Hollywood (1938)

■ri:i«:OT/M&]«*]:i By LLEWELLYN MILLER Two Big Events in an Editor's Month The "Movie Quiz*' and Corrigan Motion Pictures Are Your Best Entertainment | There is a most amusing story behind the slogan, above, which is being used in thousands of theatres and by hundreds of thousands of eager contest entrants in the big "Movie Quiz" now under way. At first the slogan read: MOVIES ARE YOUR BEST ENTERTAINMENT, and a very good slogan it seemed, too, until a studio official, reducing the slogan to initials in the manner so popular at the moment, made the shocking discovery that the initials spelled MAYBE! Never was there a quicker re-writing of pamphlets and posters, because there is no MAYBE about the matter. Eightyfive million people a week can't be wrong, and eighty-five million people go to the movies in this country every week. It is a staggering figure, but that is the average weekly attendance for last year. And this year that figure probably will be much bigger because an added entertainment is on the bill until December 31. And what added entertainment ... a chance to win prizes totaling a quarter of a million dollars! It seems unlikely that you haven't already heard of the MOVIE QUIZ, but if you haven't your nearest theatre has full details of the contest without charge. All you have to do is to ask for the booklet which lists about a hundred pictures, get a pencil and start to work on that first prize of $50,000.00. Some of the pictures you have seen already, and under no circumstances will you be required to see all of those listed. If you answer questions about thirty pictures on the list, you stand as good a chance as anyone to win that fortune. And what will you do with the money when you win it? Why go to the movies, of course. They are your best entertainment, aren't they? Corrigan Takes A Flier In The Movies B A few days after his return from Ireland, Douglas Corrigan was beginning to think that a movie and $50,000.00 was pretty good entertainment, too. He. was considering the movie from the star's standpoint, and not as a spectator, however. Offer after offer had come to him from producers who felt that there was a great screen story in the boy whose "wrong way" flight had enchanted the entire globe. And young Mr. Corrigan was beginning to find out what happens when stardom arrives. The lobby of the Hotel McAlpin was aseethe with fans who had learned that he was returning from a visit to Mayor LaGuardia's country home, so I knew that I was early for my appointment. Bell captains were on guard in the hallway, but the door of the big suite was open, and the living room was packed with people. Ed Bern was speaking on the telephone. He waved a signal for me to enter a small room, empty of people at the moment, but a scene of wild confusion. A great drift of newspapers covered one corner of the floor. Luggage was piled everywhere, spilling shirts and ties and pictures and papers. There were three boxes of boxed flowers. There was a bundle of telegrams and a carton of mail. On the desk was "A History of the Irish People" in a brand new wrapper, and hooked to the mantel piece by a wire hanger was a pair of little grey flannel pants, small, neat, pressed, and evidently just back from the cleaner. "Somebody's little boy must be staying here, too," I thought, and it seemed to me that it was a fine, thoughtful father who had brought his little boy along to meet Douglas Corrigan. After all, any little boy who met Douglas Corrigan was a little boy touched with greatness. The little boy who had a chance to stay in the same suite as Corrigan was a little boy lucky beyond imagining. I estimated that the owner of the little grey pants was about fourteen-year-old size, and was thinking how his report of the visit would dazzle his schoolmates when Ed Bern came in. He followed my eyes and grinned. "Those are his other pants," he said. "He's wearing his work pants. He really has only two. And only three shirts. He . . ." The telephone .rang, and a loud inharmonious wail from voices in the next room started to chant, "Hey, Bern, hey, Bern, hey, Bern." "I'll fix them," said the gentleman in question. "Want to tell you a few things about Corrigan before you see him. He's the swellest . . . I'll be right back." The telephone rang. Off into the inner reaches of the big suite went Bern to reassure the eight newspaper men, the eight photographers, the man from the San Francisco World's Fair, the man [Continued on page 61] Douglas Corrigan, preceded by policemen and backed up by Ed Bern, struggles through a crowd typical of those which followed him e/erytime he went anywhere in New York