Motion Picture Magazine (Aug 1928-Jan 1929)

The rebirth of his characterization in "TheBirth of aNation": Henry B. Walthall in the name part of "The Little Colonel" and in the act of surrendering his heart to Ethel Stone The Little Colonel Carries On (Continued from page 42) In all the years between the Then and the Now, years of interviewing, breakfasting, lunching and dining with this star and that, not once had I ever met Henry B. Walthall. Until yesterday. Curious, but true. He had remained for me one of those early fervors, a dream once seen, not forgotten, not quite real. A DREAM FINDS ITS PLACE YESTERDAY he came for me. He has grown older, but the years have been kind. Still he is dark and inscrutable, knife-like, given to long silences (I knew he would have 'em), diffident, courteous. Still he is the Southern Gentleman, the Little Colonel. In a dark suit, a white shirt, a black bow tie, and soft felt hat, he looked as he should have looked. As if the years, not all successful ones, not all happy ones, had laid lines on his face, shadows in his eyes and been romantic in their etching. We went for luncheon to the first little tea room we saw. And sat in a distant corner, by candle-light. And I poured forth my early and guiltless passion, glad to let an old dream go where it belonged. And Henry Walthall laughed a little, and a little sadly. You would know why. I wanted him to talk about beginnings and so he told me something of his boyhood days, on his father's farm in Alabama. His father's back bent under the soil, he had wanted his son to study law. Sons were obedient in those days. And the dark, tense Henry studied law. But he couldn't take an interest in it. It didn't appeal. He had done dramatic work in school and in college. The throb of Broadway came down to him. The theater had seeped into his blood, how or from where he doesn't know. He is the only one of his family and he was, as a consequence, the family black sheep for a long while. There were black sheep in those days, too. •r" And so Henry broke his heart on Broad' (Way and mended it and broke it again. ,i!He went hungry and cold. He ate and was merry; and one day when times were hard he drifted into the old Biograph and onto the Griffith set. D. W. looked him over and suggested that he sit on a prop and be a tramp. Henry, amused, did as he was told. A small child, presumably his daughter, handed him a lunch pail. That was all. They gave him $7.50 for taking the lunch pail. And he came back for more. The final result was Henry Walthall's first picture, "The Convict's Tragedy" or something like that. THEY WERE FUN, THOSE DAYS HE went on reminiscing after that ; back to those days when the studios were friendly, eager places. The players were friendly people. Back then you got just as much cash for being a waiter or a piece of pie as you did for the stellar role. And you preferred to be a piece of pie or the target for a piece or anything else insignificant and unrecognizable. Because, back then, no one wanted it known that he had sunk so low as to take up with movies. It was considered a disgrace. A mark of failure. The movies, they all thought, were temporary things, stop-gaps, until Ships Came In. No one, no one at all, said Henry Walthall, had the faintest conception of what they were to grow to, to be. Then their one aim was the daily pay-check. Their one fear lest Broadway and the Legit snoop them out in their lowly haunts and turn backs on them, thumbs down. There was little if any commercialism then. Everyone was working for bread and butter. Working hard, giving the other down and outer a lift, hoping for better days. Competition had not come in. The star system was of the future. "What has it been," I asked, "that has kept some of those early beginners in the foreground while others have dropped by the way?" "The ones who have remained," said Mr. Walthall, in that sad, off-hand voice of his, "are the ones who have kept their heads. Their balance. They haven't grown impos (Continued on page Q5) HANDS to-daij Lead a DOUBLE LIFE _F your hands lead a double life — if they must meet the demands of both social and domestic claims — entrust them to Frostilla. It is the perfect helpmate to assist that "quick change" from strong, capable efficiency by day to white, alluring loveliness by night. The harshness and redness that hard water invites, are thwarted by Frostilla. Just smooth it on before and after the day's chores and your hands will never know that chapped "starched" feeling. Even finger-raspiness, caused by the darning-needle, is smoothed away by Frostilla. And what a subtle flatterer is this fragrant balm! 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