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"Because, son," Brisbane said calmly, "when your ancestors were swinging in the jungle by their tails, mine were off in the four corners of the globe in pursuit of culture." Right then and there I decided Brisbane was a member of the 7-H Club— Holy howling hell, how he hates himself!
When my first picture was finished I made another with Betty Compson, followed by one with Lois Wilson.
From Florida I went to New York to see the new plays. The year 1924 was a vintage year: Beggar on Horseback, with Roland Young and Osgood Perkins; Emily Stevens in Fata Morgana; Richard Bennett, Pauline Lord, and Glenn Anders were doing They Knew What They Wanted; and there was the never-to-be-forgotten Outward Bound, with Leslie Howard, Beryl Mercer, Margalo Gillmore, and an interesting newcomer named Alfred Lunt.
I was on hand, too, for the New York premiere of Doug Fairbanks' Thief of Bagdad. For blocks on either side of the theater, Fortysecond Street was mobbed with people crazy to see Doug and Mary. The stars wanted everyone seated before making their entrance. Half a block from the theater, Doug heard feminine screams. Leaning forward, he heard: "Rudy— Rudy Oh, Rudy— you're wonderful—we love you, Rudy— Ruuuu-deeeel"
Yes, the great lover, Rudolph Valentino, was making his entrance, and Doug knew in a split second he couldn't compete, that he and Mary would be an anticlimax. "Drive around the block," he said to the chauffeur as he and Mary threw themselves in the bottom of the car.
Rudy swept romantically through the lobby into the theater, amid deafening cheers, and to the first box. The ladies had vapors; the men turned green with envy.
John McCormack, the Irish tenor, sat a couple of seats from me. Hearing him mutter, I began needling him by going on extravagantly about Valentino, who all this time was conducting himself with dignity like the gentleman he was. He bowed to the audience once, turned away firmly, giving his full attention to the stage, and waited quietly for the picture to begin.
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