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12
SCREENLAND
ONE MINUTE
Where do all the stars go at the magic moment when their working day is done? Here is the answer as told by a famous author
YOU walk up Hollywood Boulevard. They're not on the Boulevard — not any more. You drive down to Malibu Beach. No, they're not at the Beach. They're not at the Fun House. And they're not at the night clubs. And they're not at the studio — working.
Here you've come all the way to Hollywood to see the big, bright movie stars, and the only stars in evidence are high above you in the blue California heavens.
Times have changed, they tell you. The stars don't go out like they used to, five, ten, fifteen years ago.
Yes, in those days, Hollywood was heralded' as a second Babylon, and visitors from everywhere flocked to the film capitol for the thrill of a life-time. And got it, too. But times have changed. Now you come to Hollywood only to find that Hollywood night life snuffs out at nine o'clock sharp.
Those Hollywood crowds that you see at' the Bowl — at the Race Track — and at Venice — are people from everywhere but Hollywood. The hotel is full of folk from Iowa and Washington and Wyoming staring at fellow folk from Wyoming and Washington and Iowa — ■ and trying their durndest to recognize the stars.
Who's that couple laughing at the table opposite? Oh, no, that's not Norman Foster and Sally Blane. That's just a couple of honeymooners from Alabama.
There goes Garbo strutting her stuff in a tailored suit ! No. That's not Garbo. That's a young grass widow from Kentucky.
Who's that smiling old lady in white hair, white bib and white tucker? Looks familiar enough to be May Robson. But it's not. Miss Robson is elsewhere tonight. She's out — riding. May Robson — riding? Yes, that's what they all do — at one minute after six.
That's why you don't see them around any more, except occasionally at the Brown Derby or at the Cocoanut Grove, or in the Blossom Room at the Roosevelt.
They're out riding. They're riding for exercise. They're riding for money. They're riding for beauty. They're riding for love. And some of them are riding — just for the ride !
You never saw so many hobby horses in your life — and you never saw such riding either !
At one minute past six — Wallace Beery slips out of his grease paint and calls for his nag.
You've all seen Wally play the part of a champ and a chump. But if you want to see him really at play, clamber aboard his hobby horse. Climb in behind him? No, climb in beside him. Wally rides a plane. It's a six-passenger cabin plane. He owns it. He runs it.
Find your favorites on the face of the big clock! Henry Wilcoxon. May Robson, Elissa Landi, Wally Beery, Ginger Rogers.