Motion Picture Classic (Jan-Jun 1929)

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If pleased, simply tell your friends who may wish a clear, new, spotless skin and youthlike complexion. Address the author, Wm. Witol, Dept. K-.32, No. 1700 Broadway, New York, N. Y. Don't delay, write now! Feed 'Em and Reap {Continued from page 27) Dream laze . . relax! Canoeing brings you the essence of perfect relaxation Okl Town Canoes are patterned after real Indian models. As low as $67. From dealer or factory. Write today for free catalog. It shows and prices many light, water-tight models. I'addling, sailing and squarcsttrn canoes, extra-safe Sponson models, dinghies and sturdy family boats. Also speedy craft for outboard motors — racing step planes and hydroplanes. Old Town Canoe Co. 976 Main Street, Old Town, Maine. Vld Town Canoes^ NERVES? ^1 ^^H Are You Always Excited? Fatigued? Worried' ^H ^H Gloomy? Pessimistic? CunBtipatJun, indiKcstiun. cuIl, swpatR. dizzy f;r>»-llH and s<x weakness are cauned by NERVE EXHAUSTION. Lh-iws. tmucn uvd mcdirincs r.am,ot h<lv uuulf sirk ii^rv.-n! Uarn how to r.-Kam Vifor. Calmne»3 and Self C<nTu\pnrv Send 25c for this amazing booh. RICHARD BLACKSTONE. N-836FLAT1R0N BUILDING. NEW YORK MONEYFORYOU Men or women can cam $ I 3 to $25 weekly in spare time at home making display cards. Light, pleasant work. N o canvassing. We instruct you and supply you with work. Write to-day (or full particulars. The MENHENITT COMPANY Umited 209 Dominion BIdtr.. Toronto, Can. ■ ■ ■■ ■» 3CCK visual pabulum, discretion in time selection is essential. Chaplin, for instance, rarely breakfasts at seven or dines at six. The Stockbrokers' Hour WHEN the milkmen are completing their rounds in saner cities, or their brethren of the countryside are pumping water into the last can of discontented cow extract, Hollywood's Wall-Street-men tune in on their tickers. The sun may shine brightest in the West. But it shines in the East first. And the difference in time necessitates early rising if one wishes to dance to the stock exchange fiddling. Thus, just as Jimmy Walker is locking up Broadway with the last remaining Key to the City, Henry's becomes a babble-on of big business. Now the ear of Joseph Berliner, Henry's aide-decamp, and Hollywood's best known Joe, buzzes with many a tip on how to turn oil stock into gold. And vice versa. Joe knows more inside stuff on the market than the entire banking and brokerage business of the town. Moreover, his information is right as frequently as it is wrong. Which is an enviable record in the bull-and-bear racket. By the time the last of the Wallingfords has departed for the sheep-shearing, Henry's has become a Mecca of merchants and clerks, mingled oddly with extra people in make-up en route to studio. The table talk now isof commerce. Buying cheap and selling dear. Mingled with the patter of players as to what studios are casting mob scenes, the parties of the night before, the most recent extra kid to win a chance at fame. Or infamy and its accompanying Rolls. But all this is hurried. At this hour Henry's patrons eat by Pacific Standard Time. From nine till noon the rectangular booths in the foreground are filled with ordinary breakfasters. Tourists, an occasional jewelry-eyed actor seeking to lessen the potency of gin with tomato juice, the drifting droppers-in from here and there and heaven knows where. It is a time for yawning. When Marie and Effie and Lillian may rest their rounded arms on the sandwichcounter, or the water-cooler, and indulge in snatches of private conversation. I sez to him and he sez to me. And then I sez. The Wrong Greta FROM twelve to two or three the crowd is more colorful. Jane Winton's green eyes scan the luncheon menu. The Beery boys are present, puzzling the uninitiate as to which is which. Stuart Holmes's henna colored hair illuminates his immediate vicinity. Marie Prevost and Phyllis Haver giggle together. Perhaps over Phil's approaching marriage to Billy Seaman. Her first offense. Marie can give advice. Newspapermen and press agents gallop in. The p. a. contingent invariably