It took nine tailors (1948)

THE PARISIAN TYPE 49 line, too, and draw some money for I had only fifteen cents in my pocket by this time and I was hungry. But I was afraid that, if I accepted ten dollars for my day's work, that was all I would get as long as I worked in the picture. On the other hand, if I went to Sam Kingston, the manager of the company, and asked for more, maybe I would get fired. Finally I went up to Mr. Thompson, trying to be very casual about it, and asked how long the part I was playing would last. "About four weeks, Frenchy." Four weeks! That was wonderful. My first important part and it was to run four weeks. For a break like that, I thought, I should gladly take no salary at all. But then my French ancestry whispered in my ear, "Adolphe, you are a jackass!" And at the same time I noticed four carpenters come on the stage and start to tear down the big ballroom set in which we had been working. It occurred to me that by morning, with the set down, it would be more expensive to rebuild it than to pay me a good salary. So I thanked Mr. Thompson and left without getting into line to collect an extra's pay. It looked as though I would have to live on a glass of beer and a free lunch until the next day, but luckily I ran into an old college classmate on Broadway and borrowed two dollars. Next day when I arrived at the studio, I took a quick look to be sure the ballroom set had been struck. It had. I hit Mr. Kingston at once for an advance on my salary. "Why didn't you collect your money yesterday?" he inquired. I explained that I was no longer an extra, that I expected to be paid a weekly salary. "How much?" "One hundred and fifty dollars." Mr. Kingston screamed as though I had just asked for his right arm. He called me a robber. He threatened to black-list me. "You'll never work again!" he shouted. I settled for $100 a week, and worked for four weeks at that salary. Bing Thompson, the director, thought it was a good joke.