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Photograph by Lurtig, L. A.
Above is Mr. Post as John Chilcote, M. P., and below as John Loder in the same photoplay, “The Masquerader”
Mr. Post had just come off the big set where they were finishing “Omar, the Tentmaker.” His feet were all dressed up in long slippers that curled up at the toes. The rest of him was wrapped up in a long blue silk brocaded costume with angel sleeves. It seemed queer to be talking automobile to an Omar in angel sleeves.
Well, what he said about automobiles was that one of the factories got the works so organized that they took all the soul out of men ; all but wrecked the reputation of the car, and finally they gathered the whole crew together and served notice that the next man who mentioned the words “maximum efficiency’’ would be fired.
“Every morning.” said Mr. Post. “I get up about five o'clock. After a very early breakfast, I motor over to Los Angeles. It takes me about an hour and a half to get my makeup on, so I always get started in good season. Just as I come over the bridge across the (Continued on page 76)
“It's perfectly simple;” says Mr. Young. “Mr. Post is an artist; Mr. Tally is an artist; I hope I am an artist. I want the advice of artists; but I dont want the advice of graduates of penny arcades.”
make-up and rush around to the orchestra pit and be the orchestra with the assistance of a wheezy piano between acts. One of his first real successes was as the leading man with the old Frawley company in Los Angeles. His success during this engagement was so striking that it opened the door for him.
Last year, at the very top of his career, Mr. Post quit the stage for pictures. The reason was not hard to seek.
His wife is Adele Ritchie, who was at one time one of the most famous beauties of the American stage. They have a beautiful and charming home in Pasadena. Their home is a place of pilgrimage for the elect. It is considered a distinction to be invited there. They have a garage filled with cars, a library which is among the finest private libraries in California. For thirty years, he played to please the public. He has now come to the place where he can indulge in the luxury of pleasing himself. And, as it usually happens, when a man of real artistic worth pleases himself, he pleases every one else.
He smiled when I told him Mr. Young’s crushing remark about the penny arcade men.
“It doesn’t pay to kick people,” he said. “But I think a lot of motion picture men have held mistaken ideas about what is really practical.
“The same is true of every industry. The war brought out a new mania — which was that thing called maximum efficiency. Every big factory in the country went mad over it. I’ll tell you how it worked out in a big automobile factory.”
(Forty-one)