We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.
Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.
for Tanuary 1935
57
"Out of the night that covets me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods that be For my unconquerable soul.
"It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul."
William Ernest Henley
But what screen star can truthfully say, "I am the master of
my fate, I
am
am the captain my soul?"
of
is much speedier than mechanical transportation. A second ago we were in a theatre in Anytown ; now we're in Hollywood. While we are here, let's look into this so-called "nothing to worry about" existence of the actors and actresses.
Hey ! What is all that groaning and moaning noise ?
Greta Garbo, you say. And you also say that she wants to leave Hollywood and go to her estate in Sweden, there to live the remainder of her life in solitude.
Why does she want to do that? Oh, because she is really a hermit at heart, eh? Then it's no pose— her dread of crowds, her running away from small children who seek autographs, her entering and leaving the studio through a private, hidden gate. She really is a recluse.
Well, why doesn't she go and live on her estate in Sweden? Nobody's holding her. Ahhh, so that is why she doesn't go! It costs much money to maintain an
estate. So Garbo remains in Hollvwood to accumulate the money to support herself in the grand hermitess style to which she would like to become accustomed.
I encountered Joan Crawford one recent day staring dismally into a store window decorated with chocolate candies. The display was most intriguing; my own mouth watered at sight of the inviting picture of bonbons, chocolated fruits and nuts, and other goodies.
^Hungry for some?" I asked.
"I could eat that window full !" Joan answered. "I'm dying for the taste of a chocolate caramel \"
"Well, I had no idea you were on the verge of bankruptcy," I said, "but inasmuch as you are standing there like a Christmas urchin with his nose pressed against a toy-store window, I don't see how I can refrain from buying you a box."
She turned a suddenly alarmed face.
"Don't you dare !" she cried. "One taste of candy, and I would give way to temptation (Continued on page 74)
Alice White looks pensive, and you might wonder why, when she has made a lucrative screen name for herself. There's a reason, as you'll read here
Chaplin, emperor of celluloid comedy, is internationally celebrated. Then why the tragedy deep in those expressive eyes? See our story.'