Silver Screen (Nov 1938-Apr 1939)

68 S ix v s it Screen for March 1939 ...BUSY all day with the hustle and bustle of housework . . . ...DIZZY and delirious as a tabloid newspaper office . . . ...OR EASY and languid as a Park Avenue socialite . . . /^nt^tSet ..IT'S G L A z o FOR LONGER WEAR! Here is a Fairy Godmother polish — that flows on smoothly, hardens with gem-like lustre, and wears like part of the nail itself. This miraculous 1939 Glazo... a new secret formula . . . defies all fingernail hazards. It simply wears and WEARS and WEARS! Colors? Glazo leads the style show. Stop at your toilet goods counter and thrill to the new Glazo shades— TARA, EMBER and RUMBA. See the luscious CONGO, TROPIC, CABANA, and other Glazo favorites. Glazo gives you all the perfections of a 60-cent polish— for only a modest 25 cents. "A ^ / ^ Buy Glazo, not on our say-so, but on your own! Glazo is GUARANTEED to give you longer wear than you have ever known before— or else you can simply return the bottle to The Glazo Co., Inc., East Rutherford, N. J., and back will come your money! GLHZO Po-£i$h 7lJctL>v6 jCent^£A~ Ask your dealer, too, for Glazo's NAIL COTE, a marvelous new polish foundation that contains wax. Nail-Cote gives super wear and brilliance to your manicure. Guards your nails against splitting, cracking and breaking. Helps relieve nailbrittleness. on the series for two full years, acting as master of ceremonies and star of the program ... as cited above, without one cent in payment. ''I didn't feel; though, that I was wasting my time," he hastens to tell you. "All the while I was feeling my way, bettering myself, learning the business, so that when I felt I was ready I could leap into 'big time.' " Toward that day, Fidler placed himself under the instruction of Josephine Dillon, Clark Gable's former spouse and considered at the time Hollywood's most able voice teacher. He studied singing, too, in an attempt to infuse his voice with a more liquid flow. Fidler's entry into the ranks of national radio commentators came as an aftermath of nearly a year devoted to the herculean task of trying to convince big advertising agents that a Hollywood program, covering all the news and chatter of the day direct from the scene of action, would be an invaluable asset to any sponsor. A certain lipstick manufacturer in the east concurred finally with this idea, and awarded Fidler a thirteen weeks contract for such a program, to be renewed should the broadcast benefit his business. That was in the Spring of 193S. How well the broadcast prospered is seen in Fidler's option being taken up for four renewals. Then, he switched sponsors, and today is rated one of the most popular personalities on the air. With his film debut in "Garden of the Moon," the screen is enriched by an interesting new presence. Medium in height and build, handsome by most standards and in his late thirties, with clear blue eyes usually twinkling, Fidler enthuses about his work. "Maybe I'll last only a year, or, if I'm lucky, five years," he declares, "but while I'm on the air and screen I'll do the best job I'm capable of turning out for the fans. I'm out to help wherever I can rectify injustices and conditions and otherwise do my bit for the good of the motion picture industry and for its people." There you have the Fidler creed. Working often as many as fifteen to eighteen hours a day, Fidler's pleasure lies in his job. He never attends parties at stars' homes, or otherwise obligates himself. He'll play golf at Lakeside with any picture name who cares to go him eighteen holes, drink a beer with him at the club bar, but he never crosses the threshold of his home. He does not feel that he can accept hospitality, _ then rake that person over the coals, if he considers it advisable. His headquarters occupy an entire house a few feet off Hollywood Boulevard, and his business is run like a newspaper office. There is a city room, where those reporters actively on his staff gather toward the end of day at their typewriters and turn out whatever copy they've found on their beats. There is an editor, who goes over all this copy, and a writer devoting himself entirely to the compilation of facts for Fidler's "Personality Parade" and "This Week's Editorial." A very complete morgue places at his finger-tips data for immediate use. He lives quietly, yet well. His present wife — he has been twice wed before, once to Dorothy Lee of the films — was a New York artist's model. She is the only woman with whom he has ever enjoyed playing a round of golf. A bridge player of parts. Fidler was one of a scant few whom Ely Culbertson, the tournament expert and teacher, deigned to accept as partner when he visited the film capital some years ago. Highly-geared, nervous in his reactions and actions and a rapid talker and thinker — a literal human dynamo — he waits until mid-afternoon to write the news he broadcasts that evening. The longer features he bats out either in the morning or the day previous. Like the old newspaperman that he is, he never dictates his copy, always writing it himself on a typewriter he has used for many years. The hour directly preceding his broadcast is devoted to poring over late afternoon and early morning editions, so there will be no chance of his duplicating what already is in print on the streets. Before he goes on the air, four attorneys, experts in the laws of libel, go over every word of his script. Two of these legal gentlemen are retained by him, the other two hired by the sponsor and the broadcasting station. There must be no chance of a slip-up, and a libel suit slapped upon the program. Despite all these precautions, however, suits sometimes are filed against Fidler. As witness Constance Bennett's demand for $250,000 damages, following a recent broadcast. When he utters the closing words of his program, "... and I DO mean YOU," half the women who listen in interpret that farewell as being directed to them alone. What more need a radio commentator seek than such an intimate, friendly audience? Jimmie Fidler may be Mr. Dynamite to Hollywood, but to the rest of the world he is the man who Knows -All -Sees -All -Tells -All in the world's most glamorous city, and he is talking personally to every listener. On Location with the "Stagecoach" Troupe [Continued from page 27] (clay) bricks. Walls were covered with heavy wool Navajo blankets. On the floors were Navajo rugs. Upon inquiry I found that it took a squaw about three months to complete a couple of them; more than six months to make the large floor rug. A stiff wind blew from the Northwest throughout the night and when I was called for breakfast at five o'clock fine red sand was blowing a gale across the desert. Half an hour later I was off to a spot nearly 40 miles away called Four Corners where four states, Utah, Colorado, New Mexico and Arizona meet. As I arrived, Tim Holt was leading two troops of cavalrymen along a road behind the stagecoach driven by Andy Devine and Ford was making "long shots" which brought in the grotesque "fingers" of one of the buttes as well as the colorful terrain in front of it. In an hour Ford had chased the camera car and the stagecoach, with its six horses, all over the place. "Pick up" shots he called them — scenes to provide closeups, medium shots and