The New Movie Magazine (Dec 1929-May 1930)

Reminiscences (Coiiiiiiinil Irani page 84) What, Monday morning in the Love family? No, it's just a cute studio posed picture of Bessie Love, indicating what might happen. Griffith. Could I go to school and come to work in the afternoons when my classes are finished?" No thrills ; no excitement. Why should I get excited? I knew no screen people. I thought that they offered contracts to everybody. He explained that it was a most unusual procedure. "But I can't give up my education, Mr. Griffith." "You can go back to school later. In 118 years to come, if you don't accept this opportunity, you may be sorry. You may look back and say, 'I had a chance once to go into the movies.' At the end of five years, if you don't like them, you will have saved enough money to properly finish your education — " He convinced me; he convinced my family. How many are there who owe their inspiration to D. W. Griffith! My contract called for a salary of ten dollars a week for the first three months; fifteen for the second three and twenty dollars a week for the last half of the first year. At the end of five years 1 was to be making one hundred dollars a week. We all talk of the vision of what the first money' meant to u.s. But one hundred dollars a week at the end of five years ! It was a fortune. It is a laugh, perhaps, today but when you remember that Mary Pickford sold her first scenario for five dollars it isn't such a laugh, either. How lit.tle I dreamed, then, that it would ever mean anything more thrilling than a college education ! As I look back today, I am amazed at my own calm acceptance of experiences which would have meant tremulous thrills to others. My first newspaper interview came almost immediately after I was hired. Here, it is true, I was thoroughly frightened. In those days, D. W. Griffith was a hero, a God of the Cinema. Anything he did was newspaper copy. He had discovered a new girl so she was copy. Strange — I was not in the least frightened of D. W. It amazed others at the studio who walked on their knees to him. But to me he was just a fine friend, a great fellow. But a newspaper reporter, a man who wrote every day for a paper! I went to Mr. Griffith and asked him what I should tell this unknown quantity. "The truth," was his answer. "Always the truth. You need not tell it all but make what you do say honest." A bit of advice I have never forgotten. The questions were routine enough, had I but known. "Why did I go into pictures?"— "Why had D. W. Griffith chosen me from among the hundreds?" I didn't realize even yet that I had been chosen from among the many. I told him I didn't know — that I couldn't answer his questions. I told the truth and I will always wonder just how he wrote a story from it! The interview had been an advent before it happened. When it was done, it was forgotten. I bought one copy of the newspaper for my mother. I suppose I read it but I cannot remember one word which was in it. Douglas Fairbanks was a stage star. He had been imported to make pictures. One day he passed before a group of us. "Sh! There goes Douglas Fairbanks!" Someone said in an awed whisper. "Yea? Who's that?" I asked, not in a whisper. They were ashamed of me. Today, I don't blame them. Then, I couldn't understand it. My first picture was "The Fying Torpedo." I remember nothing about it, except that the director seemed very kind to me. For my second, I was loaned to the Ince studio to play opposite William S. Hart. I did know who he was; I had seen some of his pictures. The Griffith studio sent cars for its players; the Ince did not. Mr. Hart lived in Los Angeles; I lived in Hollywood; the studio was on the beach beyond Santa Monica. {Continued on page 123)