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

24 P ho ioPlay Journal Tom, Tom, A Farmer's Son . . By EDWIN JUSTUS MAYER THERE is a tradition that screen stars are not human — that when they are off-screen they just fade away until time for work again — that they are shadows called forth from obscurity by directors with big megaphones and tremendous voices. The tradition isn't true. I went to visit Tom Moore out at the Goldwyn Studios in Culver City, California, and found that if there was ever a likable human being, it is Tom Moore. He is immensely more than a shadow. He is trueblooded, good-natured. And, just outside of the stage on which he stood — a great glass-topped affair equipped with more contrivances than John Philip Sousa is equipped with medals — Will Rogers swung his rope and talked as only Will Rogers can talk. Another proof, Mr. Rogers, that stars are human, all the way through ! "Why interview me?" inquired Mr. Moore, with a modesty which isn't assumed, but as real as his other qualities. "After all, I've said everything that I know to interviewers in the past," he continued, giving this logical and convincing reason why he should be left in peace. But it wasn't my intention to leave him in peace, to be frank. "Tell me about yourself," I suggested mildly. "It's very pleasant to talk about one's-self, of course," said the hero of "Officer 666," his latest picture, "but I'm afraid that the public wearies of the old facts. But if you must have your way," he added with a whimsical touch of his tone, "why, here goes. "I was born near the town of Kells, County Mead, Ireland, a fact which may account for my profound interest in the Irish nationalist movement. I was christened Thomas Joseph Moore, but it didn't take, and Tom Moore I have been for a long time, and Tom Moore I am today. My father was a small farmer; a profession that in those days wasn't any more profitable than, say, being a conductor on a pay-as-you-enter car. Between the mill, the taxes, and the cost of living — that existed even in those days — my father didn't make out so well, and his eyes turned toward the fairy land across the waters, America. "At the same time, the big town of Dublin was dreadfully alluring, and when the family made up its mind to give up the soil, it was a moot question whether to go to that city or to the overseas Republic. Things had reached the stage where the household effects and the family had been packed into a jaunting-car and still no decision on the great question. "'Do you know where you're going?' asked my mother of my father. " 'That I do not,' said my father. 'I haven't the idea!' " 'Then we best decide right now,' said my mother. "And they did. Two scraps of paper, one marked 'Dublin,' the other 'America,' were dropped into my younger brother Joe's hat, and the youngster given the privilege of picking out the family's destinies. In went his hand, and out came America !' "We landed in New York, but having relatives in Toledo, it was there we went and there I enjoyed whatever formal education I've had. But I had the wanderlust, the desire to get-away, for no good reason beside my extreme youth, which led me out on 'the road.' I don't know how long it took me, but eventually I got to Jersey City. I didn't have the nickel necessary to transport me across the river, but I finally did manage to cross it and reach Manhattan. I hung about the docks and Park Row, the Bowery and lower New York in general, for several weeks before I realized there was an Up-town, as well. "I staved in New York for over a vear before I ventured to