being stuck for the checks. Jimmy Gleason and Bob Armstrong fan their Java. Is zat so! A dame from Des Moines spots Greta Garbo, who at the moment may be tearing a herring in Sweden. The gal is really Greta's stand-in, her double. But the Des Moines damsel gets the thrill just the same. A bunch of bit players out of Work cackle over a continuous cascade of coffee. A couple of cannons from downtown thrust thick sandwiches between thin lips. They're on the way to Santa Monica to set the scene for a rum-running. Lois Wilson, Leatrice Joy, or whoever may be playing at Edward Everett llorton's theater aroimd the corner, rustles in for a prematinee snack. Junior Coghlan, the kid star, plays tiddle-de-winks with the crackers. Junior I.aemmle, the kid producer, stops a conversation about his super, " Broadway," to ask: "Have ya seen Sue? Did she men tion me? What did she say?" Sue is Sue Carol. The inner man refreshed, the luncheon crowd departs. Dinner menus arrive. The great beamed-ceiling room in the rear is readied for the evening rush. It begins at five. By six there isn't a table. By seven there isn't standing room. Filipino bus-boys balance huge trays, somehow creating the impression of Blondin and his wire-walk across Niagara. Delia, the fast-working blonde whose dialogue is priceless, ducks and dodges through the crowd with provender for her public. Director Bill Seiter grins: ".'\h, slumming again?" His presence proves that Laura La Plante is working that evening, .'\lice White and the new boyfriend devour chowder with their lips and one another with their eyes. Joan Crawford and her Dodo. Don't mistake me. That's her love-name for Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. Wonder what monicker she's chosen for Doug, Sr. As the Neck Is Shorn MORE newspapermen. The pressagents have homes. The scribes outfumble one another for the checks. The losers sign. Henry sighs. The hinterland is well represented. You can name the native state by the way the neck is shaven. Patterns vary. The Indiana neck-shave is square as a cop's boot. Missouri leans toward a hirsute Grecian bend. Kansas fancies a V-shape shave. Hungry looking girls with homely looking men. The Janes order from the left side of the menu. The Johns read the figures first. Pompano for Pauline Garon. Beef for Big Boy Williams. Charlie Farrell gives the ladies an ecstatic moment. Long Island duckling, Fulton Market clam chowder. New York steaks, make the Broadway mob homesick. Clara Bow makes 'em love-sick. Clara carries a whole retinue of courtiers, like Peggy Hamilton at a premiere. Brook trout for less than a buck. Broccoli. Twenty cents. For an appetizer a Merry Widow Cocktail. De-de-de-de. But, like fair Melrose, Henry's to be viewed aright must be visited in the pale moonlight. Or at least during those hours when it would be moonlight. If there were a moon. It is a night-blooming cereus. And reaches its full glory at the witching hour. As soon as the fights and the shows and the movies let out, the wolves descend on Henry's lamb. Now comes Charlie Chaplin, clowning with the rotund proprietor. He is flanked by his familiar, Harry Crocker. Joe Schenck sits at his table. Sid Grauman, his tresses flowing in the breeze, joins the group. Tom Kennedy, the town sport, blows in from the arena. Tom has a stable of boxers now. Gary Cooper and Lupe arrive, the Mexican whirlwind clinging to his arm like a Scotchman to a dime. Gary, did you, or did you not, give Lupe that chunk of ice on the third finger of her left hand? The mo\-ie columnists would like to know. Maurice Chevalier and his tres chic femme find an unostentatious corner. Hollywood doesn't know the French star yet, so he may still enjoy obscurity. Jack Dempsey and '.Stelle arrive. The one spot in the world — the one hour in time — where the ex-champion can munch a sandwich without blocking traffic. The Yes Gang THERE must have been a Universal pre\iew. Here's the Big U gang. Uncle Carl leads the parade. You can hear him coming. The arrival is announced for blocks by an echoing "Yes, Mr. Laemmle," "Oh, yes, Mr. Laemmle. Yes, yes, yes."