Motion Picture (Aug 1938-Jan 1939)

MYSTERIOUS NEW BLACK LIPSTICK The Sinful Black of a South Sea Night That Changes On the Lips to a Devastating Transparent RED That Perfectly Matches Any Complexion! '& Ca moonless South Sea night. ..black as a pocket ... a Voodoo fire . . . 'tis the night of the Love Dance, during which charm-wise maidens conjure the hearts of their mates-to-be. Black Magic! And now... for YOU... all the witchery of this intense South Sea moment. ..in the new BLACK MAGIC shade of TATTOO. Black as night in the stick (yes, actually!). ..but the instant it touches your lips it magically changes to the exact shade of teasing, pagan RED that your own natural coloring requires. It's your own personal lipstick that will not give the same color to anyone but you. Black magic in red! You'll find it all of that . . . and more too ... in the way it lasts on your lips, hours longer than you'll ever need it! Today... regardless of what shade of lipstick you've always used ... try BLACK MAGIC. You'll find it oh ! so much better for your charm than any you've ever used before! $1 everywhere. Five other thrilling TATTOO shades too: CORAL . . . EXOTIC . . . NATURAL . . . PASTEL . . . HAWAIIAN TATTOO YOUR LIP5 jp% koTnOMCt! GREEN MOUNTAIN ASTHMATIC COMPOUND has brought quick relief to thousands for whom other remedies failed Asthmatic paroxysms are quickly soothed and relieved by the pleasant smoke vapor of Dr. Guild's Green Mountain Asthmatic Compound. Standard remedy at all druggists. Powder, 25d and $1. Cigarettes, 60(1 for 24. Write for FREE package of cigarettes and powder. The J. H. Guild Co., Dept. FW-10, Rupert, Vt. fMkuA n?*!!?£°.d£?e ou5 new sje.rIi°S Silver Simulated Diamond Rings, decorated in 1/30, 14K Gold we ™lW°1' your choice of man's gold plate front or ladies model jeweled wrist watch with every ring ordered during this SALE ■ | ■ ■■■■■ and paid for promptly on our new pMIHS easy two monthly $2 payment plan! (total only $4). The watch comes to you as a Gift ... it does not cost you one cent extra! Wear iSnSf SLon approval! SEND NO MONEY with order! Mail cou | pon or postcard NOW! We pay I postage. We Trust You! Yourl package comes by return mail! I MAIL COUPON OR POSTCARD, NOW GOLD STANDARD WATCH CO.. Dept H-3911. Newton. Mass. Rush order. Q Ladies' Model. Q Men's Model Name Address f< Plenty on the Ball" [Continued from page 37] 78 too small for her show-girl body. And she slaps out fast answers without moving a muscle. But that's before she gets her bearings with you. If she likes you, she softens. She gives you a peep inside her mind (which is shrewd) and her heart (which is great). It's like opening a tinselwrapped Christmas bauble — and finding gold. But that doesn't keep her from slapping out the answers : "Of course my real name is Ball. You don't think I'd choose that, do you?" and "I'm Scotch, Irish, French, English, Swedish and Hungarian — goulash. No, I'm really not Hungarian. Just a joke." In a moment she is racing on, pounding out her creed : "It's grand to be a star, yes, but I don't get any thing out of the people who rush up to me, pat me on the shoulder and say, 'So you're a star, eh ? Well, you deserve the break.' What do they mean, 'break?' My break came when I first went to work, and it's kept right up, as long as I have been able to work. I don't want 'breaks.' I want the chance to work hard and honestly. I'm not asking for special favors." If Lucille had asked for "special favors" she might have been further ahead, professionally and socially. Top billings, imported tile swimming pools and a Rolls-Royce with a chauffeur. Or perhaps a de luxe resident of a villa on Long Island. Instead, she took the long way. And the hardest. "What does an 'easy' life offer, after all ?" she asks. Then volunteers the answer: "I thought that out in New York when I was a showgirl and a model. I had plenty of time to think about it, too, on the parties that we were asked to. ONE night I looked around at the girls and the men, and suddenly saw the thing in an entirely new light. 