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rhe BURN'UP
By the
Holly woo Insider
lUustration
by
OSCAR HOWARD
10VE has caused a lot of funny things to happen since this silly old world got itself started way back in the Garden of Eden. Wars and murders and oneminute-to-play-goals-for-dear i old-Hillcrest. ... In ye
olden times before knighthood withered on the stalk a man stricken with love would start a seven year war with Troy, or batter down a few of King Arthur's turrets, or go for a boat ride with Cleopatra. But I never heard of love causing a residential section to burn down before. But that's the Hollywood way of it — blaze or nothing — and this is a Hollywood love story.
I guess you read in the papers about the six homes of six movie stars burning at one fell swoop at Ferguson's Beach. I bet you read with interest the description of Dolores Delight's pajamas as she dashed from her flaming boudoir — and then thought no more about it.
But what a thrilling story there was back of that fire!
No one seemed to know exactly how it started. Six mounds of ashes — the price of a woman's honor. But after all what's a few houses compared to the indomitable spirit of a girl who defied life to break her? Let's do a cut-back.
I first met Julie Crandall (Julie O'Neill she was then) in Mike's Hot Spot up in Harlem, which is one of the places in New York where you most certainly don't want to meet anyone. Of all the low dives — well, it's the kind of place where they do the "tease" dance. You can just imagine what kind of riffraff wanders in there. At that time I was a reporter on a New York newspaper and wanted to see Types so I could write a book. That's as good an excuse as any I can give for dropping in at Mike's Hot Spot.
The hardest looking dames in the world can be found in that honky tonk. Not a one of them looked as if she'd ever had a mother. But one night in that gang I saw the sweetest looking kid I've ever seen— and I've
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seen Mary Pickford and Jackie Coogan. She looked about eighteen (I learned later that she was sixteen) and there wasn't an awkward movement to her entire body, though it was easy to see she'd never had a dancing lesson. A _ f:
nice kid from the ^ country, you'd think looking at her fresh
graceful body, but when you looked at her eyes — oh, bov — what a shock! They were the eyes of a woman of thirtv who knows toe well the pitiless cruelty of life, who has felt the cold kiss of poverty. In those large green-gray eyes of Julie Crandall you could read strange stories — but I guess I was the only one in the Hot Spot that night who looked at Julie's eyes.
As I watched her go through the routine of a dance I felt that the air was being polluted by something unclean. And sure enough there was Al Shoeman sitting at the table next to mine and gazing at that poor kid as a cat does at a bird. There was a lot of dirty gossip going the rounds about Al Shoeman and his racket. He makes his living peddling moving pictures — but not the kind you are ever likely to see.
Mike did his own serving in rliose days before Park
Silver Screen