Moving Picture World (Jan-Feb 1927)

MOVING PICTURE WORLD February 19, 1927 one shot to by £pES W Ss^enfc SUALLY Frank Bruce, of the Idle Hour was hard boiled. Any film salesman could tell you that. Usually he would add numerous picturesque details as to just how hard boiled Frank was; details that are best omitted in public print. There was Jimmy Conger, of Bubble Films, for instance. Frank had told him two earfuls in his own office and then called him up at the hotel an Lour before the train left to add a few forgotten details. Jimmy, listening in, had nearly missed his train. Then there was Harry Honey, who reported to the home office that it would take two men and a gun three hours to rent Bruce “The Big Parade” for three dollars a day. Harry really believed it. But somehow Phil Hance rolled into town and sold Frank the idea of a locally made motion picture. He was to be cameraman, director, author, props and technical staff. All Frank had to do was sell votes to determine the ■cast. The girl with the most votes would be heroine, the next best was to be the heavy and •so down the line to the atmosphere. It would sell hundreds of extra tickets, and the cost would be defrayed by the local merchants in front of whose stores the scenes were to be laid, or who were to be given screen credit for loaned properties. It was a you-can’t-lose proposition that appealed to all and particularly to the hard boiled, and if Hance had made a short length of Bruce signing on the dotted line he could have sold it to the film salesmen for real money. Bruce actually smiled as he appended his signature. That evening the Stanton Times came out with a front page story on the new plan, with special emphasis on the fact that a copy of the print was to be sent to the Central Casting Bureau in Hollywood. There was a strong intimation that one or more local stars would be wired for shortly after the reel arrived in the film capital. The ballots were ready the following Monday; one with each ten cent ticket, two with a twenty, and three with the Saturday shows, when the admission was hoisted to thirty-five •cents. Before the end of the day it was evident that the idea was going to click. The advance sale was tremendous. Next morning, however, the idea did not look so good to Bruce. He dropped into the post office to get his mail and Si Dwyer called him back of the screen. “Look here, Frank,” he whispered, “my little girl has got to win that contest of yours. She’s been thinking of Hollywood for a long time and it would just break her heart to lose* See that she gets it, will you?” Frank shipped most of his films parcels post, and he readily assented. That was a simple matter. He would let Susie get just a shade the best of it when the count-up came. Nothing wrong in slipping her a few extra votes, but he made Si promise to get all he could in. Frank headed down the street pretty well pleased with himself. He was pretty certain to get quick action on his films, now. He stayed pleased with himself until he dropped in to stave off Ben Homer on his coal bill. He had been under rather heavy expense for repairs and he was a bit behind. Homer was suprisingly pleasant for a creditor, but he iet the cat out of the bag when he told Frank that his Ida May must be heroine of the new production at all costs. Frank figured nineteen tons of coal at $12.85 — and promised. He could find some way out. But the way out looked a little less easy an hour or so later when Squire Henning dropped in to discuss a Sunday Closing law he had just dug out of the statute books. He gradually drifted around to the suggestion that he would very much like to see his Lulu Ella the heroine of the new production, adroitly intimating that he might forget the law in his pleasure. That might have won the conveted position had not the Chie-f of Police had the same idea. By the time the ballots were all in Frank stood pledged to no fewer than seven influential citizens, and more than once he woke up in the middle of the night wondering what he could do. In one of these night watches he got his inspiration. He would make it a sevenfold tie. Surely no one could blame him. He could explain to each that he had made a mistake of only one vote. That would sound plausible enough, ai\d incidentally, it would make the contest doubly interesting. That is how it happened that when a committee of solid citizens assembled to watch the count, the final results read : Susie Dwyer 1587 Ida May Homer 1587 Lulu Ella Henning 1587 Mary Mallock 1587 Addie Enders 1587 Hannah Belding 1587 Estelle Henderson 1587 There were a dozen others with smaller votes, but the first seven were tied. Frank looked around with well dissembled concern. “Looks as though the seven girls would have to match for the job” he announced with a nervous laugh. “Looks that way,” assented the Squire, but he made up his mind to have another look at the law. Fate however, was not letting Frank off as easily as all that. “You can’t do that,” objected the Postmaster. “The laws says that where two or more contestants are tied for first prize, prizes of equal value must be provided.” “But I can’t have seven leading women,” protested Frank. “That’s up to you,” Dwyer retorted. “That’s the law. Equal prizes is the very words. The Post Office Inspector is coming down tomorrow to check up.” Frank shuddered. The Post Office Inspector happened to be Lulu Ella’s uncle. A fat chance he stood with him. “Suppose we run the contest another week,” suggested Frank hopefully, wondering how he would work the extra votes, but the Postmaster was in again. “Can’t be done,” he proclaimed. “The regulations provide that the contest must be closed on the date announced unless an extension is granted from Washington. I take it you didn’t ask for no extension.” Frank had not. He figured that the tie would solve all his troubles. Seven parents and a distracted manager eyed each other sullenly. Then the door swung open and Phil Hance breezed in. “Just happened to remember that this was the night you counted the votes he said cheerfully. “Who won?” “My daughter!” came from seven parents in concert. Briefly Frank explained the situation. Hance fairly radiated joy. “Fine,” he declared. “Couldn’t be better. Here’s a wonderful chance to try out my new script.” Frank stared at him in amazement. The seven parents regarded him with suspicion, but Hance, rummaging in his brief case, did not sense the situation. Proudly he held up the blue covered script and Frank uttered a shout of joy as he read the title. It was: Abd El Kader’s Loves Or the Sultan’s Eight Wives “Simplest thing in the world to cut it down to seven,” he said with his inclusive smile. “It’s a great little story.” “I’ll say it is” admitted Frank fervently. “Man, but I love you.”