right, giving his personal attention to one of his many fine race horses. selves. His greatest thrill is watching a thundering good race, with good horseflesh showing what it can do. Back we went to the house for a cocktail on the lawn. Dixie appeared, wearing — oh, I don't know. Anyhow, it looked all right. She had slacks of some pale, shivery stuff. The three husky, tow-haired youngsters, Gary and the twins, appeared briefly, accompanied by a small army of cockers, under the escort of a huge Newfoundland. Gary suddenly announced that he would like to sing. Well, Gary did sing, in an amusing four-year-old imitation of his father. It was a ditty with the looniest lyrics I ever heard. "Daddy made up the words," he confided to me in a whisper which couldn't have been heard for more than sixty feet. "He sings, too, you know, in pictures and on the radio !" He climbed up beside me, with a book in his hand, and gave me an appraising look. Bing had previously informed me that Gary's year's seniority over the twins had given him a "tough" superiority complex. "Y'know," he informed me, "Dennis, that one over there, is a dumb little guy. He's always divin' off things an' conkin' his bean, an' . . . "Gary," expostulated Dixie, gently, "bumping his head." "Bumpin' his head," went on Gary ; and then, apropos of nothing at all : "D'ya like books ? This is full of animals." He opened it at random. "What's that one?" he demanded. "A yak," I replied. "What?" "A yak," I repeated. {Please turn to page 88)