Variety (January 1953)

42 MCTUIUES Forty-seventh J^SIrSBjTY Anniversary Wednesday, January 7, I933 1953 Spirit of the Old West, With French Trimmings By LUCIUS BEEBE Virginia City, Nev. Since its foundation in 1858, tumult and ’civic confu- sion have been the life blood of the Territorial Enter- prise, Nevada’s first newspaper and today Its largest and most widely read and quoted weekly. Last summer was no exception. Stabbings, slashings, embezzlements and other gaudy hooray dominated the news of what was the biggest tourist season in Comstock history. Good weekends saw 5,000 visitors tooling up the Gei- ger Grade from Reno to visit this atmospheric ghost mining town, where Mark Twain got his start and the fortunes of George Hearst, Mar- cus Daly, John Mackay and number- less other archmillionaires of the 19th century had their beginnings. Evidence of good times is a long tally of repairs and enlargement of the town’s leading saloons and gaming parlors including the historic Delta, Pat Hart’s Brass Rail, and the Crystal Bar. Lucius Beebe Summer season started cheerfully when a house of pretty girls opened on The Divide—the high ridge, sep- arating Virginia City from Gold Hill and scene of the historic holdup of Mark Twain and theft of his prized presentation watch. Prostitution is a matter of local op- tion in Nevada and the local better element at once foregathered at town meeting breathing heavily and de- manding reform. Actual feelipg is pretty much against open vice, as it brings taxi-loads of drunks from Reno who cause trouble and leave little money in town, but oldtimers view it with complacence as a tie to the good old days, and some tradesmen applaud it as “atmos- phere,” The good ladies threw their weight around, abused the district attorney, but tj&7girls stayed on to moderate business featured by a businessman’s chicken breakfast served every Sunday morning ~ and attended* by first citizens whose families would be surprised. Attention was centered on the reform element itself next week when its most outspoken champion of civic virtue and down-with-the-girls got falling-down-stinko in the Comstock House bar and precipitated a free-for-all which necessitated hospitalization of three bystanders carved up by a broken bottle wielded by Mme. Reform. The town was enchanted and the D.A. promptly jailed her for atrocious assault. The, Comstock, probably unique in its appreciation, in- clines to view such robust interludes as good publicity for its uninhibited way of life. Kn ee-Deep i n VIPs Notables continued to swarm up the grade to shoot roulette with honest Len Haffey at the Delta and Penna Hinton Tew Hart, former New York socialite and member of the Palm Beach Tew, Clan, at the Brass Rail. Names signed in the Enterprise guest book included Messmore Kendall, Stanton Delaplane, Edward Arnold; Otheto Weston, Mother Lode artist; Vincent Sheean, Governor Charles Russell, the Earl and Countess of Wellesley, Martin Flavin, Basil Woon, Mme. Jeanne Owen of the Wine & Food. Society of America, Seymour Weiss, Rob- ert de Roos of the San Francisco Chronicle; Joe Caw- thorm, publisher of the San Francisco News, Tand New York’s own Ward Morehouse who drove out in tlhree and a half days as houseguest of the publishers of the En- terprise and pilgrim to the shrine of Piper’s Opera where his old friend David Belasco was once stage manager. Morehouse wrote a series of ecstatic columns about the Comstock for his syndicate and his wife Rebecca Frank- lin did the same for the Atlanta Journal Sunday Maga- zine, Altogether Virginia City got more publicity than it has had since the Big Bonanza. * Several documentaries were filmed around the Com- stock, ' including one for Standard Oil, but haven’t yet been shown. No fewer than four "Buffalo Bills,” complete with whiskers and long hair, moved into the old Virginia & Truckee’s now abandoned depot to set up a riding acad- emy (legit), much to the disgust of C Street’s original "Buffalo Bill” Shetler, owner of the Trading Post and Mark Twain Museum. Concord coach with four gentle old horses which tooled slowly around town on Sundays and took kids on picnics to Six Mile Canyon was a great success with the younger element. Most notable contribution to the town’„s de luxe life was the reactivating by San Franciscans Dick and Margaret Chillcott of the long disused Comstock House, a rambling brick structure next to the assay office dating from 1876. Lavish menu and Colony prices were justified, at least briefly, by a chef imported from Maxim’s in Paris «and Antoine’s in New Orleans, and carriage trade from Reno and Lake Tahoe was