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Give the Musicians a Break
By J. B. G.
The writer is not a musician. He can’t whistle, yodle, hum or otherwise carry a tune. And all he knows about notes is that he shouldn't sign them. His only contact with musicians has been with those who are employed in theatres. He has, as have other projectionists, made “cracks” about musicians that have not been compatible with the fact that both of the professions are internationally affiliated. The “cracks” were always personally aimed and not generally, and were based upon the axiom that some of the harmony dispensers are at worst, exesperatingly temperamental; though at best, extremely fine chaps.
Before the advent of sound pictures and the projectionist’s subsequent increase in remuneration, a projectionist was too often a conceited operator; while an operator was merely a nondescript, good-enough-egg, who invariably transferred oil when shaking hands.
The musician earned a rather failsalary and while no one carrying a card begrudged it to them, it would not be strictly honest to say that comparisons were not made and that these comparisons were not conducive to a foolish though potent bit of jealousy. It seemed that the two professions were figuratively as remote as the screen from the projection room and the number of feet in the program. Yet they were hopelessly bound, inseparable, each utterly dependent upon the other for a perfect presentation.
Then the talking fools walked where the silent angels feared to tread, and the sound opuses were upon us, with us, and part of us. The younger projectionists were jubilant, the older projectionists skeptical, while both the younger and the older musicians were captious, angry. As would be you and I !
During the first months of sound many petty altercations ensued, during which the “I’m for sound’’ men clashed with the “I’m against sound” men, with no men lost and but a few bad optics. The musicians, however, silently watched the box office receipts and knew the election returns early. In fact, before many of us had a chance to even stuff the ballot boxes. A pitifully large number of their members were crowded out, their thousands of dollars spent for lessons, their long years of study, their high hopes of a future, futile, dimmed and fading.
They took it gamely, nervily, welded together like true brothers in making the fight of their very existence. They are still making it. Every projectionist personally knows musicians who have been hit and hit hard ; musicians who a few brief months before were on top of the world, but who are now counting off the days of a two weeks’ notice and racking their brains to figure how to pay the next month’s rent.
Gloating has been done, but it hasn’t been done by the projectionists. Occasional exhibitors have (Continued on Page 26)
It is with greatest pleasure that we here present the finest specimen of 'projection minded’ material that has yet come to our attention. We add our hearty approval to the subject matter of this article. It comes to you from the pen of J. R. Q. of Oakland, California, whom you will all grow to know and admire, as we do, for his splendid idealistic attitude toward his profession and the close knit world in which we projectionists live and move. Read this article... think about it... then read it again. ... It’s big — editors.
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