Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1920)

Photoplay Magazine I'M the bird That beaks the flaw in the scene. I'm the house'detective In the Caravansery of Art. The old farm-collie Planted close over his favorite woodchuck hole Has nothing on me. The chicken-inspector up on the Avenue 47 The Discrepancy Hound By JOHN ARBUTHNOTT And the cop on the dead-line forninst Broadway and Are pikers when I'm on the job. Pine For I put on my Pinkerton scowl And sit there watching the screen, Panting and ready to pounce On the point, the fatal and facile point, Where the Director-Guy slips up. Waiting to give the derisive Minnehaha When Eloise comes out of the alligator-tank In perfectly dry pan-velvet ; And Elvira, begging for bread on the Bowery, Sports a Tiffany watch on her wrist ; And the Duke, in going over the cliff. Starts in tweeds. But hits the Big Drink In full evening dress 1 miss the glory and glamor and grip Of the story, of course, For a man digging cooties from under his vest Isn't altogether enjoying the moonlight. And the cat intent on getting the fish-bones Out of the garbage-can Can't study the stars. But I'm an observant and omniscient gink, And I guess I'm getting my fun, after all, In showing the world What a wise, wise guy I really am ! feeling that they were responsible for it all. have refused to take further chances. "I am always afraid of the rain. Of course the coming of a shower will break up picture-making while on location, and there may be a tangible reason why I dislike rain. But I have a deeper feeling than that — a sort of dread, I might say. Sunshine means happiness in the life of birds, for rain drives them indoors — and consequently into prison. Sunshine also means happiness in the lives of human beings — and when it rains they also seek shelter. "Therefore, when storm clouds appear on the horizon while my company is at work on location., I entertain an instinctive sense of impending evil, and always insist that we get to shelter before the rain falls upon us. I always fear that something may happen to some member of my company before the picture is finished if we remain and it rains upon us." William S. Hart was oiling an antiquated pistol and his hands were covered with rust and grease when I approached him on the subject of superstition. He had purchased the thing at a curio shop in Los Angeles and was priming it for real action should that be necessary in a certain scene in the picture which he was filming at that time. "I don't know that I have a superstition, but I have an affection for dumb animals that almost amounts to superstition," he said quietly, placing the pistol on the bench beside him and crossing his right leg over his left knee. "Since childhood I have always been fond of horses. It gives me great pain to see a horse suffer unnecessarily. "When I am a witness to a tragedy of this kind I never feel like continuing my day's work. I seem to brood. It's a sort of ill omen. I usually rid myself of the feeling by calling it a day — and then going for a dip in the ocean or a trip to the mountains." We next encountered J. Warren Kerrigan. He had just returned from Coronado Beach where he had iigured in a motorboat accident. Since then I We had heard about his horror for the numeral "7" and we wished to learn about it firsthand. "I think I was the seventh person to enter that motorboat that day," he said. "I have called off more than one trip because they insisted on putting me in Lower 7, or Upper 7, or because the numeral '7' appeared on my car. "Somewhere during the week there is an unlucky day. I always have a hunch that it is the seventh day. If I start my week on Monday, then the following Sunday would undoubtedly be the seventh day. But if I start my week on Wednesday, or Saturday — well, it is a matter of mathematics, as there are seven days in the week." Now there is Frank Keenan, dean of actors and one of our best known film celebrities, who does not want anyone to hang a hat on his doorknob. Mr. Keenan insists that the hatrack is for that purpose in the first place, and that the doorknob is made for the stipulated purpose of opening and closing doors. Anyhow, to hang a hat thereon is to invite bad luck into the family, whether it is the family that gathers around the well known fireside, or whether it is the movie family. So if you ever enter Mr. Keenan's office always remember that his doorknob has not yet consented to become a hatrack. And in conclusion let us give this bit of advice : Do not walk beneath a ladder. Do not whistle while in a dressing room. If you enter a room or set by one door be sure to leave the set or room by the same door. Do not sit on your trunk until it is unpacked. Do not hang your hat on the doorknob. Do not carry locks of hair around in your best watch. Do not insist that the star's next picture begin on the Thirteenth. Weigh carefully the value of cigarette smoke or the odor of crasoline before proceeding with the dav's work. That's all.