Picture-Play Magazine (Sep 1926 - Feb 1927)

The Real Ruth Roland 53 mistletoe — the faded wild flower that she picked to commemorate the starting day of each serial, wilted good-luck omens. Every greeting card she has ever received, and every tiny card attached to each birthday or Christmas gift — a ribbon from every bouquet — her first doll, a lopsided brunet beauty that gladdened her heart at the age of six. Since 1910 she has kept a diary. Records of joys and of sorrows — of successes and of failures — of loves and of hurts. The first little book, flaunting its brave red leather, was given her by a schoolboy crush. It is loads of fun to glance over the pages of that array of books and read of her doings and her candid impressions of people. August 5, 1912, bears this notation: "Reported at the studio but couldn't work because there wasn't any film. Alice Joyce came to dinner and stayed all night with me. Talked until three, wondering if we'd ever amount to anything." One day in 1912 has this notable remark: "Bought a pair of bronze slippers— my first high heels ; feel grand but uncom fortable." Another one: "Washed my S'ILK underwear." One New Year's Day passed without a diary gift, so the fly-leaf inscription reads: "Given to myself by myself. May this be a happy and prosperous year. — Ruth Roland." The little things she does so casually, which mean so much, have endeared her to her friends. From New York she brought me two gifts, unobtrusively laid beside my plate. One was a green comb with my initial set in sapphires, and the other a wee jeweler's box in which reposed a precious token. I don't know how she knew how much I had wanted this particular thing. But • that's Ruth. She finds some chance remark — and always gives you what you want the most. When there is illness or trouble, Ruth is the first to come — practical, calm Ruth, Her sympathy is too deep for sentimental expression. She just takes care of you, and sees that things are done. Common sense, service. "Look at that man climb that telegraph pole !" a friend exclaimed one day, as a lineman was at work in the alley. A shrewd, capable business woman and one of the most fearless girls on the screen, Ruth Roland has gained rather than lost in feminine charm. Photo Peggy Hamilton Study "You've grown soft, Ruth. Double dare! Bet you a box of candy you can't." "Is that so ? Wait till I change into my khaki pants." A moment later Ruth shinned up the pole and alertly swung, hand over hand, down the guy wire. And then, true to her business instinct, demanded the candy. Ruth very gorgeously arrayed at picture premieres and parties. I don't like the ostrich trimming she often affects, but that's her affair, not mine. Misunderstandings — if she is wrong, she apologizes like a good sport. If it has been my fault, she treats me very coolly until I 'fess I was at fault. The matter is never referred to again. They say that she "makes plays for publicity." Certainly. Why not? Isn't she a business woman, steering her own The chorus is something new to Ruth, but doesn't she look as though she had been cavorting in the front line all her life? career ? At least, credit her candor. She isn't adroit, like the skillful little ingenues who tenaciously get what they want under a pink-and-white naivete. The day before Christmas her car is piled high with gifts, and she makes the rounds of the hospitals and the orphanages. She takes the crippled war vets radios and cigarettes and books, and stacks of woolen blankets, and things they need. The) grin through their pain and call her their "buddy" when she sings for them. The kiddies get clothes and toys, and kisses that brighten each small, wan face. Christmases at Ruth's house. A comfy home, not a show place — a gray frame house with arbors sprawling winglike and vines rambling over it. At eleven in the morning the Continued on page 94