Picture-Play Magazine (Sep 1928 - Feb 1929)

83 Life Rides in a Bus Humorous and pathetic glimpses of Hollywood which are not included in a sight-seeing tour of stars' homes. Dunham Thorp Illustration by Lui Trugo THERE are three redheads roaming the streets of Hollywood, and the years have brought them wisdom in the ways of the movie world. They it is who first greet the aspiring youngster, who bid a final farewell to his broken elder, and who know every stage in the transition between these two extremes. I say "broken elder" with intention, for if those first aspirations are realized, and our youngster rises upward, there comes an inevitable parting of the ways. And there should be a parting here. I should use plainer language. There are, then, three red-roofed busses running from Universal City, through Hollywood, to Culver City. All who have business with Metro-Goldwyn, DeMille, Roach, or Universal, and cannot yet afford a car of their own, must ride these "redheads." Any one riding these busses regularly, and with open eyes, gets a good view of a certain stratum of the movie colony — a stratum that is not interviewed, nor "symposiumed," nor "general articled." For none in it have yet arrived. Very few, in fact, ever will. 'But they also serve ; they are as surely a part of any true and complete picture as are the Wampa's baby grandmothers, or the latest dog-star's puppies ! "Lights! Camera!" No, that mascaraed, lip-sticked gentleman, the one in evening clothes, sitting next to the cowboy, is not returning at this morning hour from one of Hollywood's fabled parties. It is simply that he must report on the set, and in make-up, at nine thirty, if he is to earn his seven fifty or ten dollars. If he dresses and applies his make-up at home he can grab a few minutes' extra sleep. And as he may be working until midnight, you surely cannot blame him. You will notice that perhaps half of those in the bus have followed his example. In fact, it is a general practice among all extras to put on their make-up before leaving home, and to travel in the. clothes they are to act in. Notice, too, how careful they are lest they become soiled. Though the sun is quite hot, our friend wears an overcoat, and has a silk scarf wrapped around, even tucked into, his collar and tie. Why are his collar and shirt front pink instead of white ? The camera prefers it so. Evening clothes of both sexes — sports outfits, cowboy regalias, beards, and bandannas — these, and much more, are commonplace during almost any run of these busses. That hobo and that exquisite are roommates, and tomorrow both may be Cossacks ! But after a few trips one becomes used to such passengers, and does not give them a second glance — just as one becomes used to skyscrapers in New York, or palms in the tropics. It is then that one begins to look for the little bits of comedy and pathos. Stray scraps of conversation: "I got a letter of introduction, but he always seems to be away on location. I can't understand it." "I shoulda got that part! If she looks Spanish. I'm a swordfish ! She's much too big. She nearly busted the seams of the costume when they gave it to her!" "I got the inside dope — naw, it's not that at all. The real reason they're closing down is I got it straight, I tell yuh ! Sammy's a pal o' mine !" "But how could I help it ? Does he think I'm a mind reader? He should take each one aside, separately, and explain just what he wants." "It's them foreigners. They all stick together. A real American ain't got a chance !" And so on, and on — a chorus mighty as the thund'rous surf that pounds eternally the shores of all the world. Woof! After the storm — the calm. A mother and her three-year daughter sit opposite a man who is just becoming elderly. The baby, a wouldbe star, is precocious — and spoiled ; the mother, pushing ; the man, meek and apologetic. But they will not be without fame, even if they must manufacture it for themselves. The mother shows her baby's stills ; the man admires, and then proffers his. For a little praise given the other, each can bask in the praise returned — in the glory of "recognition." True, the man must praise three of the baby's pictures to get a return on one of his, but the years have taught him to be thankful for Continued on page 112