Actorviews (1923)

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Luck and Frank Bacon KNEW Frank Bacon in San Francisco when a stock company paid him thirty dollars a week and overpaid drama critics with a like income didn’t have sense enough to “see” the beautifully understated acting of an underpaid genius. But he bears no malice for that, saying we didn’t think much less of him than he thought of himself — only maybe he enjoyed his work a little bit more than we did. I used to meet him in O’Farrell street two or three times a week. More of an agriculturist than an actor he seemed to me; and he used to tell me slow, dry stories of his ups and downs, although I can’t recall any of the ups. I remember vividly enough, however, that he never looked or talked like an actor, not even like the kind of an actor we wise young men of the West believed him to be. I remembered this and reminded him of it when I went up to his room in the Blackstone, saying, “Frank, your success in ‘Lightnin’ ’ doesn’t seem to have made you any more of an actor off the stage. You don’t, as the temperaments say, seem to live your part twenty-four hours a day.” Bacon shook his silver head. His gentle lips smiled and his faded blue eyes blinked humorously behind their shell rims and under their overgrown brows. “Do you remember,” he said, “a fellow you