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PINE FEATHERS 181
An actor gets very confused about liis hobbies, his favorite foods, liis ideal woman, and even hifl salary if he reads his studio press releases. But confusion is normalcy in Hollywood, so it is hardly noticed. And sometimes I think the illusions created by the publicity departments arc more successful than those the studios put on the screen. Parainonnt's press agents might have found better words, but they could not have turned out more of them to prove that I was the king of men about town, the connoisseur of beautiful women, and the czai of male fashions.
Looking back, I know that I was partly to blame for the reputation I developed at that time as a clotheshorsc. My father was something of a dude and he taught me to dress to the limit of my pocketbook. He liked to point out that no man could help the shape of his profile, but that the; cut of his trousers and the; fit of his coat were something he himself could control, and that often others judged him entirely by his appearance. In the acting business this is especially true. Even when an actor is broke, hungry, and out of a job, he must put on a bold front. When he goes in search of a job, he must trim his frayed cuffs with an old razor blade, carefully press his best suit, and shine his own shoes in order to appear well dressed and prosperous.
After I had been in Hollywood a few months, I realized that I needed a new wardrobe. The casting directors knew every suit J owned, so I thought it would be a good idea to show thern a change of scenery. Jack Pickford and Owen Moore, who had thrown away more clothes than I had ever owned, were close friends of mine, so I asked their advice regarding tailors in LosAngeles. They both suggested a small shop owned by a man named Eddie Schmidt. Not without ulterior motive I asked Owen if he would go with me when I went to sec Mr. Schmidt. Since Owen was a well-known star, I knew that he would be a good front man for me.
Eddie Schmidt's shop was located on the seeond floor of a building in downtown Los Angeles. I was not impressed until I met Mr. Schmidt. He was a short, dapper little man who wore