We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.
Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.
iS^ubber O
tamping
By GLADYS HALL
HOW we get tired of gossip out here on Hollywood Boulevard! Out here ' ; where all God's stars have lines. Tags. Labels. Stamps. Pasters. Tickets. \ Trade-marks. \
There is no conversation in Hollywood. There are only tags, and they jare brought forth on every occasion and when there is no occasion at all and chewed ' .' long enough to make poor old Fletcher die of shame.
Which means, of course, that there is a great surfeit of cackle, and other indoor ' sports. But it is one-track stuff. Not conversation as it used to be in the good old ■ days when astronomy, politics, Brigham Young, old wines, foreign relations and j other topics leavened the loaf. \
In Hollywood, need I repeat, there are only lines and tags. Each star is ticketed. • Branded with his or her own brand, and try to wiggle from under if you can. j
The famous case of Valentino will point the moral. He leaped into prominence as ; a sheik. A dispenser of S. A. A he-vamp. A great lover. The great lover. That j ended that. No matter where he went, from Nigger Heaven to the Colony Club, "; he was expected to be one thing and one thing only: the Great Lover. Females of all persuasions ogled and googled and sidled and insinuated and poor Rudy wa's ^ expected to ogle, google and insinuate back again. j;
ONCE A LOVER, ALWAYS
NO one ever dreamed that the man might have had other interests, other pursuits, other desires, as it were. It never occurred to anyone that he might and did ride horses, read books, know something about agriculture and the Italian peasantry. All of that was beside the point. Whenever two or three were gathered together in his name, not one syllable was ever uttered about him, out of the many million that were, unless those syllables somehow connected up with the great lover. A new scandal. A new love affair. "Did you hear that so-and-so was really the great love of Rudy's life.?" "Did you hear that Rudy is having an affair with soand-so.'"' Never, never, never, never anything else. His line helped to kill him. His tag tagged him to death. He might have been alive today — but why go into that.? _^ This goes for one and all.
Each one has a tag. You never hear anything about them but that tag. Take Pringle. As you know, someone dubbed her "the darling of the literati." It became noised about that she knew smart people, was "intellectual." Well, that's her tag. If she is interested in anything but the cerebral gymnastics of Mr. Mencken, then no one but a pearl diver could be the wiser. I have sat in at innumerable sessions when the Board of Correctors has brought her case before the House, and never have I heard one peep about her that did not have to do with the aforesaid tag.
Milton Sills let it leak out that he was once a college professor. Taught Greek or something. It doesn't matter. It only matters that whenever HoUy
These stars Hollywood has classified for life; from the top down, Aileen Pringle, Greta Garbo, Lois Wilson; then below from left to right, Clara Bow, Lya de Putti and John Barrymore