Photoplay (Jul - Dec 1938)

Rover Boy in Hollywood (Continued from page 67) far away — until we could go to sea, maybe. Ah, there was the life! Well, he found out just what kind of a life when, fifteen years old and a student at King's College, he ran away and got a job on an English potato boat called the Emily May, which usually voyaged only among the channel islands but that coming summer was to venture into the Mediterranean as far east as Port Said. No, he wasn't exactly a sailor. He was a scullery boy and quite appropriately on this potato boat spent most of his time peeling potatoes. Still, it was fun, at first, to dock at Guernsey and Jersey and Islay, places he had never seen before, and it was fun, too, to hear . a surly: "A bit of all right, lad," from the cook when he had made an especially good potato-peeling record. Ultimately, however, he realized that this sort of seafaring was turning out to be as commonplace as the other side of the hill at Neath — that it offered no "dragons to slay" at all. So, headed around Gibraltar and southeast through the Mediterranean on the promised voyage to the Suez Canal, he made his plans. He would jump ship at Port Said, the "port of missing men," the "crossroads of the world." Here, surely, he would meet adventure face to face! Instead he found that, apart from the strange languages, costumes and smells, this place was much like any "hick town" at home. "Port of missing men?" he asked himself, disgustedly. "Crossroads of the world? Sure — so what?" The next day, he began looking for a job. "Figured I might as well have something to do," he told me, recounting the situation. And, although he'd have liked it better otherwise, such was that British perverseness of his, that he found himself snapped up right away as clerk in a dry-goods store, the main emporium of the Port. So for five solid, boring weeks he sold yard goods and topees and shorts and soap and shaving lotion and tack ham mers to the British clientele — successfully, he admits. UF course, being Ray Milland, he promptly and thoroughly hated it all and endured it only until he had gathered together some money. Then he took himself out of there double-quick, heading homeward. Back in England, with his father pretty well "heated" at him, to borrow his own adjective, Ray went to work on his uncle's stock farm where for a while he found contentment for the reason that, also, he found Luke. Luke was a horse sometimes nicknamed "Fractious" because he was that kind of a horse. A fine-blooded animal, he gave promise of being excellent steeplechase material, only he couldn't be handled . . . which was an immediate challenge to Ray. "Let me take him over," he said. Whereupon ensued a three months' duel of wills between young, headstrong Ray and the young and equally headstrong piece of horseflesh known as Luke. At last, though, came the day when Ray and Luke actually won an important steeplechase. Which meant that Ray had made a success of his job and that immediately and characteristically he again became bored. "I was a restless cuss, all right," he says, "insufferably restless. It was a great relief to my uncle when I left him and joined the Cheshire Yeomanry." Yes, the army was his next venture and, talented young devil that he is, he soldiered so efficiently that he was finally appointed to the British Household Cavalry, His Majesty's personal bodyguard. He found army life pretty interesting for a while, too. Then, like someone out of a story-book, he inherited thirty-five hundred pounds! lOU can guess what a young chap, scarcely in his twenties, would do about that. He resigned from the army and set himself to having what he describes as a "good time de luxe," which lasted As pretty as any movie star — Mrs. Ray Milland. 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