Motion Picture Classic (Jan-Dec 1920)

By FAITH SERVICE ening, learning, fulfilling yourself. Of course, some day, I hope to marry, to have children of my own. I think every real woman does — that is a part, a great part of the development of the whole. But for the present I want just selfe.xpression, the best that I can give. I want to perfect in so far as perfection is possible this stage of me before I pass on to the next." Lucy's mother took up the thread, in her grey eyes a whimsical reminiscence, tender yet not devoid of humor. "I tried to bring them up in a world of poetry," she said. "I read to them a great deal — Longfellow, all of the poets, fairy-tales, myths and legends. I tried to have them live a life of the im' agination, a sort of mental fairyland, seeing the beautiful in all things, believing in the beautiful in all things. Just by way of illustration, I recall an Few people know t h e m • selves — and Lucy is one of the few. She is her own critic. She has allowed no outside influence to distract her from the pathway which she has marked for herself — and she walks upon it, pausing only when and where she wills a m using little incident that occurred when all three children had the measles. A caller came one afternoon and Lucy was left with her alone in the drawing-room while I was momentarily called away. When I returned I found the caller removing traces of recent mirth. Lucy had informed her, she told me between gasps, that the little red spots on her face and hands and other visible portions were 'red flowers growing on me.' "We lived in Houston. Texas, you know — Lucy was born there — and, of course, she went to school, dancing school, studied music, did all the usual things a little girl does do. Later she studied for the stage under Alma McDowell, and then, when we felt that Houston had no more to offer us in the way of advantages for advancement, we gave up our home there and came to New York. Here, Lucy studied under Theodora Ursula Ervine at Carnegie Hall and then began to have her practical experience, the stage itself." 'Most everybody knows about Lucy Cotton and, logical consequence, 'most everybody knows what she has done. "One of the things I love most to do," Lucy said to me, in her effective, delicately modulated tones, "is to give credit to everyone who has helped me on my way. I never forget any one of them or any one of the things they do for me. Everyone has (Twenty-five) been, oh, so nice. Ariadne Holmes Edwards, for instance, was responsible for my introduction to Ina Claire, which was my first success, the opening door . . . Miss Edwards by the way, has written, among other songs, 'God Bless You, My Dear, sung by De Luca . . . and after that it has just been a series, one thing after another, not just from my coming to New York, but from the beginning— the beginning of mother's planning and my working— and I have worked. The first night I took Ina Claire's part in 'The Quaker Girl,' for instance so many people asked me if I suffered very much from stagefright. I hadn't a vestige of it. I was prepared, you see. That IS what training, self-development, conscious preparatioa loes for one, for anyone. I believe it was the happiest night of my whole life. I just felt that here, at last, I was doing the thing I had been born to do, the thing I had worked and planned to do. and I was glad. One isn't frightened when one IS as happy as I was then. "And I am happy in pictures— I have been fortunate in being cast happily. I love to give the touch of poetry half illusion and half fact. The atmosphere of great loves and {Continued on page 73)