Photoplay (Jul - Dec 1941)

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Wash-weary TABLE LINEN takes on a proud new look when starched with LINIT "The Friend of Fine Fabrics" Napery getting that limp-as-adishrag look? Worse still, does it launder up stiff as a board? Listen, "dress" it up as fine laundries everywhere do — with Linit! This modern laundry starch penetrates the fabric instead of merely coating the surface. Table linens iron up with a smooth, even finish, a luxury-feeling. They stay fresh and clean looking longer. 1} fgCt and Display Prints in an album -to full advantage with tnqel PoC^XcfArt Vomers" — Get the Genuine! — They mount prints tight or loose. Negatives may be filed in back of prints for ready reference. lOc buys lOO of a color black, white, gray, gold, silver, sepia, red. At your dealer or write to Engel Art Corners Mfg. Co., Depl. 70-X, 4721 N. Clark St.. Chlcaeo. sounded like a bu.Tch of press agents. His debut as an actor his mother remembers very well. He was five when the symptoms first appeared. Mrs. Ford walked into the living room one day to find that her scion had spread a newspaper on the floor, had assumed an oratorical stance and was ranting at the top of his voice, waving his hands in the approved fashion of sp>eechifying hams. The malady looked pretty serious for a couple of months there. The climax came when he was making twenty speeches a day, mostly on the same subject. He outgrew this flare for solo work when he turned seven and the family moved from Quebec province in Canada (where he was born) to Los Angeles. The Fords quit Canada for California because Ford perc felt that it offered better opportunities for his son. In California the elder Ford who had been an official of the Canadian Pacific Railroad found no opportunities for himself, alternated his talents between manufacturing knicknacks and, later, acting as foreman for a bus line while his son was getting educated. The self-sacrifice of the elder Ford (who never so much as mentioned it to his son) was made all the more poignant by his sudden death just about the time that Columbia decided to put Glenn under contract. It was the faith of the elder Ford that made possible the interminable theatrical grooming that the younger Ford received. Once he was graduated from the Santa Monica High School, where he was Commissioner of Entertainment and a ranking actor, he made an assault against the little theaters of Southern California, being at one time embroiled in the activities of seven amateur companies at a single time. The siege was pretty long. He must have done something like 150 plays before a Los Angeles producer named Homer Curran got tired of saying "No!" to him and gave him an inconsequential part in a West Coast production of "The Children's Hour," marking Glenn's first appearance as a professional on the stage. He got rave notices for his bit. He was doing a stint in a play called "Petticoat Fever," for one of the amateur theaters, when a Paramount scout spotted him, plunked him into a silly short subject called "Night in Manhattan." Young Ford, who was twice as unworldlylooking then as he is now, played a sappy-looking and sappy-talking master of ceremonies of a New York night club. He got twenty-five dollars for working almost a week, paid out eight dollars to the man who rented him the tails he wore in the picture. The short was a terrific flop. A Metro spy discovered him in "Parnell," another little theater opus, and invited him to visit the studio talent department. When he did, the gentleman had a change of heart. Seems that Glenn was nowhere near the bargain in real life that he was in grease paint. They charted his ailments as follows: A. Subject too ugly. B. Subject minus sex appeal. The Metro diagnosis didn't bother him much. A few weeks a third discoverer hove to. He was direct from Darryl Zanuck and offered Ford a test, which, of course, he took. The Fox people weren't very happy over the test but they went ahead and put him in "Heaven With A Barbed Wire Fence," which everyone liked but Ford. He took one look at the phoney glamour boy which the make-up department had created and he walked out on Mr. Z. In fact, he served notice on his agent, Gummo Marx, that he was through with the movies. Gummo asked for ten days, promised him a contract. He kept his word. On the tenth day Columbia was ready to sign Glenn Ford. The starting price was $75 a week. But strangely enough the contract provided that Glenn Ford would do leads. Not in A pictures, to be sure. But ieads — not bits. He had seven pictures behind him, including his performance in "The Lady In Question," his best work under the Columbia banner, when Loew-Lewin picked him for that memorable role in "So Ends Our Night." The Glenn Ford whom you will next see in the Columbia picture "Texas " is the same Glenn Ford who got shoved around by three major studios. If anything, he's a trifle shyer. Not one to harbor any grudges, he visits the Paramount commissary for lunch when he isn't working and is promptly surrounded by a half-dozen chums: Martha O'Driscoll who thinks he's "peachy": Susanna Foster who once had tea with him at the Brown Derby and describes him as "super"; Don Castle who hails him as "Little Paul Muni"; and even wee Betty Brewer. These are his idiosyncrasies, his quirks, his habits: He likes ice hockey, saw a half-dozen games at Madison Square Garden when he came East last winter. He collects pipes, smokes one that costs $1.50. He retires early, stays up late reading. He has never seen an opera and he isn't sure he's sorry. He likes dogs, isn't fond of cats, although he makes it a point never to shoo any of the animals out of his way. He dislikes gabby people, dislikes them so much that he is silent out of a fierce determination not to offend in this manner himself. He loves the smell of bread baking, the touch of fine leather, the sight of a sleek thoroughbred hunter. Although he doesn't have an inamorata at present, he prefers the blonde of the species to the brunette, as witness the English beauty, Evelyn Ankers. He thinks redheads are provocative. (Of what, Mr. Ford?) He'd walk a mile to see a good musical comedy, would love to disenfranchise movie-goers who rep)eat all the dialogue that the characters are spieUng off on the screen. People whom he could get along without most handily are phoneys. After knocking on the gates of Hollj'wood for six years he's sure he can spot one a mile off. He isn't too fond of actors. Most of his friends are out of the profession. Flashy clothes he doesn't like. His wardrobe consists of two suits and an odd sports jacket for which he paid $65. He has no full dress get-up. Santa Monica he wouldn't trade for Beverly Hills. "I'm one of the boys at Santa Monica and I want to stay that way.'' He doesn't think he's an actor — yet. Philosophy of life? He isn't too sure he has one. About all he expects out of life is a chance to put a lot into it. What he manages to get back in return isn't too important. "It's the game that counts — not the score." Personal to House-Hunters: HOW LINDA DARNELL LIVES Come and meet the family, the pets and the personal problems of this charming young star in next month's Photoplay-Movie Mirror 78 PHOTOPL.w comh'xned u'itfi movie mirror