Variety (January 1953)

52 PICTURES T ■ i I » i- . r ,* l- 1 ' i I <: I’ S t . } i u vi ». •1 f i !; V H I i ? 1, T S t i ii ii i? i » * I V m i, [I ■; i fV' Forty-seventh Anniversary • Wednesday, January 7, 1953 The Show World Takes Care of Its Own, and flow it Started ■ ■ - By NOEL MEADOW -- ===^ Catherine V, Sheridan was 24 last October, and if she still uses her middle name, she probably must often go to some pain., to ex- plain how it happens to b. Variety. The explanation U well-kn .wn to a group of people who tenant a large building of Tudor design in far-north New York State, near the Canadian line. It is to the same life-yielding source that they and Catherine are indebted. But it was Catherine who tapped that source first—who, indeed, was Responsible for its creation. One night toward the end of 1923, a cleaning-w< man who was giving the quick routine treatment to the freshly abandoned seats of a Pittsburgh theatre came upon a left-bohind object which, she knew, the lost-and-found drawer of the manager’s desk could never handle. It was a small parcel, bu^ full of baby. Pinned to the dress was the moving note: “I cannot afford to keep this . child . Her name is Catherine. I have si.r others. She was born • Oct. 24 and 1 am leaving her in this theatre because of what 1 have heard of the charily of showpeople, and with a prayer that you will care for her .—A Heart-Broken Mother.” There was then, as now, a fixed practice for arranging the imme- diate care of foundlings, and the manager resorted to it. It took some time and, consequently, he Was a bit late that night in reach- ing the downtown cafe where most Pittsburgh, theatremen customarily gathered after they had put out the fights. The story of the foundling, as they heard it, could have been shrugged off—but not that note. That was a challenge. The 11 men present felt it left them no alter- hv f thnt babv jointly and to provide for her wel- fare. It took some sort of organi- zation to do it, so they organized one and, to embrace the various aspects of the amusement industry which they represented, they called their group the Variety Club* ' j That done, the. next step .was naming the baby. Since “Cath- erine” w~s pre-fabricated, a first name was no "hurdle. Somewhere along the line she should be desig- nated “Variety,” but that was no surname to wish on an infant, so they dropped it into the middle. For a family name, they decided that the name of the theatre where she was found, the Sheridan, would do nicely. O-her Pittsburgh showmen, eager for a stake in this mass fatherhood program, put in bids for member- ship and within three months the original roster of 11 exceeded 100. The Variety Club idea spread quickly through the nation, hurdled northern and southern borders, and soon Variety Club “Tents” also mushroomed in Canada, England and Mexico. As of recent date, 38 tents in the U. S. and foreign coun- \ tries listed 11,000 members. Variety Clubs Step In When the future of Catherine V. Sheridan had been secured, the clubs went on to other benevo- lences consistent 'with the adage that the show world “takes care of its own.” Then, in 1948, the real challenge cai^e suddenly. It was greater than cou’d have been, anticipated, but in matters of beneficence, show- men have always had an occupa- tional speech defect—they can’t say No. . i , The Will Rogers Memprial Hos- pital at Saranac .^Lake, founded nearly a quarter-century ago as the NVA Sanatorium, was in dire trou- ble. The only institution in the word devoted wholly to the care of showfolk stricken by the White Plague, it was in danger of closing. Not even a single, steep con- tribution was the answer. It needed .the assurance of a steady, reliable source of income, then amounting to a minimum of $175,000—a need which will go to about $200,000 in the coming year. After solemn thought, the Vari- ety Clubs did what its members knew it would eventually do, any- way. It pledged the full support of its entire membership, and the name of the institution was changed to the Variety Clubs-Will Rogers Hospital. Not that the Variety Clubs carry the load alone. Earlier' supporters of the institution remain a bulwark of strength. Together, the newer and older sponsors provide a uni- fied leadership in financing the growing work, and in bringing to the hospital a large fund of busi- ness acumen which has made con- tinued operation possible. Surpris- ingly, they have kept operating costs down—below the pace of in- flation, at least—and at the same time have expanded medical facili- ties and physical comforts. Last year, the hospital’s labora- tory underwent reactivation on a full-time basis to prepare for vital research work which, it is ex- pected, will make major contribu- tions to the eradication of tubercu- losis and other ravaging diseases of the chest. Here is a hospital without'wards. Eyery patient has a private room and bath, fronted by an open porch. Its lounging and recreation rooms—in which, incidentally, the major film companies last year showed 104 v of their fresh-vintage films—are spacious and relaxing. The patients represent a wide range of occupations .