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Cecil B. DeMille's fame brought him this bronze bust of Voltaire which is guaranteed to be an exact replica of the one in the Louvre. Left to right. Rev. Gustav Brieglieb, Louis B. Mayer, Cecil DeMille and Henri Didot, Consul for France at Los Angeles,
HOW IT FEELS TO BE
STANDING on a street corner in Hollywooci, waiting for a bus to take her to a studio, I saw, not long ago, a very pretty girl dressed in a simple suit of blue. In the traffic there passed an expensive town car with a liveried chauffeur at the wheel. In the rear seat was one of the most widely known motion picture stars, headed for the same studio. The town car did not stop.
We offered the girl in blue a lift.
"Yes," she said in reply to my iquestion, 'T knew her — once. But there is a dividing line between the young women who have become famous and those who are just struggling along. We must not intrude."
It^s not as entirely rosy a proposition as you probably think it is — as almost every star is ready to testify here and now
THE remark remained in my thoughts the balance of the day. Is aloofness the price of fame or is it the result of fame? Does success bring a feeling of elation or does it bring added responsibilities which weigh heavily upon one's shoulders.-* In other words, how does it feel to be famous.-* The question intrigued my fancy and I started asking the picture stars about it. A score or more I briefly interviewed. And this much I determined:
There is no such thing as placidity and pure happiness among those riding the crest of popularity's wave. Cecil B. DeMille, the "Grand Old Master" of the movies voiced in a nutshell what most of the stars had to say.
"Pontius Pilate in the famous hour of judgment," he said,
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"queried of the Christ: What is Truth?' Equally pertinent might be the question, "What is fame?'
"Fame is one thing, notoriety another. Notoriety comes in this life. Fame usually is reserved for the verdict of years. Very often its laurel wreath is not allocated until long after
death. But there is a present spotlight.' The principal feeling I have about being in the public eye is one of sober responsibility. You perhaps can appreciate my feelings when you recall how delighted you are when one person praises you and how depressed if somebody says things of an uncomplimentary nature. Imagine how these reactions are intensified when hundreds of millions are in a position to inspire you with liking or blast you utterly with disapproval!"
RICHARD BARTHELMESS voiced his opinion in almost identical words: "Being famous — so-called," he said in reply to my juety, "gives one a tremendous sense of responsibility. One fetis that he is responsible to so many people — people h( never has met. There are obligations and duties and stan'iards to maintain. Life becomes more complex; criticism cor» .-s easier. But rewards are greater."
To which John Gilbert added: "If one . ntddenly famous, such as Lindbergh or someone else '.!v:. -aped into