Radio mirror (Nov 1936-Apr 1937)

RADIO M IRROR Uncle Ezra's Double Life (Continued from page 30) yarns about covered wagon days, or commented wittily on the "modern" folks and their "doin's;" preferred this to the games and pastimes of his fellow playmates. Some folks thought he was funny, others said it was because his folks were "show people" who traveled. Even Pat couldn't explain himself. But he liked the way Uncle Johnny's chin whiskers bobbed up and down when he was chewing a bit of tobacco, he thrilled to Pleas Ferguson's yarns of the early west, and he laughed at Judge Bothwell's comments. Later, as a young man, Pat stepped out to pursue the elusive fame and fortune of the footlights. After three or four years filled with hardships, hall bedrooms, and irregular meals, his big break came. It was in Chicago, about 1911, when Pat landed the biggest part of his early career. Strangely enough, it was the part of an old man, the elderly, ex-judge Stott, in the old play, "The Lion and the Mouse." Realizing the importance of his role, Pat went back in his mind to the scenes of his boyhood. He remembered how old Brad Harmon used to hobble out from behind the counter, how Uncle Johnny would scratch the side of his head when he was thinking. From each he took something. He worked, he studied, and as a result, he made a success of ex-judge Stott beyond his wildest dreams. He found it was easy for him to walk like an old man, natural for him to talk like one, but more important, Pat Barrett found he could think like one. AFTER several successful seasons of portraying old men in musical comedy and on the legitimate stage. Pat began to realize he was creating a character of his own; a composite picture drawnfrom the rural friends of his boyhood, mingled with all the characters he'd portrayed on the stage — but made original too by his own ideas regarding the workings of an old man's mind. With this character, Pat was lured into the then big money of vaudeville. For twelve years this white-headed, comical old codger was a headliner on the Keith and Orpheum circuits, and each year found the old fellow becoming more and more a living personality, more and more an individual. Pat prided himself on his ability to live his characterization. Then, without his realizing it, his characterization began to live his life! No longer could Pat Barrett leave his old man behind at the theater each night by the simple action of removing a daub of greasepaint and a bunch of crepe hair. It followed him home, it parked him over in a corner each night with his slippers and a book, _ it made him complain of aches and pains. It made him feel like an old man! It was wise Nora, Pat's wife, who first realized what was happening. And as soon as Pat realized it too, he fought grimly against this encroachment of his characterization into his private life. Pat refused even to think of his old man except when actually on the stage. Nora and he went to more parties and dances than ever before. He took up swimming, golf and tennis. Just when he'd apparently solved his problem, just when he'd limited the chin whiskers to the footlights only, along came radio, along came the National Barn Dance and Uncle Ezra. "You know," he told me, "in vaudeville I was all right. The act was pretty well set, and except for a few minor changes now and then, it would be done auto RUBinOFF nno his uiouii uiRcimn RED jnn peerce EUERy simony @ocL±t-to-&oa±t 6:30 P. EASTERN STANDARD TIME 61