\rithin the amusement industry. In 1 the relax- ing areas, stagehands and actors mingle with front-office workers, theatre employees, film salesmen, radio and TV people. Still unsolved by the hospital’s top administrators is the mystery of the unswerving loyalty of the professional and maintenance staffs. With hospitals all over the country faced by a crippling em- ployment turnover. Variety Clubs- Will Rogers holds it breath—and the staff .stays on. The sponsors are eager to em- phasize that the hospital is not a New York State institution, despite its location. Insisting it is a na- tional—and recently even inter- natonai—in scope, they point to the present roster which shows patients from 12 states, the Dis- trict of Columbia and two foreign countries.. At that, although the largest single group is listed from New York £?ity, it is a matter of record that this would be their “professional” addresses, and that their homes are actually spread across the country. While the original purpose of the hospital was to accept only such patients whose conditions indi- cated the likelihood of certain cure, the admissions for 1952 showed the two largest groups of new-patients to be in the “mod- erately advanced” and “far ad- vanced” stages of the disease. These two groups, together, were eight times greater than the three remaining categories combined. The average stay of patients dis- charged in 1952 was 548 days. Will Rogers, as practically every- one has heard by now, once said, “I never met a man I didn’t like.” Since no one likes a bill-collector, the Will Rogers Hospital just doesn’t have any. No patient pays for medical care or lodging, .thougn for most of them a stay is meas- ured in terms of years—some one, two or four years. Yet, in a recent analysis of 685 cases, it’was found that 502 had been sufficiently re- stored to health to permit them to resume their old jobs. Relief from worry—mostly about hospital bills —is often the ticket. If the scourge of t.b: is ticked, the hospital overhead is not. Re- lentlessly, it continues year after year. The sponsors, anxious to be free themselves of the financial anxiety —for a time, at least—have insti- tuted a fund drive in conjunction with the institution’s recent 25th anniversary. They are determined to raise $1,000,000 each year by popular subscription over a five- year period. The allied entertain- ment professions will provide most of the required funds, but some public help will be solicited. Helping the fund in 1953 .will be a series of celebrations honoring the. elder statesman of filmdom, Adolph Zukor, chairman of the board of Paramount Pictures, for his service to the industry. Va- riety Clubs International will spon- sor a Hollywood .celebration Janu- ary 7, Zukor’s birthday; a dinner at the Hotel Waldorf-Astoria, N. Y., on March 4, marking Zukor’s 50th anniversary in filmdom, and an- other dinner in Hollywood, in April. South African film B.O. ' Falling Off With Hiked Fees; Censors Get Busy By ARNOLD HANSON Cape Town. On the whole, 1952 hasn’t been a flourishing year for South Afri- can film b.o. What with the rising cost of living and increase in ad- mission prices, audiences have de- veloped the habit of shopping for pictures, and don’t attend as regu- larly as in former years. Unless the COL drops and prices are low- ered again, attendances may even dip further. During 1952 the customs duty, on films was increased by 60% per foot on the first copy $nd 100% per foot on other copies, with re- sult that permission was given to increase admission charges. The censor boards are tightening on films and posters, and several pix, such as “Quo Vadis,” have been banned for non-Europeans, which means a great loss to the b.o., as they enjoy this type of film. In Rhodesia, the board pro- hibited “Streetcar Named Desire” from being shown to non-Euro- peans, and there was a general