brisk. Temperament triumphed, how- ever, when a customer complained of the pigeoneau au plat and the chef departed having first thoughtfully cut the gas main with a meat ax and turned the refrigerator down to its lowest low just before an important dinner party. Since then restaurant has done fairly well with more modest cuisine maintained by Nina Hines who also sings in the cafe. Elaborate plans for next year are being made by the Chillcotts who are reputedly heeled. Frontier atmosphere of this old town attracts numer- ous weddings which are solemnized by- the town’s lady justice of the peace, Matilda Pollard, with varying de- grees of flourish, depending on means of participants. There is a plain $5 ceremony and a rising scale of “where- fores” and "now be it here recorded” with commensurate rise in tariff. Outstanding wedding of the fall was that of William and Florence Millsaps Jenkins. Jenkins is. P managing editor of the Klamath Falls (Oregon) Herald & News. Wedding continued'for three days and was esteemed a vast success even though casualties were high. The Enterprise reported; "One ardent celebrant, within a hall s length of bed and safety at evening’s end, suffered Hie misfortune of falling down several flights of stairs in Florence Edwards’ Silver Dollar Hotel, but despite a cum- bersome cast on one leg was cheerful when he departed two days later.” Final panache to the waning season was the departure, appropriately enough in a heavy snowfall, of the' sexton of St. Mary’s-in-the-Mountains, the Comstock’s historic Cath- olic church built by John Mackay, with the contents of the poorbox. Warrants charging forgery were subsequent- ly signed by 15 victims holding short checks and including the Sazarac Saloon, the Old Mr. Comstock Saloon, Capitol Bar, Sawdust Corner and the Delta. Charlie the Steeple- jack, working on the roof of the church, told police he drove absconding sacristan to the night train in Reno Westbound, so law enforcement agents have been alerted as far east as St. Louis. Locals commented that his de- parture effected an elemental phenomenon, a combined Nevada blizzard and snowstorm of spurious paper. De- parted caretaker, with broad religious tolerance, had dreamed up a fund for the restoration of adjacent St. Paul’s Episcopal Church of which he was also sexton. The diocesan authorities had not been informed. The Comstock is now settling down for a placid winter around the cannonball stoves. There were big doings at Christmas and New Year’s, when all hotels and motels were booked to capacity. Winter sports at Mt. Rose, too, promise off-season business of a modest sort. Comstock- ers are confident in promising that the next tourist sea- son, which opens about May 1, will provide fancier stab- bings, more notable nuptials, and gaudier embezzlements. Lambs’ Tales ' ' — By LES KRAMER ====^= Walter Catlett, the fabulous merry-andrew, told me this one during his recent foray into New York. He noted that many years ago it was the custom of late-drinking Lambs to leave the bar when it closed early of a Sun- day morning, and cab up to St. Malachy’s Church for early or so-called "printers’ ” Mass. Among the show biz figures always to be found at this specific service was Jimmy Duffy, of the vaudeville team of Duffy & Sweeney. On this particular occasion, Father Leonard was ad- dressing his flock from the pulpit. “My sons and daugh- ters,” said the padre, "I want to tell you about our Printers’ Mass next Sunday. Now, as you all know, next Saturday is Christmas Eve, and so we’re going to prepare something a little special for you. The church will be beautifully decorated with flowers and greenery. Not only that, out many of the choir from St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and their organist, Mr. Pietro Yon, will parti- cipate in the services. Not only that, but John McCor- mack will lend his glorious voice to the rendition of our hymns. Not only that, but Rosa Ponselle, of the Metro- politan Opera, will be here to sing ‘Adeste Fidelis’ for us. And not only that—” Up jumped Jimmy Duffy. "And not only that,” he cried, "but General Pisano will shoot out the candles!” $ # * Early in the spring of 1952, at the Ziegfeld Theatre, Sir Laurence Olivier was starring in the two Cleopatra plays by Shakespeare 1 and Shaw. Milton Berle thought Olivier might make a fine "class” contribution to his television program, and he sent emissaries to wait upon him and solicit his participation. Berle's offer was turned down. The exact wording of ihe refusal was: “Sorry. Sir Laurence does not ask questions!” * # $ A burlesque comic and his straight