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store, where Lois Wilson satisfies her well-known passion for chocolate ice cream soda, and where other players go in quest of refreshment. The third corner is occupied hy yet -another drug store, Mansheffer's, equally fructuous of sundaes. On the fourth corner arises the mastodonic structure of six stories, which I already have proudly mentioned. Just helow is the one-story, white brick post office, with a green package box outside that's almost as big as the building itself. Across the street stands the four-story Markham building, which holds a ladies' ready-to-wear store on the ground floor. Above are offices pertaining to Iffisincss connected with the industry, including the office of the New York Morning Telegraph, where Miss Frances Agnew receives press agents and stellar callers when she forgets to lock the door.
Another fable about Hollywood, which I must extract from your possession, is that in regard to the merry concourse of stars on the Boulevard. I, too, have read — and perchance have written — about traffic being held up by the astral throngs, and indeed I had expected upon my arrival to find stars tripping one another up and rolling together in the gutter. But, jolly as such a carnival would be, I have sworn by all the stars to tell the truth about Hollywood. The timc-clockc; at the studios specifying an eight-hour day do not permit of promenading in the daytime. Upon my first stroll down the Boulevard, I was treated to only one all-star spectacle. Miss Wanda Hawley tripped out of a grocery store with a paper bag in her arm. Just ten feet from me, she dropped the bag, and six lusty cucumbers bounded over the pavement. With four other gentlemen, I rushed to the rescue, and together we retrieved the capricious vegetables. I believe one gentleman asked Miss Hawley to autograph a cucumber, that he might take it home for his wife to preserve. The gallantry evoked by this incident 9hows the truth of my statement, namely, that stars do not twinkle regularly in the day time, even in Hollywood.
I lingered at Cahuenga, hoping to assist some other siren in a cucumberous way, but, none appearing, I took to observing the khaki-groomed traffic cop, the sole symbol of the law in Hollywood, who stood dreamily twirling his official thumbs in the center of the street. Automobiles circled around him, leaped over him, did tail-spins, back-flops and all conceivable maneuvers, save those which he indicated. I regret to say that this brave officer was knocked down by an unconscionable Ford a few days later.
Jaded by the traffic activities, I moved leisurely up the Boulevard, noting that everyone else was doing likewise. Leisure is the principal occupation of Southern California. The monotonous, wearying sun, like that o'erhanging Egypt, has a mummifying effect upon the natives, who have few interests save those of their neighbors ! Nowhere is scandal so intensively cultivated.
My first stop on the Boulevard was at a drug store, which offered sun-glasses for sale. I discovered that most of the movie beauties wear colored spectacles to protect their eyes from the unrelenting sun. Having obtained a rose-hued pair, which the salesman guaranteed was the duplicate of Rudolph Valentino's, I continued my tour.
I passed two open-faced groceries, which are closed at night by sliding screens, safeguarding everything except the odors. A clothing store, with stickers on the window announcing unparalleled sacrifices on the part of the owner. A real estate office, with blackboards on which were
chalked "Bargains — six-room bungalow, close in, for only ten thousand dollars," etc. Another bank building of white glazed brick. A fruit store, run by Japs, with great bunches of flowers for sale at twenty-five cents. The Iris movie theater, a narrow, one-story brick structure, with an electric sign announcing "No Woman Knows." Next door, a cigar stand with a scale outside, on which you arc invited to weigh yourself free of charge. A millinery store, with some dusty hats in the window. The Hillview Apartments, of Moorish architecture, where dwell Mae Busch, Viola Dana, James Morrison and others_ of the screen set. Miss Busch, the ♦incorrigible vampire, was seated in the portico knitting a blue sweater. A residence behind a leafy hedge. A narrowgauged lunch room, titled "The Holc-inthe-Wall," boasting "nice ladies eat here" and "fair dinner, thirty-five cents — good dinner, fifty cents." Another drug store, with a handsome display of hot water bags in the window and a range of magazines outside. The Blue Front Restaurant, named for its frontispiece, that seems to have been laundered with too much bluing. A Marinello Parlor, where Viola Dana is always in a state of shampoo. A Catholic church, so hidden by foliage that one might stumble into it with a picnic lunch, mistaking its grounds for a park, and be compelled to drop the boiled eggs into the contribution plate. The Virginia Apartments, with shops downstairs. Frank's Restaurant, under French management, with excellent French cuisine, which tempts the flower of stardom. More real estate offices. A hardware store, with a stock that embraces baby carriages, floor lamps and lawn mowers. A cafeteria, where whanging trays ring out the tocsin of high noon. A banner across the street, callingattention to the Knights of Pythias carnival in the Hollywood Bowl. The twostory Christie Hotel, with actors and potted palms in the lobby. The Hollywood movie theater, same style as the Iris, advertising "A Perfect Crime." A stretch of vacant -lots. An auto park, with Fords for rent, "three dollars a day — drive yourself." A barber shop, with bootblack stand, cigar counter and magazine rack in front. A department store, with two counters, one for gents and one for ladies. Graham's Confectionery, where players have been seen tippling over Cliquot Club in the booth. John's Place, a restaurant with lunch counter and curtained booths, the only place open after midnight in Hollywood. Two phonograph shops, facing one another across the street, with machines in garrulous competition — the Hollywood spirit. A bank. A drug store . . .
I attained Highland Avenue, where the business district dribbles out with the Kwik Lunch, the Hillcrest Billiard Parlor and some art shops. Beyond is the new Masonic Temple, with pillars up the front; the Garden Court Tea Rooms, where stars lunch and dine ; the Congregational Church; the beautiful Greek temple that houses the Church of Christ, Scientist . . .
At the corner of Highland and the Boulevard is the Hollywood Hotel, three stories, with brown stucco walls, stretching the length of the block. It is of the picturesque mission style, veiled from the street by enormous spreading palms. To the rear are tennis courts, screened with rose vines, and rustic walks winding under rose-laden pergolas. Nearly every star has lived here at one time. On Thursday night — but I withhold all revelry for a later chapter.
"But, where are the studios?" you ask.
They are not in evidence on the Boulevard. Nor are they grouped about like the buildings on a college campus, as many
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