The Photo-Play Journal (Jul 1919-Feb 1921)

June, i 9 2 o 35 landed in what is now Fulton County of that State he just bought it from the Indians, organized three towns and dwelt with the redskins for many years. Her grandfather, Leonard Fulton Ross, was retired at the close of the Civil War with the rank of General. He figured very prominently in the history of his State. His wife, Mary Warren Ross (related to the Bunker Hill Warrens), was one of the first women in this country to receive a college degree and was, until her death, recognized as one of the country's greatest Green scholars. Miss Clark's mother, Cora Ross, as a girl had dramatic ambitions which were frowned upon parentally. After graduating with honors from a university and taking a postgraduate course at Smith to satisfy her parents, she ran away to New York City to study dramatic art. Thereupon her father relented and sent her the necessary funds. She enrolled in the Empire Theatre School of Dramatic Art (now the American Academy of Dramatic Art) and was soon at the head of her class. Belasco was one of her teachers. She overstudied to such an extent that at the end of five months she was forced to return to her home, a nervous wreck, where she remained for a time. Shortly thereafter she married and went with her husband to North Dakota, then a very new country with Indians a-plenty. It was there, among the Indians, that Betty was born, in the little town of Langdon, very near to the Canadian border, on a May day with snow on the ground and the blinding wind beating against the best front door. When still a babe she was taken to Minneapolis. We skip it all now until six years ago. She came to New York with ambitions to dance like Pavlowa. She studied dancing, but the legitimate gave her a chance and she took it. Then it was a short time in vaudeville and then came the opportunity to play in the success, "Fair and Warmer," from coast to coast. After that came other successful engagements in stock and on the stage, and now she is a movie star. And she is sure that the most interesting chapter of her life is still to be written, and that when the right man comes along she'll hand down that name and those degrees to someone else. A ROBUSTO SCREEN STAR By HAROLD HOWE YOU have heard of tenor robustos, basso robustos and dear delightful female contralto robustos, but you don't sense the full meaning of the word until you see in the cinema Harry T. Morey. That is the first impression you get on meeting Harry (that's what we all call him), and it is the last impression you get when you take leave of him. When I entered his dressing room at the Vitagraph studios in Flatbush, Brooklyn, he sat before his mirror making up. He turned toward . me, one side of his face yellow and the other natural. It gave him a one-sided look. And robust — he was so big he dwarfed the room. Harry T. Morey is all brawn and muscle — there is no hint of superfluous flesh. It is no wonder that he excels in pictures of the "open," where as a lumber jack or as a gentleman of the "wilds" he smashes his way to love and honor. His arms and shoulders are of the crunching variety. You look at them and become very courteous and pleasantly disposed. "Glad to see you," he said with the merry Morey smile. "Just make yourself at home until I finish up." "I want to talk to you about 'The Birth of a Soul,' and the part — parts — you played ..." "Oh, I see," he answered. "That makes things easy. I suppose you want to know how I felt playing a dual role." "You have hit the nail on the head." "Good ! I won't have to answer questions regarding my liking for beef and my dislike of mutton — and give advice to would-be movie stars. Shoot, young fellow, shoot." He turned toward me, leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out with the abandon of a big bear. "It's your move," I replied. "Well — a dual role involves just twice as much work as the usual single interpretation," he s^id, and then his face grew animated. "You have got to figure out the worst in a man and then hold him consistently in character while his double (that is me again) is animated by altogether different motives." "Though, on the other hand," he went on, "I grew to like Philip Grey. He wasn't all bad. He had spent his whole life in the wild mountain country drinking moonshine whisky, while his double, Charlie Drayton, had had all the advantages of refined environment and education." "Yes," I granted, "but you succeeded in conveying the subtle differences after Drayton returned to the mountain country and dressed pretty much the same as Grey." "Those differences," Mr. Morey answered, "came through Philip Grey, mountaineer, and Charlie Drayton, man of the world, are really only Harry Morey in "The Birth of a Soul"