pro- test. A new company has been formed to produce full-length pictures with markets overseas. Production will start shortly, but final details are still secret. Two deluxe cinemas were opened during the year, one being the Van Riebeeck, a 20th-Century house' for African Consolidated Theatres in Cape Town, and the other being the Monte Carlo, for Empire Films, in Johannesburg. Ar- rangements are already set for the building of theatres in other parts of South Africa. The year saw some of Metro’s (Continued on page 290) Saturating U.S. With Drive-Ins? j By JAMES R. GRAINGER | (Executive V.P., Republic) There are a lot of old houses that should be closed and turned into some other business. Nothing has been done in ways of keeping up the condi- tions of these houses, most of which have been charged off. Nor do I believe that the closing of the houses will reduce the customer po- tential. In the manner they J. R. Grainger f r ? building drive-ins, now, very quickly the country will be saturated with too many drive- in, spreading out the possible intake at the boxoffice too thin, which will cause many of them to suffer. I find no general objection from exhibitors called upon to advance admission prices when the picture is worthy of extra admission. Ex- hibitors are aware of the fact that, producers, to continue to make costly negatives, must take all means possible to recoup at the boxoffice. Double^ features in my opinion will continue to exist; in situations where duals have been established, motion picture patrons expect to see double bill programs. When such theatres go into single bill, based on experience, it affects their boxoffice. Third Dimension, I don’t think, has progressed far enough for any- one to express definite opinions. Naturally we, like every studio, are watching developments of this pos- sibility. The peak grosses scored by “Greatest Show On Earth,” “Quo Vadis,” “Qfliet Man” and others indicate that the public will support fine motion pictures, and the responsibility of making mo- tion pictures is directly up to the companies releasing them. B’s have very little chance in the future. But the great problem confronting the producers is the fact that ex- hibitors will try to buy second fea- tures on the same terms as they bought them previously, and pro- ducers today just cannot make any second feature on low budgets, In double bill situations, the exhibitor will have to pay more for second features if he expects to run double bill programs. MORE BROWN DERBY STORIES By LEONARD LOUIS LEVINSON Hollywdpd. No collection of Derby stories is complete without one about\ Joe Frisco. This one is told by Peter Lind Hayes. Frisco was standing in front of the Vine Street Derby. Three times acquaintances invited him to come in and have a cup of coffee . The fourth time it happened Joe said: “What’s the matter—don’t they sell any meat in there?” It’s Rudy Vallee’s story about the actor who opened a restaurant. He got so many good-luck horseshoes, floral pieces and bouquets for the opening that everybody in the neighborhood thought the place was a flower shop, didn’t come in to eat, and he closed in two weeks. A columnist, interviewing Irving Berlin at the Beverly Derby, asked him to name his favorite song. “Alexander’s Ragtime Band,” replied Berlin. The newspaperman started to put it down, then remembered some- thing. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Ten years ago you appeared at the Los Angeles Breakfast Club and when you were asked the same ques- tion, you said your favorite song was ‘Always’.” “Yes, I recall that,” admitted - Berlin. “I. picked ‘Always’ because they made me perform and that’s the one I can play on the. piano.” George Fisher took his five-year-old niece to the Derby for dinner, and she demanded a cocktail like the rest of the party. So Bill ^helios had the bar fix up a Shirley Temple—ginger ale, slice of orange and a cherry. ' The kid took a swig and then whispered to George: “I bet everybody here thinks I’m a midget.” Harry Sauber was in Carson City conferring with the warden of the Nevada state pen and the latter told him about the killer recently executed. As is customary, the condemned man was asked what he wanted for his last meal. “Lemme see,” he said. “I’d like to start off with some celery and olives, then a bowl of turtle soup with plenty of crackers, some fried fish with potato chips, an order of roast turkey with gravy and dress- ing and cranberry sauce, a couple of pork chops and some french fries, a piece of mince pie with brandy sauce and, oh yes—a couple of Turns,” We were talking about wonderful true-life stories and somebody brought up the case of Harold. Fendler, whose mother, Grace Fendler, sued Richard Walton Tully, claiming that he had thefted “Bird of Paradise” from a play of hers. Although Mrs, Fendler sued and sued and lost and lost, she never lost faith.