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.
I'hoto I'y I.ujeaii ^ ^*• • I
IT was Monday— indigo Monday. ^>I,_J7 I had run out of gas on the way to the Rohn studio at Culver City been browbeaten by a motor cop when I tried to make up for lost time and had been severely criticized by the studio watchman for parking my car in front of the gate. Therefore I wasn t in a fitting mood to interview Beatrice La Plante; I felt like asking the routine questions regarding age. disposition favorite picture and leading man, and let it go at that, grouching my way homeward at twenty miles an hour to avoid further difficulties with the speed cop.
But scarcely had I entered the confines of the studio when, from a long gallery above, came a throaty voice that spoke in clipped, childlike sentences and down the staircase flashed a small figure bundled from head to foot in a crimson bathrobe Two amazingly large brown eves a piquant nose and apple-red lips were framed by a fluff of bobbed hair, and before' I could speak, two tiny hands had one of mine, and Beatrice was telling me all in a breath— her English fascinatingly sprinkled with French cadences and idioms— that she was so glad I had come— would 1 come up to the dressingroom while she did her make-up .'-MoH dku! she was smothering m the bathrobe—had T seen her pictures with Hayakawa. and did I ever see such damhot weather? . • . u.r
I followed hor up the stairs to her dressing-room, done in grey and blue. The indigo shade of the day had already given way to a lighter hue. I defy any
^•y
Beatrice From Paree
one to have a grouch with Beatrice La Plante in the vicinity.
"Sit down, do, please — zvila!" she urged, unceremoniously clearing a chair of heai)ed-up garments with one sweep of her arms. "Now we
"I was born in Paris in 1900, at eight o'clock in the morning ... I do not remember about it, but they tell me I wai there!" said the audacious little Parisienne to the interviewer. Gloria Swanson introduced her to C. B de Mille, but "he couldn't see her for dust, to use her own highly prized American slang
Jh^
Photograph by Shirley Blanc, L. A.
(Thiriji-tiio)