Movie Pictorial (October 1, 1914)

THE MOVIE PICTORIAL 27 That Evening I Went to Dinner With Carl with nothing to do?” “Why we can remedy that in a minute,” he said. “I guess I should have told you before that you take an excellent picture. It’s just a matter of waiting. You’re sure to make good in the end.” It was nice to hear that, of course. But the fact remained that I didn’t have money enough to wait until I could make good. I had been waiting quite a while already. I told him that. “That’s the easiest of all,” he said. “You know I believe in your ultimate success. I’ll lend you the money.” It seems awful to write that, but it seemed all right when he said it. But I remembered the attitude in Danville about borrowing money so I told him, “No, I’d go home before I bor- rowed anything.” He said that would be silly because I had already had a try-out and a start —I had been in three pictures, you know. He said he’d lend me the money and I could pay him back as soon as I earned it. “I didn’t quite understand how things were, with you,” he said. “You know I’ve been made a director and I can put you in a lot of pictures, so the money needn’t worry you at all. Besides, you really have talent and will succeed if given half a chance.” As he talked to me it seemed childish not to take the money from him. He acted almost like a brother, I think, though I never had one, you know. So finally I said yes. It seemed the best solution. The next day he slipped the money into my hand. It was thirty dollars. I know you won’t approve of this. It would sound perfectly awful in Danville. But I be- lieve if you were here you’d see it the way I do. Anyhow, it’s done now and I’m glad of it, for it means I can stay here and succeed. That was last week. This week I’ve been in only one picture and Mr. Webber put me in that one. I was a telephone girl in an office and sat at a switchboard. It was easy. I wish I could try something hard. Mr. Webber says that he’s been busy this week finishing up some pictures and he had to use the same extras he started with, because their features were registered, that is, the people seeing the pictures would recognize them. Next week, he says, he can use me a lot. I’m hoping. Your letters are fine and cheery. Write me some Danville news, I want to hear about everything. Felicia. iv September 17,1914. r\EAR BETTY-GIRL: — I’ve been in five more pictures, all in two weeks, I have! Five hurrahs! I feel like a real movie actress. I know I’m going to be a real one, before long, though, of course, I’m still an extra. The weeks have flown so fast that I’ve had no time to answer your letters, though I enjoy them a lot, honestly. The pictures were ail fun and I like the movies better every day. Carl has been simply fine about getting me in pictures. I wrote you about him, I guess. His name is Carl Web- ber and he’s ages and ages older than I am, about thirty-five I guess. I always called him Mr. Web- ber until last week, when he asked me to call him Carl. It seemed rather—well—- forward—of me to call a director by his first name, but I couldn’t get out of it very well. It’s awfully in- formal around a picture studio, though, after you get to know people. Lots of people call him Carl and all of the principals call each other by their first names. So when Carl calls me Felicia it makes me feel that I really “belong.” I’ve met nearly all of the principals. Of course, there weren’t any formal introductions. I’m only a extra, but they all speak to me and I’ve been out on pictures with them. The extras all clique together and so do the prin- cipals. I haven’t any special chum, though, for most of the extras are awfully silly. You know all of the Triple Tee principals by their pictures, of course. I guess Jack LeRoy is the best known for Triple Tee feature him in most of their pictures. He is just as good looking as I thought he’d be and is a real gentleman, courteous and smiling, and not a bit noisy or boastful. Being a movie star is a lot of work, though. I never knew anybody in the world could be as popular as Jack Le- Roy. Every girl in every small town in the world must think that he looks like an affinity for they all write him long letters and ask for his pictures and send him theirs. It’s easy enough to see how girls do get a crush on Mr. LeRoy, but it’s pretty hard on him. He doesn’t care about any of the girls that write to him, but he seems pleased at the sensible letters. Some of the movie actors laugh at the letters they get from girls and show them to other men who start a correspondence that some- times turns out unpleasantly, but Mr. LeRoy answers all of the letters, except the silliest ones, and sends dozens of pictures. The other day I heard him say he got fifty letters in one mail. Most of the actors are