~ She faised her son to be a lawyer, he became an expert on plagiarism, and finally won the case and all the profits from the hit. Although it was later reversed on appeal, Harold Fendler still has had a wonderful legacy from his mother—the reputation of being, one of the world’s foremost authorities on literary and theatrical law .... “ That’s a great story,” we said to Don Martin. “Why don’t you write it?” “What—and have Harold Fendler sue me?” he said. ; If you have failed to see Reginald Gardiner perform at many parties recently, here is the reason. Reggie complained to Doctor Louis Shurr about the fact that he wasn’t working as frequently as he should. What was the trouble? “It’s simple,” replied Doc. “During' the course of a year, a pro- ducer sees you in three pictures and at 19 parties and he thinks he’s seen you in 22 pictures.” Eddie Sutherland's favorite yarn is about the time Dezzo Better, who billed himself in vaude as “the man who wrestles himself” was making the jump from San Francisco to Los Angeles. Also on the train was a group of mildly insane people on their way to an institution. When the train stopped at Bakersfield the rest of the passengers got out for a stretch and the keeper allowed his crowd to do the same thing. As the conductor yelled “All aboard,” the asylum official hurriedly counted his charges: “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven,” as he came to Retter. “Say who are you?” he demanded. “I’m Dezzo Retter, de feller what wrestles wid himself,” answered Retter. “Eight, nine, 10, 11, 12,” continued the keeper. Twenty years ago, when the operetta “The New Moon” was produced by Lillian Albertson in Los Angeles, a small but important part was played by the stage manager, who was so busy with production details that, although he memorized his part, he never was available to re- hearse with the company. So, opening night, he went on, did well for the first two hours, but met his Waterloo, when, commiserating with the hero on his exile, from France, he uttered the deathless line: “I know how you feel. I, too, am a Frenchman,-monsewer.” A Whale of a Time — Continued from page 49 — can’t trust these French operators. Sol. howjs the Easter Show look at the Palace? . . . Sol, I gotta ter'- rific act. There’s been nothing like it in New York. Ever heard of Mrs. Haroy. . . . She’s a whale. 75 feet long. Can’t you see it? The Palace not only brings back vaude- ville, it brings back a whale. “I got the publicity campaign all .worked out.-We hire the Queen Elizabeth to take it to New York. You get it? A tie-in with the Coro- nation. Millions of tons of free publicity. Can’t you just see Peg- ler saying, “We send Europe dol- lars and what do they send us? A whale. Wire, me $75,000 at the American Express ... Sol... Hello Sol. ... “Operator gimme Louella Par- sons in Hollywood collect, it’s Aly Khan calling. ... Lolly, Lolly. No Lolly, there’s no chance of recon- ciliation. I called you about an exclusive item. You got your pen- cil ready. Okay. ... It wil lprob- ably be denied in the M-G-M front office but Dore Schary has just signed Mrs. Haroy, a 75-ton whale to a seven-year contract. A W-H-A-L-E. . . . That’s right. Lew Wasserman represented Mrs. Haroy and MCA said this is the biggest thing they’ve ever handled. At the same time Sol Schwartz is go- ing to use Mrs. Haroy in his Eastei? Show at the Palace. Several people have tried to get a piece of Mrs. Haroy but she isn’t for sale. Mrs. Haroy will appear in a picture with Esther Williams* and Fred Astaire. Schary has paid $200,000 for the whale and Darryl Zanuck already wants to borrow her. . . . Lolly. Lolly . . . LOLLY. ' Operator, gimme Josh Logan in New York collect. Mary Martin calling. . . . Josh, no Mary isn’t here. Josh what do you plan to do with that tank after you wind up ‘Wish You Were Here’. . . . Josh... Josh...” Sweet Sentiment Universal’s “Girls in the Night” simply had to have its New York opening at Loew’s State. It bows there Jan. 15. Femme lead of the film is Pat Hardy, who, before her “discovery” in the Copacabana line, was an ele- vator op at the Loew’s State Bldg.