Modern Screen (Dec 1931 - Nov 1932 (assorted issues))

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UNIVERSAL SONG SERVICE, 616 Meyer Bldg., Western Awnue and Sierra Vista. Hollywood. California REMOVE THOSE BLEMISHES Without Skin Peeling REJUVIA, preparation with its inst triple utren ized tho I, .Is IN THREE DAYS After only two DSt dcliKhtf Lilly surprise yon. ckhcads, freckles, nee lines, ri on blemish nnd will tighten y happir id i ivill clear your less, muddy complexion ■ pores entirely without b of a radiant smooth c used REJUVIA alter Mail $1.00 to-do i postage or Pay Postman on delivery Jl plus a few cents for Postage. Ontsi.ie U. S. A. cash only. REJUVIA BEAUTY LABS.. INC., Depl.N34.39S Broadway.NewYork.N.Y. 102 Why, then, was Fatty so persecuted? Why did it take him so long to establish his innocence? And when he had established it, why was it that he was thrown out of the paradise that he loved, the world of the movies? The reason is simple, and absurd. He never said he was innocent until he first took the stand in his own defense. r_J E kept his mouth shut — and killed himself with the fans. Oh, I know there are a million and one proverbs about the wisdom of the closed mouth. But there is a time for speaking as well as for playing dumb. And Arbuckle didn't know it. No, I assure you, he didn't know it. He took the advice of his lawyer, Frank Dominguez. He sat in the dark little iron-barred cell in the Hall of Justice, and obeyed Dominguez. He wouldn't even comment on the day. He literally developed a severe case of "lock-jaw." There has always been bitter rivalry between Los Angeles and San Francisco. There has always been warfare between the lawyers of these two cities. Dominguez, finding himself in San Francisco, was frightened. He believed that all San Francisco was trying to frame him and his client. He believed that District Attorney Brady wanted to hang Arbuckle and make himself Governor of California. He believed that no matter what Fatty said, newspapermen representing San Francisco papers would misquote him, lie about him deliberately— and deliver him into Brady's hands. I was covering Hollywood for the Chicago Tribune in those days, Hollywood and all the western seaboard. I visited Arbuckle in his cell a day or two after he had been locked up, charged with murder. All he would do was smile. He wouldn't even say he was Fatty Arbuckle. The whole country was ablaze with indignation at the crime — the country believed it was a crime, and that Arbuckle was guilty. If he wasn't guilty, why didn't he say he wasn't? The newspapermen, unable to get a word out of the supposed criminal, went to the district attorney for their news, and to a man and a woman who had tried to blackmail Arbuckle— and who might have succeeded had not Virginia Rappe died. They had taken her clothes to Hollywood — and wanted to sell them to Arbuckle. If they weren't both dead, I'd tell you their names. There' wasn't any Arbuckle side to print. So the newspapers printed only the other side — the prosecution side. Like every other newspaperman on the story, I firmly believed Arbuckle guilty. But when the evidence began to be presented I was convinced that I was wrong. "You boob!" I said to Fatty— long after my first meeting. "Why didn't you say you didn't do it?" Fatty looked abashed. "When your doctor tells you not to stand on your leg or you'll have to have it cut off, you don't stand on it, do you? Dominguez was my doctor. He saved my life." Dominguez was a good lawyer. But an excitable one — and in this instance over-excited. Had Fatty been able to reach his pet lawyer, Milton Cohen, he might never have felt the hatred, the loathing, and the abhorrence of the entire country. Cohen has always insisted that if he had been called m time he would have insisted that Fatty make a statement to the press. I was present when Fatty took the stand and told his story. I was present a little later, in the corridor outside the courtroom when Fatty caught sight of his wife, Minta Durfee. Minta had come across the country to stand at Fatty's side. She believed firmly in his innocence. She was talking to me when Fatty drifted up, rolling a brown paper cigarette in his hand, a shy light in his mild blue eyes. "He's really very sweet," she was saying, "spoiled, wilful, but sweet, actually sweet all the way through his great hulk of a body." "Minta," Fatty said, "I've told the truth. I told my story for the first time. I've got it off my chest. I feel clean — clean enough to kiss you on the mouth." T T came to me suddenly that they had never given up the habit of giving each other a kiss of greeting — but since Fatty's indictment he had not kissed his wife on the mouth. I saw them kiss now, and — against my will — sudden tears started from my eyes. It was so damned irregular — this man I thought such a brutal and shameful murderer turning out to be just an overgrown sentimental child ! And it was so damned beautiful — and the Irish cry at beauty and laugh at everything else. The jury found Fatty innocent. That is, the last jury did. And they took but a minute to do it. The minute was used up in writing a document of praise for Fatty's conduct. It should have been all over then. Fatty should have gone back to his job. Will Hays lifted the ban, but it was near Christmas. And that was unfortunate too, for the great American public believed that Hays was actuated, not by justice, but by mercy — the Christmas spirit. They would have none of Fatty. And so, for ten long years he's been an exile. Now he sees the gates of his heaven reopen. He's glad. He's happy. But do you know the one thing he can't forget? It's a little incident he told me about not long ago. It hurt him worse than anything that happened to him since his arrest. "You know, Eddie," he said, "I went to Japan after Will Hays lifted the ban, trying to have a good time, trying to forget, trying to nerve myself to come back on the screen. "It was a nice trip, and most of the people were nice to me. I was beginning to feel that I was a regular guy again when— when this thing happened. "We were sailing home. People were actuallv friendly to me. I believed there was a job waiting. I was in the best physical shape of my life — balloon shape, you know— and I'd forgotten what it was to be a pariah.