Screenland (May-Jul 1926)

SCREEN LAND 103 put your diamonds in your bag while go through the crowd." He need not e worried. We had police protection. 'he first time I really got to know Harold d was when we both fell into the same v-drift at Times Square. I had lunched matinee-ed with Harold but Harold is and only our mutual misfortune placed on a really friendly basis. Since then : met him in offices, where he talked ures; in hotels, where he showed me the v latest portraits of Middy and the y; and the last time, at a hockey game Madison Square Garden. Harold was ited to be the guest of the Garden that ht and to cast the first puck — an honor arded only to popular governors and stars. Harold said he'd go but he Jdn't "show". The management prom[ not to announce the comedian. Harold in his box unrecognised. Maybe some :he people wondered who the nice, quiet ng man was to whom Doug and Mary, ior guests that night, waved across the la; but Harold escaped unmobbed and lc. Doug and Mary had to bow to the dreds that stood up to applaud them as \ came in: and they autographed a dozfans' books. t was Christmas Eve. Snow was falling [ the Yuletide bells were ringing — or if y weren't, they should have been. In a et restaurant in the forties, in New York, nan and a girl w^ere having dinner; the was home-sick — it was her first Christs away from her family; and the man was ing to cheer her up. If I am not misen, he had given her a grand present — 3oked suspiciously like a diamond. Nothunusual in that? Well, they were Rich' Dix and Lois Wilson. I met Lois for first time that night; and spurred by Christmas spirit, she made me a present her views on things in general and her' in particular. "I'm tired of hearing self referred to only as 'The nice girl of llywood'," she wailed. "Really, there's re to me than that." She vowed she uld be emancipated; get herself a new sonality; do herself over. Fe toasted her tea — in tea, I said. Every time I see is or Richard I like them better. But I ?t have been mistaken about that Christs present. 'Going on location" with Bill Hart was It was a long time ago, and he had ne from California to get some effete tern scenery. Bill posed for close-ups ;inst the sky. They shot me, too, but I ned out to be the original face on the ring-room floor. To make up for it — Bill had warned me I wouldn't be anicr Pickford — he bought me a load of ly-pops and a dozen dolls; and he kids about the dolls to this day. What of Big girls play with them now. Corinne Griffith chose the hottest day of t summer to make New York street scenes ' "Classified '. Corinne came from Texas ti didn't mind the heat. I didn't, and 1. I stuck it out as long as I could while irinne waved gaily from the flivver in lich she was riding with Jack Mulhall lenever the director called "Cut". Only interviewer, I couldn't keep up the pace. Shopping for an interview sometimes has compensations. Mabel Normand took ! with her from Cartier's to Hickson's and >m there .to Gattle's. I emerged with a :e new bracelet. So, although that hapned a long, long time ago, I have never allenged Miss Normand's far-flung reputan as a generous giver. Because" while I ve since shopped with Mae Murray and Oia Dana and Dorothy Gish. I have never brought anything home with me except a pair of aching dogs. Speaking of Dorothy — once for a fashion interview I went with her to an expert coiffeur's to have her tresses water-waved. The Frenchman slaved over the Gish locks and then stood off to admire his handiwork. "That won't do at all," said Doorthy decidedly, and proceeded to mess up his masterpiece with relentless fingers and put in a wave of her own. That's Dorothy. Ham and eggs with Olive Thomas at the end of a day spent with her at the studio — a delicious repast it was, to, served on an impromptu table on the floor of her living room — I'll never forget those ham and eggs! Olive had a dozen invitations to dinner; but she was tired, though she didn't look it; and she preferred the homey fare to the Ritz cuisine. While I was there, a package came. It contained a luxurious sealskin wrap, and I heard Olive tell her maid to wrap it up again and send it to her mother. There was no publicity pretense about that girl. She didn't give a darn what you said about her. I think of all the stars I ever met, Olive was the most fun. It has been a long time since Pearl White made pictures over here, but she's not forgotten. I remember the time she came up out of her own private portion of the Atlantic to meet me. She was in swimming with Georges Carpentier and she didn't want to be interviewed and she didn't care who knew it. Pearl wasn't averse to publicity; she just resented being bothered to get it. She was entertaining a gay party, including the French champ and Texas Guinan. at her Bayside home. But I stuck around and before it knew it, Pearl was ringing for one of her several butlers to bring a pitcher of milk — yes, really milk — which we drank; and then she took her through her huge, old-fashioned mansion. It was almost as bare as Mother Hubbard's cupboard. Pearl didn't go in for rugs or furniture. A grand piano was the only ornament the drawing room could boast. Pearl's own boudoir wasn't the scented and rose-hung nest of many stars — Hope Hampton, for one; it was as austere as a cell. "Here are some funny things I brought back from Paris, last time," she said, flinging a pair of ostrich-feather mules at me. Scoop! They were the first ostrich-feather mules in America! Pearl said then she was apt to leave America flat to live in Paris any old time. She kept her word. It might have been those beastly interviews. But after all, Strongheart is the most satisfactory of all the stars. He never talks back. He doesn't complain about what you said in your last story; he maintains a haughty silence, giving the impression that he is above such trivialities. I knew Strongheart "when" — yes, sir, before he was a real, established star. I met him when he first came to this country, before he got acquainted with elevators and had to be interviewed in the open. Chaperoned by Larry Trimble, we walked along Fifth Avenue, while ladies fainted, traffic signals were suspended in mid-air, and little children ran up and rashly attempted to pat his silky head. Strongheart. no ordinary movie star, didn't relish petting. He stood for it like a gentleman until one little boy asked him for his autograph; then he put his paw down. There was nothing silly or frivolous about this noble personality. He's happily married now and the father of a large family; but I hear he is still above saying anything about best pals and severest critics. 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