Screenland (May–Oct 1927)

76 SCRE. ENLAND When Fame and Fortune Came to the Door -continued from page 23 "I met Lawrence Stallings (Author of The Big Parade and What Price Glory) in California," remarked James. "Well, well," I said. "And I suppose he wants to write a story all around you?" "Why, no," replied Mr. Murray. "He just said that he thought he must have met me before. I said no. 'Well,' he said, 'then I must have seen you somewhere. I'd swear to it." 'Maybe you saw me when I was a doorman at the Capitol Theatre in New York,' I told him." That's Jimmy Murray all over. He'll tell you all about the time he was plugging along on the Gay White Way, with nary a nod from the big boys who bow to him now. Jimmy bears no grudges. He likes a laugh and his old home town has handed him several. And it's given him other things, this visit. Up in the Bronx, where his father, mother, three brothers and two sisters live, they staged a welcome-home celebration he'll never forget, with a brass band and all the trimmings. And he has held up traffic on Fifth Avenue while cameras were focussed on him for exterior shots. The street he tried to buck will soon have his name in big electric lights. New York is mighty proud of her boy — since he made good in California. Well, you can imagine the way we feel now! Here he was hanging around for years — right on Broadway in full view of the audience. He punched our passes, and handed back ticket stubs to visiting movie magnates and famous directors. He smiled pleasantly to all the thousands who passed him at the door of the Capitol. Critics hurried through to view the work of some leading man or other not nearly as good-looking as Jimmy. And did we notice him, did we start, and exclaim: "Young man, your face is your fortune. You should try the movies?" We did not. We passed him right up, like the big boobs we are. No wonder Jimmy Murray learned to depend on himself and to doubt there was a Santa Claus — I mean a Columbus. Roxy, then the manager of the Capitol, appreciated his talent — he gave him a ten-dollar prize once, but only for good behavior. How I wish I could say of King Vidor's sensational find, "I always knew that handsome doorman would make good someday." Maybe I don't feel foolish now! There was nothing for him to do but to discover himself. He got a job in a play called "The World We Live In", the Insect Comedy. He was one of the ants. Then he found work in a short subject educational picture "The Pilgrim", in which he played John Alden. But New York continued to look the other way. Her indifference inspired him to try Hollywood. He went out there — and he came back. Nobody paid much attention to James Murray out there. His first home-coming — back to Broadway, and the Bronx — was no triumphal entry. But Jimmy wasn't licked. He squared those broad shoulders and went west all over again. Fame overnight? No such thing. A year and a half went by, and still no Jimmy Murray appeared on the horizon of fame. There was extra work — sometimes. Then again, there wasn't. In fact, one whole month there wasn't. If this was a movie, a sub-title right here would read: "And in this month the Boy became a Man". A month without any kind of job at all will turn the trick — or lick. Jimmy had the stuff, and stuck. "Didn't you have any screen tests, besides mob scenes?" I asked him. It seemed incredible that such a handsome lad could hang around Hollywood without recognition— until I remembered Broadway, and blushed. "I had lots of screen tests," said Jimmy. "I had so many they became an old story. When somebody else would say to me, 'Report tomorrow and you can have a test', I'd smile, because those stereotyped tests never came to anything. They were no indication of anybody's ability. And besides, every time I responded to the invitation for a test, I was losing a good day's work in another studio as an extra." No less than six well-known directors tested him — and apparently found him wanting, though in what, they didn't tell. And I doubt if they know to this day. Meanwhile he played extra in "Beau Ceste", "Old Ironsides" , and countless other films. And then — there's always an "and then" in movie stories. It's what makes the movies go 'round. And then, one day after extra work at the Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer studios, The Joan Crawford Dress Fan-Letter Contest Was Won By Miss G. L. Graham 214 Strong Hall Vassar College Poughkeepsie, N. Y. Joan Crawford's dress has been sent to Miss Graham and Screenland sends with it sincere congratulations to a clever letter writer. Jimmy left the .studio by the front gate instead of through the casting office as usual. It was raining, in spite of the Chamber of Commerce. And it was a long, long way from Culver City to Jimmy's furnished room in Hollywood. He walked through the gate and stood' considering. Carfare clinked in his pocket; he'd been working regularly; but with Irish optimism he wondered if he couldn't beg a ride from one of the cars that shot by him on their way to town. "Give me a lift" is the common cry in California, where the distance from studio to studio is as hard on shoe-leather as it is on hopes. Jimmy raised his hand as an indication that he would like a lift, and when a car pulled up he jumped in. The man and the girl in the car were nice and polite to him, and when the man asked him if he worked in pictures, he answered readily that he did. "Well," said the man, who wasn't so much older than Jimmy himself, "I'm King Vidor. Would you like to come to the studio for a test?" "Sure," grinned Jimmy. He'd go, but he wouldn't be fooled. If he got some extra work out of it he'd be lucky. "I'll come over if I'm not working," he said. "If you are working tomorrow," persisted Vidor, "don't fail to see me the next day, then." Jimmy promised. But he had a call for extra work the next day. And the day after that, instead of reporting to Vidor for the test, he made the rounds of the studios for more tangible work. Five days passed, five days when extra work was regular. A day's work at seven-fifty a day was not to be sniffed at. The prospect of another screen test meant just a half day's work without pay. Do you wonder that Murray did not jump at the chance of a seventh screen test, even for King Vidor?" But Vidor needed a young man for the leading role in his big new picture, "The Crowd" — it may be called "The March of Life" by the time you're reading this. He couldn't seem to find that young man among the stock -players at the studio. He consulted the casting office for the telephone number of the young man whose face had interested him that rainy night — that mysterious young man who had passed up a chance. Finally the number was located and Murray was notified that he had received a call from the casting office of M. G. M. to report to the studio the following morning. Such a call means one thing — work; and it's never disregarded. Murray reported. Cue for Song: "This is My Lucky Day", by James Murray. It certainly turned out to be. Vidor had prepared no ordinary screen test. He took the trouble to order music, "dress" the set, and call on Eleanor Boardman Vidor to work with the newcomer. When Murray reported he was given the script to read. "Are you nervous?" asked Vidor. "Because if you are, we'll let the test go to another day." This was a challenge and at the same time a soothing syrup. It smoothed the way for Jimmy. He felt right at home. When it came time for him to show his stuff, he felt it, and put it over like an experienced trouper. Vidor shot one scene and Murray was so good in it that the director was afraid he might have been inspired by excitement. He might carry one scene — and then flop when it came to working day by day. So Vidor kept at it. One whole Saturday was spent doing bits from the picture, scene by scene, from a synopsis. At the end of that day, Murray didn't know whether he would go over — or flop. And he had to wait until the following Tuesday to find out! On Tuesday morning he was sent for. Not for just an hour — not for just a day — not for just a week — but always! Yep — he got the job, and a contract, too. The role of the young clerk in "The Crowd", is a man-sized part. It demands thought, poise, and heavy emotion. It takes the "hero" from boyhood to old age. It makes him a husband and a father; a success and a failure. It provides really big scenes. Under Vidor's expert direction, Jimmy has the chance of a lifetime. He is so happy playing the part that he says he wishes the picture would never be finished. New York, which is taking an interest to the extent of providing the leading man and the exterior scenes, will make a big fuss when Jimmy's picture comes to Broadway. In the meantime, everybody can get a glimpse of the boy in "The Understanding Heart". There have been several big picture openings along Broadway since James Murray has been in town. But he hasn't gone to any. "I'm not going to a first night until Mr. Vidor's picture opens", he says.