Talking Screen (Sep-Oct 1930)

Amos 'n' Andy 'n' Talkies sepians put on a show! Did Duke Ellington's band get hot ! Uh, huh ! Boy, if Madam Queen could have seen those roto-gravure brown-skins shake that thing ! Before we left, director Brown signed up the band to go to Hollywood for his picture. Some other talent, too, found itselfsuddenly set for the cinema. Then we left. I've walked with Dempsey in several different cities when pursuing mobs of admirers drove the idolized Jack o' Clubs from the streets by blocking traffic for a chance to shake the hand that shook so many chins. I rode with Valentino that rainy morning when he declined to slip through a side door into the Strand theatre because hundreds had waited hours in the wet for a glimpse of him. I've seen Gloria Swanson almost faint after forcing her way through a myriad of too ardent admirers. I've helped Buddy Rogers get from Sardi's to the Paramount theatre — half-an-hour to progress half a block. But I never saw such adulation as Amos 'n' Andy received before The Cotton Club that night. Ii was nothing short of amazing. [^Continued from page 86] The streets were black — and that goes both ways. The awninged carpet from the club to the curb was lined with protecting minions who struggled with the crowd. The word had spread, all right ! WE MADE the grade to a cab. But before we could get in, an individual crashed the line and stood before us. He was Andy to the life. The battered iron hat, cigar, the whole make-up. 'Whether he had donned the disguise for the occasion, we never knew. But there he was. Andy, the kid himself. He had us cornered. And he began. Whether it was a patter he had invented for entertainment at Harlem rent parties — or whether the line was extemporaneous will go down as an unsolved mystery. But in dialea, intonation, phrase and form, he gave us Andy's line. The Messrs. Gosden and Correll, million dollar movie stars, grinned in appreciation. And then with that hilariously happy crowd of Harlemites getting every word, the Un known and Amos 'n' Andy gave a ten minute exchange of repartee that will go down in Darktown history. Finally they let us go places and do things. And so the night ended. When I said good-bye Gosden and Correll were Amos 'n' Andy to me, too. And always will be. You know, in the skies there are stars we never see. It takes millions of lightyears for their radiance to reach us. But they're shining all the time, just the same. And some day they'll suddenly penetrate the infinity of space with their rays to illumine our world with their brilliance. That's the way with Amos 'n' Andy. They're the unseen stars. We've never yet laid eyes on them. But, boy, we know they're there. Yes. there forty ways! And it won't be long now before the dazzling light of their scintillating fun shines from Hollywood upon the talking picture screens of all the world, to give our lives more laughter. What's that you say? "Check and Double Check?" Yassuh, dat's de propolition! The Black Crow's Nest "but -vye do want regular folks, who love the country and feel at home iii it." "You know, so many think this sort of thing is a novelty for me. It isn't. I was born in White Cloud, Kansas, &nd though I've spent many years on the stage, I feel as though I'd come home, out here . . ." HEN asked if the colony would be restricted to motion picture people, he answered, significantly, "I'm going to restrict it to human beings." Prominent film folk without number have been clamoring for a place in the colony. The quaint charm of Newhall, one of the historic spots of California, and the glory of its sunsets (Charlie vows no place in Europe can equal them), draws them irresistibly. But Charlie is in no particular hurr^. IT TAKES more than precedent to put the fear of tourists and interior decorators into Charlie's soul. If he thinks a window here or a door there would add to the comfort of the house, in it goes. Comfort. That's the word which intrigues the lazy-voiced comedian. "Did you notice those stone benches behind the house?" he asked one of the guests, leading us around the left wing, "They've got pillows !" Sure enough, the long bench was divided into sections long enough for a full-grown adult to stretch out in the sun, and at one end of each division was a small sloping bank of cement, still wet from the workmen's trowel. But, of course, there will be upholstering, and canopies. Not for Charlie the austerity of colJ, bare stone. He showed us with delight the unique triangular swimming pool, flanked by an L [Conlinued from page 6i} shaped building containing Turkish baths, dressing rooms and den, all with novel little gadgets that nobody else ever thought of stuck here and there. AT THE top of the hill is the Weekend Jl\^ House, small and cozy and strong. "Just about earthquake-proof," declared Charlie proudly, looking up at the rustic low ceiling. Encouraged by the respectful silence of his listeners, he went on. "Yes, sir, I'll bet this house'will be standing here a thousand years from now." There was no sound but the whirring of the wind in the grass. Then Robert Burkhalter. Mack's attorney, returned solemnly, "And I'll bet you. Charlie, that there won't be one of us here a thousand years from now to dispute your word." DID you ever see a window in a fireplace before?" He pointed at a small, stained glass contraption casting baleful colored shadows into the room. We hung our heads in shame, and admitted we hadn't. Then he touched one of the lovely dark panels on the wall, and a huge double bed sprang out — not lengthwise, in the manner of well-behaved wallbeds — but squatting on the floor. At the other end of the room was its equally vanishing counterpart. "Lots of space for weekend guests," grinned Charlie. Those rational individuals who are constantly seeking causes for all effects trace Charlie's orgy of building to the time, several decades ago, when he became apprenticed to a house pointer and was put to work sandpapering a house. After several hours of this monotonous pastime, the boy became impatient and asked his boss how soon he would be allowed to start painting. "In about two years," was the answer. Charlie quit his job. "Now," conclude the logical ones, "he can afford to do anything he wants with plaster and paint, and his suppressed desires sprout up all over the place." HE'S had his ups and downs, we grant you. Beginning as a newsboy at the age of five, he followed successively the callings of messenger boy, minstrel, baseball player and electrician, with odd jobs between. Fifteen years ago he teamed up with John Swor, one of the five Swot brothers already famous as minstrels throughout the country at that time. Bert, Charlie's present partner, is one of them. Watching Charlie in action one day, John made a prediction. "That kid," he mused, "is either going to amount to something or go crazy." Musical comedy, phonograph records, a comic strip, a syndicated newspaper column and a trunk factory all did their share toward swelling the Mack coff^ers. The Two Black Crows were already almost a national institution when Mack was signed by Paramount for the blackface talkie riots, Why Bring That Up, and Anybody's War. All in all, things have turned out rather well for Charlie. He might be basking in Lido sunshine or disporting himself at the Riviera. But he prefers to play with bricks and stones, with winding roads and sturdy small houses; to work toward a realization of his dream: a great friendly family of neighbors, who will love each other, love life, love the land and be happy together. So — whether it's English or Norman or early Amazoman — architecture be hanged, say we, and more power to Charlie's Utopia. 90