Screenland (May-Oct 1938)

Ellen Drew, one of Paramount's pretties, fashionably informal. Cagney, Star vs. Man Continued from page 55 egoists — not because they are swell-headed, but because everyone with whom they come in contact wants to talk about them (the actors). Jim has no patience with that sort of thing. He talks about himself only under pressure, and then only to intimates. Although he vociferously denies it, he is one of the few people I know who is more interested in human beings and human nature than in himself or anything else. Every one of the mannerisms he has used in his films (and there has been a different mannerism in each film) has been appropriated from someone he has met. The "Hon-ee" he called everyone in one film was lifted from the conversation of a friend of his, Frank Rowan. The playful pass at a person's chin with his clenched fist in another film was a gesture of his father's. When Jim was a kid and would come home bursting with something to tell, his father used to listen and then playfully say, "If I thought you meant that !" and, at the same time, make a pass at Jim's chin. The fluttering of the right hand he employed in another film was copied from Allen Jenkins' habit of speaking more with his hands than his mouth, although Allen uses both fluently. Not long ago Jim was speaking to another friend of his — Maurice Leo, a writer. Maurice is quite a character himself. He is witty as the devil and, as if that were not enough, he stutters. On this occasion he had a gardenia in his lapel buttonhole. As he talked and stuttered, each sentence was punctuated by a sniff at the gardenia. Cagney watched him in amused silence for a few minutes. Finally Jim could control himself no longer. "That's a swell piece of business, Maurice," he burst out. "Do you mind if I use it in a picture?" "My God!" Maurice ejaculated, "you can't open your mouth these days without meeting yourself in pictures !" But, never fear, that piece of business, improved and enlarged upon, will be seen in some future Cagney film. The hired man on Jim's New England farm is an out-of-doors man. He was raised on a farm and has shipped on vessels all around the world. His whole life has been spent in the open. But he is deathly afraid of insects. As he talks, his conversation is continually interrupted by yelps as a gnat or some other equally ferocious animal lights on him. Dick Powell is employing that mannerism in his new picture — "The Cowboy from Brooklyn" — but it was Cagney who put Dick up to it. Jim must be a goldbrick salesman's idea of a dream come true. He can't say "No" to anyone. In self-defense he has had to turn his business affairs over to his wife and brother. But if you could get to Jim — ! With the exception of Spencer Tracy there is probably no other actor in the business who so detests being waited upon or who so enjoys being left to his own devices. He and Bill knew such tough times' when they were first starting in the show business that whenever either of them had work they saved the major portion of their salaries. It was not until they had more money in the bank than they had ever dreamed they would possess that they bought what they considered a huge home. Actually, it is far from being huge — as compared to most stars' houses. Today, both of them are tired of the place. They have a farm in New England — a small place — and, now that he is back at Warner Brothers, they are planning to sell the large house in Beverly and build a much smaller one on some property they bought a couple of years ago. Speaking of that New England farm, it is the kick of a lifetime to see Jim on it. There is even less of the movie star about him there than there is in Hollywood. They have a large vegetable garden and a flower garden. Bill tends to the flower garden herself and Jim the vegetable garden. This past fall, all the fruits, grapes and cranberries were personally harvested by Jim and preserved by Bill. The house is two hundred and fifty years old, so they set about furnishing it in period. All the furniture has been personally refinished by Mr. Cagney. The paint and varnish has been removed and each piece carefully sandpapered until smooth as satin. He is almost childlike in his enthusiasms for people and talent. Although he has known Bing Crosby for some time it happened he had never heard Bing on the air until this past fall when he was at his farm. One Thursday night as a storm battered the New England coast, Jim turned on the radio and happened to catch Bing. He sat in entranced silence until the program was finished. Then he rushed for the phone to send a wire of appreciation. The telegraph at Martha's Vineyard was closed. The wires were down to New Bedford and Fal mouth. Jim finally put in a long distance call to the telegraph office in Boston and the following wire was dispatched to Crosby : "The cows, chickens, horses and hogs for miles around join me in congratulating you and in expressing appreciation of the entertainment you have given us." It never occurred to Jim he might have saved some money by waiting until the next morning when the local telegraph office was open to send the wire. He had enjoyed the program that night, the wire had to be sent that night. There is no star so willing — even eager— to tell jokes at his own expense. In New York he went to see Shan Kar, the Hindu dancer. Going backstage afterwards to congratulate him, the publicity man asked Jim to pose for a picture with his star. Jim readily agreed. As the photographer prepared to snap the picture he said, "Shake hands with him, Mr. Cagney, and smile." Jim did. As Jim prepared to leave the stage a plumpish, middle-aged woman bustled up. "How do you happen to get into a picture with Shan Kar?" she demanded belligerently. "Why, I — I don't know," Jim stammered in surprise. "I guess I just happened to be standing there." "Well, you're pretty lucky, that's all / have to say," snapped the woman. "I guess I was," Jim agreed mildly. "I'm a newspaper woman," she went on, "and I thought perhaps you were someone I should know." "No, I'm nobody," Jim reassured her. _ He tells another story on himself of a time on the farm last summer when he and Bill had just got themselves new bicycles. Neither of them had ridden since they were kids and they set out along the country road in high glee. As they pedaled, an automobile horn warned them of the approach of a car. Bill drew ahead. Jim turned to look back and, as he did so, his front wheel caught in Bill's rear one and sent him sprawling, arms and legs flying in all directions. Jim, prone, but still laughing at himself, got a frightening worm'seye view of the approaching truck. The car came to an abrupt halt and the driver leaped out solicitously. Nothing about the incident tickled Jim so much as the fact that the driver failed to recognize him and that when he asked for Jim's name — and got it — the name meant nothing to him, either ! (To Be Concluded Next Month) Pat O'Brien, James Cagney, Dick Powell and Frank McHugh (on the Warner lot they're known as the Four Musketeers) enjoy a joke on a recent get-together. 79