man, playing small- time in the middle west, were great pals—but always scrapping. One night the exchange got so hot that they decided to, split up and go their separate ways. The comic started doing a single in small clubs, worked up to better clubs, finally hit a spot on 52d Street where he was discovered by a scout from the Coast, The films took him out to Hollywood, where he made a couple of pictures and was a smash hit. Two years later he was back in New York, a success. His current film was doing turnaway business at the Roxy, he was guest starring on TV, the dough was roll- ing in. Our comic was strolling down 7th Avenue, feeling very satisfied with the world, when he ran into his old straight man, Charlie, who was now a complete bum. “Charlie!” cried the comic, grasping the bum’s hand, “Charlie, my old straight man! Hey, am I happy to see you again! ^Remember the good old -days, pal? A million laughs, a million laughs! Anything I can do for you, pal? Just say the word—anything I can give you?” "Yeah,” muttered Charlie. "I’m down and out. I’m starving. Can you; give., me two bits?” "Hell!” cried the comic, "two bits? I’ll give you four bits—the Flugel Street Bit, the Water-in-the-Pants Bit, the Pick-up-the-Hankerchief Bit, the Irish Justice Bit...” * * * When Bobby Clark was starring in Mike Todd's "As The Girls Go,” at the Broadway,, about 7:45 of a cold winter's night he was standing outside the stage door , getting the dost few puffs from a practical cigar, when a bum shuffled past. ' . >' The bum was a typical Bowery product — dirty, ragged, rheumy-eyed, unshaven—and he was chewing on an ap- ple. Suddenly he spotted ClarkS- He stopped, tossed the apple over his shoulder, kicked' it back over his head, caught it, muttered: "Only a few of us left!” and shuffled on as Clark did a magnificent and unrehearsed mouth- wide-open take. No Dandruff, at Least I don’t know why this should strike me particularly as funny, unless it’s because both Eisenhower and Stevenson and I have reached that regrettable lack of hairline. But about 15 years ago, when Graham Baker and Gene Towne were a very hot team of writers in Hollywood, known for their fast dialog, they took the same train back east I did. They had just made it, having been given -a job at MGM which entailed a research trip to Chicago, and they had been celebrating to some, extent. They celebrated until the last minute, and then in 60 seconds flat, filled a bag with the essentials of a journey: toilet articles, shirts, etc. Both, I might add, were bald as bats; producers employing them had to wear sun-glasses when Towne and the late Granam Baker jumped up and down and grew excited during story conferences. They invited me into their drawing room for a drink, and while Baker was rummag- ing for the ‘bottle, Towne took stock of the contents of their solitary bag. He snapped his fingers, and said with great annoyance, “Darn it, we forgot to bring a comb!” "A comb!” repeated Graham. "Who’s coming with us?” Milton M. Raison. Whatever Happened To Those Big Story Deals? By PAUL S. NATHAN A New York literary agent whose infrequent dealings with Hollywood had always been handled for her by agents on the Coast finally decided to earn the full 10 r £ herself next time she had something for Hollywood. A couple of weeks after a novel by one of her clients had come out, before she and the author had settled on an asking price for screen rights, she received a call from one of the majors’ eastern story editors. He said his studio was interested in the property; how much did she want for it? When- the agent explained that, in the light of excellent reviews, they were waiting to see how the book would sell before naming a figure the editor said: "I’m authorized to go as high' as $5,000 x —but that’s our ceiling, and it’s good only if you’re ready to do business right away.” —— The agent phoned me in a dither. "I realize movie prices are lower than they used to be,” she groaned "but are they that low?” She went on to say that an indie producer had also approached her with an offer of a small down payment plus a percentage. Till she had heard what kind of money the majors were willing to pay she had been inclined to brush .the indie off. Now she didn’t know what to do—or whether to do nothing at all and await future developments. In a somewhat similar frame of mind a popular novel- ist complained that her’ latest work had just been op- tioned by a big studio for a mere $2,500 against a total price of $20,000. "A few years ago 1 sold §p-and-so for $125,000,” she pointed out, “and it was .png' 1 of the indus- try's biggest