'What happens to girls like lis in a few years ?' I asked myself. ' We get older, lose our freshness, we are no longer news along the Rialto, so what?' I didn't want to end up the way so many of the good-time girls do, on Relief or forgotten in poverty. "On the other hand, every time I went home I saw girls who had been my classmates in high school and some who had gone to the Chautauqua Institute of Music with me. They were married, mothers of children and not much older than I was. That wasn't what I wanted, either. Hard work at a career was the only answer for me. "As I look back now at my New York days, I can see why the parties and the playing around didn't appeal to me. I was in love, deeply and tremendously, from the ages of fourteen to twenty-one. At twentyone I promptly fell out of love, much to my mother's delight, for she had never approved of the boy. I don't now, either, but I couldn't see it her way, then. He had too much money for his own good, and he wasn't strong enough to carry on under it. "Of course, love is a habit. I grew so into the habit of dedicating my affections to one man and ignoring the insistences of the others that when I fell out of love, I kept on being a one-man woman. Force of habit. And there was no other man. As a matter of fact, there weren't too many men rushing after me. I was young and funnylooking. It took me five years to learn how to dress. And then only after I worked three years as a model. When I first be came a model, I thought some of the other models dressed so wonderfully well. 'Where did you get that dress?' I'd ask one. 'On the line' at the end of the season sales,' she answered. They were stock dresses, but I didn't have enough sense to know which one to choose for myself. "I can remember how I dressed before I became a model. Pink blouse, bright green skirt and a long string of big pearls. I met Arthur O'Neil — maybe you know him, he's one of the important ad photographers in New York — I met him at a Greenwich Village cafe one night and he asked if I wouldn't like to model. 'But first you'll have to change your way of dressing,' he said, in all kindness. That was the beginning of my clothes consciousness. "New York and I first met when I went to school there when I was about fifteen. I studied for a year and a half with the John Murray Anderson Dramatic School. All my life I had wanted to be in the theatre," continued Lucille. "At five I can remember 'dressing up' and 'acting.' The acting never progressed very far because I spent most of the time in a dramatic curtain appearance. At my father's death — he was an electrical engineer at the Anaconda Copper Company in Butte, Montana (that's where I was born) — I went to live with my foster-grandmother, a strict Swedish woman. She was old-school and stern, believing that to spare the rod was to spoil the child. At six I played 'acting' too much to please her, and she draped all the mirrors in the house to keep me from posturing before them. "No doubt she had my best interests at heart. She thought I was a 'nervous' child — the result of both typhoid fever and pneumonia when I was young — and should therefore be sent to bed at five-thirty, while the children played beneath my window. I was 'nervous,' all right. Full of repressed energy that had no outlet. That probably explains why I made for New York the moment I had good excuse to. And I threw all that nervous energy into hard work. My brother Fred is like that. He is twenty-three and has worked every day since he left school at sixteen, even if the jobs have been nothing more than car washing or parking. But to work solidly for seven years during a financial depression is nothing to snicker at." No one snickers today at Lucille when she tells of soda-jerking, of appearing in a Coney Island sideshow as "the headless woman," of doing anything honest to turn an honest penny. Now, when we ask her what she is doing with all the money she makes in films, she says : "I haven't saved any money. What I have done is to pay all the family debts with what I have earned. There isn't a thing, now, that we owe — even the bill for my tonsil operation of twelve years ago is paid." IF LUCILLE is that Hollywood rarity a solvent, debtless star, she has done it all in five years' time. It was Samuel Goldwyn who imported her for Eddie Cantor's Roman Scandals half a decade ago. "I thought I'd be in Hollywood only six weeks, and, look ! here it is five years. But I can't make up my mind to buy a house and settle in California," says Lucille. "I want four seasons of the year, snow, trees, brooks — we have brooks in New York state." Even the San Fernando Valley ranch of Director Al Hall doesn't persuade Lucille [Continued on page 86] MOTION PICTURES ARE YOUR BEST ENTERTAINMENT