mighty different, off the film, than I thought they’d be. Clark Mon- roe is a sneering, dark-skinned man who uses bad English. He used to be a regular actor with small road companies, but never made a success. Bruce Spalding is the big, ugly come- dian. He’s jolly and happy and always busy, helping set scenery, giving suggestions about details in furnishings and “tinkering” with the “property” automobile. He’s loud and slangy and everybody likes him. Andrew McCain is the old actor I met the day I came to Triple Tee. He is kindly and slow-speaking and friendly. Only yesterday he touched me on the arm, as I passed him. “I see you’re getting along all right, little lady,” he said. “Just keep it up, you’ll suc- ceed, I know.” Wasn’t that dear of him? He’s so friendly and old and shabby-looking that I want to hug him and thank him for ju^t being himself. It’s so seldom that people dare to be natural in a city. The women principals are all quite pleasant. They pay absolutely no attention to me. Re- member Hilda Scott? Well, off stage, she’s big and dull and calm and stupid. I don’t believe that an explosion of bombs right under her feet would make her do more than say “Well, really,” and look bored. But she never interferes with anyone and the directors all like to have her work in their pictures for she does just as she is told to do with no suggestions or remarks. Laura Trudell is rather snippy when she doesn’t like folks and is awfully jealous. I’m glad she doesn’t envy me for she’s the sort you’d hate to have mad at you. Movie actors are a lot more human than you’d suppose. No lobster or champagne or fast liv- ing for them. They lead quiet, domestic lives. Bruce Spalding has an automobile, painted bright green, and he spends all of his spare time in it. The Gertings have a little apart- ment quite near the Triple Tee studio. Trixie Gerting used to be a chorus girl and Mr. Gerting was once an actor and then a theatrical man- ager. They dress like conservative society people and are terribly happy. I wish I knew them better. The way I got to know most of the principals was in “A Trip to the Country.” In this picture, some city people go out to a farm for a visit. I was one of them. Carl was the assistant producer of it. We left in three big automo- biles and the Triple Tee bus. The extras were all in the bus, but there was no room for me so I rode in an automobile with Hilda Scott, Trixie Gerting and a Miss Lucas, a professional dancer. We drove out to a big, old-fashioned country house. We took some pictures and then had lunch out under the trees, a big picnic lunch. It was lots of fun. After lunch there was a scene in which some one had to climb a tree. Most of the extras were afraid for they had on quite dress-up clothes. My Danville clothes never had any style, anyhow, and they were about worn out so I climbed. It’s a good thing I wais a tom- boy when I was a little girl. I would have died of humiliation if I’d have tumbled down. But I didn’t. I climbed and then jumped down. Mr. Gerting was the director. “Good, do it like that again,” he said. So I did. The camera man turned the little handle of the camera. I was so nervous, for fear of spoiling the picture that everything turned black and I had to say to myself “If you fall down they’ll kick you out of Triple Tee. Climb faster. You’ve got a chance. Make good.” It was only a little stunt, but I did make good. I climbed far up. “Clap your hands and laugh,” shouted Mr. Gerting. I did. “Now jump,” he said. It was pretty high, but all I cared about was the picture. It came to me suddenly why people are willing to risk their lives for successful pictures. It’s a sort of do- it-for-the-sake-of-the-game feeling. I jumped. Mr. Gerting said “Good stuff,” and everybody clapped their hands. I felt almost important. That night I went to dinner with Carl. He said he heard several principals say I would make good. You bet I felt proud and happy. The other pictures I’ve been in were simple things—sitting in a restaurant, buying some- thing in a store, walking down a street. But I’ve had one chance, anyhow. I was going to give Carl back some of the money I borrowed, but I tore my dress climbing the tree and I needed it for clothes. You see, Triple Tee furnishes only fancy ball-room clothing and costumes for dramatic pictures. I’m wearing the old things I came to Danville in and I really need some simple “city” things. I talked it over with Carl when he took me to dinner last night. “Don’t let that debt enter your head, little girl,” he told me. “You buy some clothes. You could be in more pictures if you had a better wardrobe. The money will come later.” I’ll go shopping in a day or two. I know just what I want now and they won’t be like the things I had in Danville, either. Felicia.