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MOtlVWOOO CAKfO*M<*
Hollywood
By
Eunice Marshall
the privacy of their homes.
Decoration by Everett Wynn
V
The fan magazines are daily besieged by both fans and tradespeople for these addresses, but as the addresses are given the editors in, confidence, the magazines are as reticent as the studios themselves about them.
Wally Reid is one of the greatest believers in secrecy regarding home addresses of the stars. Hollywood still giggles over the story of the stagestruck girl who ran away from home to see Wally. Mrs. Reid found the girl sitting on the doorstep, determined not to move a step until she saw Wally. Mrs. Reid, being a good sportswoman, and having had experience with her husband's adorers before, took the girl in and invited her to dinner. Even then the girl refused to go home, and finally Mrs. Reid had to invoke the aid of the Y. W. C. A. to persuade her to leave.
ThE good old newspaper ruse is a favorite one, too. One day the fan who yearns to view the film star in his native haunts has a truly bright and original idea, an inspiration apparently heaven sent. He will be a reporter, by heck ! Then, even the most supercilious publicity man cannot
gainsay his request for one little phone number.
But fans do not look like reporters
much. And where phone numbers
are concerned, all publicity men are native sons of the "Show Me" State. So unless the fan can produce evidence of some connection with a publication, he doesn't even get by the gateman.
As a matter of cold fact, many an honest-to-goodness reporter cannot get the phone numbers. If you are "in right" with the publicity office, or if you have something on the casting director, then — maybe — you glean an address here and another there. Phone numbers are decidedly "inside stuff" and you have to have the password to get them.
But the elegant cutglass pajamas go to the Los Angeles automobile salesman for his simple solution of the problem. He merely waits in his automobile in front of the studio until the star he wants gets out. Then he follows him home. That is, he does, always supposing that the star goes home. Sometimes he uses a lot of gas before the star finally slams the garage door of his palatial estate in Beverly Hills.
ONE night, as the subtitles say, the particular star the salesman was trailing went on a party. Our Old Sleuth had to make the asphalt smoke to keep up with the party, to say nothing of waiting in the cold before several beach cafes while the star and his friends danced and dined. (The salesman hadn't anticipated an evening of it and was financially unprepared to face the robber barons of the beach hostelries.) But he was game and stuck it out. And the next week, when he sold the star a special-built machine, he added on the cost of the gas to his price.
The fortunate tradesman, who by hook or crook achieves a list of stars' phone numbers, often "swaps" names with other tradesmen. At first, they all want Mary Pick ford's number and think they have made a neat bargain when they have exchanged two or three lesser lights for it. They continue to think so until they try to sell Mary something. Our Mary is a shrewd business woman. She says that she works too hard for her money to throw it away.
The new star is by far the best prospect. Elated by sudden success and by an (Continued on Pagej2 )
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