Motion Picture (Aug 1932-Jan 1933)

Marathon Dancing — That's Hollywood's Newest Craze Here comes Harold Lloyd with Mildred Davis Lloyd. They attend frequently. Mervyn LeRoy is escorting Ginger Rogers again. And, of all things, Edna Murphy is in the row just ahead. Edna is the former Mrs. LeRoy. Look, they're all chatting together and laughing about the chance meeting. The "Celebrity" box is filling up fast. Bebe Daniels just came in. George Bancroft, William Haines, Leila Hyams, Gloria Stuart, Joe E. Brown, Ramon Novarro and Edward Everett Horton cause the crowd to strain their necks. Even the Barrymores Attend SALLY EILERS and Marian Nixon, rivals at Fox, sit side by side. John Barrymore, his feet covered by bedroom slippers, arrives with Dolores Costello Barrymore. He stops for a moment to speak to his nephew, Sam Colt, son of the illustrious Ethel Barrymore. Sally Blane and Polly Ann Young, sisters of Loretta Young, are seated with their escorts. Russell Gleason continues in luck; he brings Mary Brian. Chester Morris and his wife are hosts to a party. The entertainment begins. One of the house men mounts the platform. He introduces Ben Bard, songwriter-husband of Ruth Roland, as master of ceremonies. The genial Ben takes the rostrum to stand near the loudspeaker. Choosing at random from the "Celebrity" box, he calls upon individuals to take a bow. Some merely rise from their seats. Others step up to the microphone to say a word in greeting. Meanwhile the dancing goes on. You might be surprised to learn that even Mary Pickford made a speech one night. She wasn't all dressed up, either. Just simple little pajamas and a beret. Charlie Chaplin, though, wouldn't talk. He only took a bow. Both Mary and Charlie received tremendous ovations from the crowd. Applause for everyone was generous. Charles Farrell's reception lasted two minutes. But the biggest hand given anyone was for Charlie Ray. Honestly, the building shook. A few were coaxed to do a specialty. Ruth Roland could generally be prevailed upon to sing. Dorothy Lee danced. Rosco Ates told a stuttering story. Victor Schertzinger, the director, played "Marcheta" and other of his own compositions on the piano. They Even Sang in Public OCCASIONALLY, the fun waxed fast and furious. For example the time someone offered ten dollars for a quartette of celebrities to sing "Sweet Adeline." A quintette comprising Tod Browning, William Beaudine, Archie Mayo, Georgie Raft and Gene Delmar took the floor. They sang "Adeline" — perhaps not sweetly, but at least loudly. At the conclusion of the number, Andy Devine offered twenty dollars if they would not sing an encore. The offer was accepted, but the crowd refused to be satisfied until Georgie Raft danced. Another time Polly Moran sang "Sonny Boy." Archie Mayo, who directed Al Jolson in the picture, quarreled with her rendition, claiming she should have been on one knee. Several dollars were showered on the floor as bait for Mayo to demonstrate the proper technique. He did. But Polly topped his gag. She sang "Sonny Boy" a second time — on both knees. Money contributed by the audience during such specialties goes into a general (Continued from page 57) fund later divided by the dancers. In this particular contest "floor money," as it is called, reached a greater total than the prize posted. It might have been higher, had not a report reached wide circulation that the management of the show had offered the dancers a guarantee of thirty dollars a day for all floor money. Those who heard this report stopped contributing. Instead, their gifts were made individually, sometimes in cash, other times in presents. The girls came out ahead in presents, mostly stockings and lingerie. Kay Didn't Want Her Pie ONE of the Mosconi Brothers of vaudeville brought a pie to give one of the dancers for his birthday. But pie was taboo, by order of the marathon dietitian, so it was decided to auction the pastry. Kay Francis made the final bid of eleven dollars, but didn't want the pie. What to do? Some wag suggested throwing it in the face of the radio announcer. The idea found favor and the radio man, being a good sport, put on an apron to take the pie in approved Mack Sennett style. The largest amount brought by any specialty was the fifty dollars earned by Robert Woolsey and Walter Catlett in a Spanish dance. Average "floor money," however, was five dollars a number. Great secrecy surrounded the amount the management had posted for first prize. In most sections of the country, two thousand dollars await the marathon winners. Here the sum was five hundred. During the last week, when it seemed that two couples would end in a dead heat, this amount was doubled. There is a rumor, though unsubstantiated, that a film personality paid the second live hundred out of his own pocket. The marathon began July 13 shortly