money makers. Is my agent getting soft in the head, or what?” Knowing that this lady’s new book had not been too kindly received either by the critics or the public, I said: "Sweetheart, just pray they pick up the option!” I gave the agent my blessing, wished her good luck, and told her that whatever she decided fx> do. it would probably turn out to be wrong. So far as I know, her book is still unsold. * It’s odd to realize that "the old days” referred to a few sentences back were still with us as recently as five years ago. That was the era in which Metro was dishing out awards—at first annual, then semi-annual—for the best unpublished novels. The victors could count on carrying away a minimum of $125,000 and their happy publishers $25,000. To the best of my recollection, only "Green Dolphin Street,” out of half a dozen prizewinning ma.ster- pieces, ever reached the screen. In the same awesomely lush period M-G-M was also willing and able to part with $650,000 for "Annie Get Your Gun.” Even after this outlay Loew’s was supposed to have enpugh money left—according to a hot rumor going around at the time—to buy up most of the block on which the Hotel Astor stood (and still stands), raze the hotel and neighboring legit playhouses, and build its own picture palace' to outshine Radio City Music Hall. During this epoch my "Books into Films” column in' Publishers’ Weekly could report: “Fox has literary cir- cles a-buzz over the unusual deal closed by eastern story editor Bert Bloch with - Kenneth Roberts for the forth- coming Roberts costume romance, ‘Lydia Bailey.’ "Under the circumstances the terms seem especially generous. The author is to receive $215,000 spread out over a period of 10 years. If at the end of that time Fox decides to acquire the property permanently, an- other $10,000 is called for. And for the privilege of turn- ing out a remake, either during or after the 10-year period, Fox must fork over still another $20,000.” ,In an equallyliigh-powefed coup, Lillie 1 'Messinger, who ’had graduated from the role of Louis B. Maker’s private Scheherazade to an executive post at' {T-I, snatched "The Saxon Charm” from under the .noses of rival studios' story editors. The other eds had been nudging Frederic Wakeman gently at intervals, reminding him that t’hey would like to see his new one as soon as it was ready. Miss Messinger, according to the account of her ex- ploit that caused grinding of teeth and gnawing of knuckles in the trade, hopped an eastbound plane out of -Los Angeles one day, made a beeline to the New York office of Wakeman’s lawyer Bill Fitelson, who was also a good friend of hers, and there glommed onto a manu- script still pulsating from the hot strokes of the type- writer. This is it!” she cried a few hours later, and without too much difficulty prevailed on Fitelson to fly back to California with her. Deplaning, they sped to Lake Ar- rowhead where William Goetz, of U-I, was on holiday. A flick of the pen, the contract was signed, and Fitelson turned around and headed for home. Terms for "The Saxon Charm” guaranteed the author between $150,00 and $200,000 plus 10% of the gross- all this for a 10-year lease. By the time the picture came out, boxoffice receipts in general had begun to slide, and it seems extremely un- likely that the studio ever got back the cost of the book over production expenses, to' say nothing of its invest- ment in transportation. Still, U-I no doubt felt amply recompensed by having outsmarted the competition — an objective which, in those days, often seemed to count for more than what was being competed for. U-I also, at this period, took a 10-year lease on Thomas Duncan’s circus novel “Gus the Great,” paying $100,000 down and acceding to an escalator clause which could bring the total'to $301,000. This, too, was considered quite a coup, even though the studio has subsequently done nothing with its valuable ^acquisition, letting DeMille and Paramount steal a march with "The Great- est Show on Earth.” lit 1)1 lit ^ In the more sober circumstances under which the pic- ture business presently operates, books are no longer bought or leased without definite prospects of produc- ts 11 ;—in fact leases are virtually unheard of—and there is little winging from coast to coast just to gander a manuscript. It is slightly startling to realize that the prices paid for books by reprint publishers today often top the prices being paid by the picture business. When Columbia bought “From Here to Eternity” last year for $85,000, that was big news. The old days are gone, piesumably forever. Anyway, too much money is bad for writers.