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Carmel Myers interviewed the Schallerts in their home, and this picture was taken at the time of her visit.
A Star Turns Reporter!
By Carmel Myers
T
HE job of "writing up" the writers whose names appear each month Picture-Play Magazine was
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not of my choosing". It came to me as a sudden and complete surprise, and I hesitated about accepting it. I know how easy it is, in writing about a person, to say something that will not exactly please them, and suppose I should manage to offend the entire staff of a fan magazine !
Yet I could not decline without offending the editor, .wHch might be just as bad, so there I was, and here I am, pretending to be quite at ease, but really as frightened as I was when I took my first screen test. But I shall try to act as though I were quite at home with a typewriter.
So now, to get at the real business in hand, I want you to meet — pardon me. Mr. Michael Arlen — these charming people, Edwin and Elza Schallert. And, in order to meet them the more intimately, let's dash over together to their house in the Wilshire district.
Here we are — yes, that rambling, solidlooking, homelike one is theirs. We ring the bell, are met at the door by Mr. Schal
Miss Myers found that the young women who write for the magazine from Los Angeles were very curious to know all about Malcolm H. Oettinger.
At our request, Carmel Myers has turned the tables on all of the regular contributors to "Picture-Play Magazine," and has written a series of her impressions of them, the first of which we herewith present.
lert himself — the "Deacon," some of his friends call him. I think it's an appropriate title for this serious-eyed, slow, smiling man, whose laugh is much heartier than you expect it to be. A warm handshake.
"Do come in. Elza will be right down."
For a few minutes we discuss people and personalities of the picture industry. (There is a difference, you know.) And then Elza comes.
"It's the nurse's day off, so I was dressing Billy," she explains. "What a love of a hat!" The eternal feminine.
Then they ply me with questions. What was I doing? When would "Big Ben" be finished ? W7hen would I start my new picture? All of which has no place here. This is their interview. I tell them so, and for further evidence produce a notebook and a silly little pencil that breaks immediately upon being pressed into service. This sobers them. Then Elza laughs — a nice, throaty laugh. "Oh, this is funny !" and then she looks
"Oh, it will be painless," I bluster,