after nine o'clock in the evening. It ended August 31 at midnight. The last three and a half days, even the brief two-minute rest periods every two hours were eliminated. For more than eighty-four hours two couples danced continuously. This was done in an attempt to break the tie. Seemingly, human endurance could not stand such a grind. Somehow it did. Both couples finished amid the noise made by five thousand shrieking, stamping, sobbing, applauding people — then collapsed a second later, to be carried from the floor. A Word About the Winners PARTISANSHIP ran high in the final gruelling days of the seven-week event. Each couple had ardent rooters cheering them on. Joe and Jean O'Neill, man and wife, were veterans at the marathon dancing game. Charles Loeb, also experienced, had as his partner nineteen-year-old Marie Jones, familiarly known as "Billie." This was Billie's second contest. She had danced six hundred and thirty-seven hours in the previous one, finishing third. Loeb may be remembered by film fans as the German acrobat who, some three years ago, attempted to crash pictures by a novel method. He shipped himself from Chicago to Pathe Studio, Hollywood, in a wooden box labelled statuary. It was his plan to step from the box to confront Pathe officials with demands for a contract. But his gate-crashing scheme failed when he ran out of water and, in his delirium, made a noise that aroused the express company's suspicions regarding the "statue." There's a report that he got a movie offer out of his long-distance dancing. Billie Jones and Charlie Loeb granted a brief interview immediately following their twelve-hundred hour grind. The O'Neills were already asleep. Sleep, by the way, is carefully regulated at the end of such contests for fear that tired muscles will stiffen or paralysis will set in. Contestants are allowed to sleep only a half-hour, when they are awakened for two minutes. Another half-hour and they are again awakened. At the end of two hours more, they are roused to walk for thirty minutes without stopping. This procedure is repeated three times at two-hour periods. Then they can sleep as long as they wish. First 200 Hours the Hardest WE asked Charlie to name the most difficult part of the contest. "The first two hundred hours are the hardest," he replied on his way to the shower. Billie had a different view. "I suffered most during the early morning hours after the crowd: had gone," she said. "Crowds stimulated me. In fact, I had a good time when the house was packed. "Learning to sleep while being dragged around by your partner was hard — even harder than supporting him while he slept. They fed us seven times a day in all, three hot meals and four lunches. I know I've lost weight (later discovered to be eleven pounds), but I know one girl who gained seventeen pounds. The diet is heavy with starches — light on sweets. We had potatoes even for breakfast. I never want to see another potato as long as I live. "Twice a day we were allowed fifteen minutes for a shower, massage and change of clothes. I admit lying down in the shower and once or twice falling asleep. When we had the two-minute rest periods every two hours, we didn't leave the floor. There wasn't time. We lay down on boards stretched across two chairs, with our feet in the air to get the blood back to our heads. Every so often the trainers would turn us upside down for the same purpose. Application of ice-cold towels sometimes helped us stay awake. When contestants fainted or dropped from fatigue, the trainers would duck their heads in buckets of ice water. "We pay our trainers ten per cent of all we earn, 'floor money' included. The house fed them, that's all. Of course, if you don't win, your trainer loses, too. But it's the trainer's business to keep you in the running. My brother, Frank, acted as my trainer. And he was grand. His nickname is Buck, which led some folks to believe I am the sister of Buck Jones, the movie star. Didn't Dance for Fun THERE is no use saying I entered this contest because I love dancing. Truthfully, I seldom go to dances. The real reason was that I hoped to make a lot of money. I don't know exactly how much I earned. But I'm sure that, despite the generosity of the movie people, it isn't enough to tempt me to go into another such contest. I'm through right now. Forever!" Billie seemed inclined to continue the interview, but the doctor ordered her to sleep. We later learned from Buck Jones (not the cowboy star) that Billie's earnings, less expenses, reached the total of $446.00. Charlie Loeb is said to have banked $550.00 and the O'Neills jointly $1045.00. What pitiful sums for seven weeks of frightful torture! Yet another contest was begun at the same place just one day later with thirtyone couples entered — many of them hoping, no doubt, to be "discovered"! 90