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Actorviews
back the old afternoons so summerly that my mouth and eyes watered.
And then he said, “That’s sentiment.” And then he said, “Sentiment is remembering.” And we let it go at that.
“When are you going to write your autobiography?”
“There’s a book,” he quickly answered, “that’ll never be written. Imagine me describing the towns I played in as a youth — Council Bluffs, Cedar Rapids — and calling them by their right names. Not me!”
“Still, I don’t see why you should be the only actor who hasn’t written a book about himself. It looks just a little ostentatious.”
“My past is too — too scattering for the fine direct drive of autobiography. I’ve done everything, you know, but moving pictures.”
“Shakespeare?”
“Yes ; but not extensively.”
“How extensively?”
“Well, I’m kind of thin as a Shakespearean actor. It’s hereditary. My mother, Ella Mayer, was at one time understudy for Eliza Weatherby, who was Mrs. Nat Goodwin and frequently ill. And I used to hear mother tell what the German musical director of the troupe said to her the first time she played the part: ‘You play the part all right, Miss Mayer. I don’t know anybody except Mrs. Goodwin what could play the part so goot as you. Of course, though, you lack the dewelopments.’ And that’s the way it is with me in Shakespeare, I lack the dewelopments — I guess the only part I’d really fit in Shakespeare would be the Apothecary in ‘Romeo and Juliet.’ ”
“Working for a morning paper, Frank, I usually have to leave the theater before the Apothecary comes on. I forget what he looks like.”