Talking Screen (Sep-Oct 1930)

1ATER, she attended school. Here and there at her parents' J whims. One swanky academy for "young ladies" refused her admission because she was an actor's child, and because — iiorrors — her father had played in Damaged Goods. Somehow or other, in due course she was "finished," as the completion of such a curriculum is appropriately termed. And her parents were shocked to find that with all their care, she was branded with the mark of the theatre. She danced divinely. How grandmother Rose Wood, in the wisdom of her understanding, must have smiled. So destiny led her by the hand to the Knickerbocker Grill. And her feet did the rest. Under constant parental surveillance, she managed somehow to dance her way straight to the consciousness of Chester Moorehead. She eloped with him to Greenwich, Connecticut. This was in 1921. The impetuous Richard, her father, came dashing to what may be termed the rescue, in reponse to a wire that reached him in California. Constance made page one of the dailies twice. Once upon the marriage. And again upon its annulment. Why folks prefer fiction to fact is as obscure as the Einstein theory. They'd have you believe this vivid, life-tossed, cornflower of a girl is a milk-and-water debutante — a wide-eyed Junior Leaguer, sitting around, waiting for things to happen. That isn't _ ~ Constance's way. She's the time-and tide kid who waits for no man. When she wants things to happen — she makes em happen. No nonsense about it. Constance Benn e t t d emonstrates what the smart traveller should look like — and we may accept her version as authentic, as regards smartness in this and plenty of other activities. Miss Bennett's first movie role was in the old silent picture, Cytherea, produced by Samuel Goldwyn. As soon as the picture opened her career was assured. For a time Miss Bennett left the stage completely for a career as a dashing young Long Island matron — and, as usual, held the center of the whole stage. >0 SHE battc! .! • 'he door of tnany a casting director before Sam Gvi ■■'/■ (rave h.i a ntovie role in Cythm-ea. She cinched her caret '' .e nightof ihe picture's premiere. Thereafter.it was YioV^ cod, and pafv with Pathe, Paramount, First Natio.ial, Warners and Un;versal. The title of o;.ie of '^'.t films was The Goose Hangs High. And so it did.. But in ihe midst of everything, Constance ups and plays return engagement at Green wi:h. She must have bought a rtrtui-n ti ket. In any event, a November dawn in 1925 found her eloping with Philip Morton Plant, son of Commodore Plant and the lady who is now Mrs. William Hayward. Phil had more dollars than DeMille has yes-men. The third of Connie's front-page breaks came as a sort of follow-up story to one on the cancellation of Phil's engagement to Judith Smith, described as a "society bud." Constance makes things happen. So the daughter of Adrienne Morrison calmly turned her back on the Kleigs to become one of the most dashing young matrons in Long Island's multi-million dollar set. Life was one long whoopee. Week-end parties that began Wednesday and ended Tuesday. The speeding of the parting guests, and the welcoming of those arriving, were gracefully combined into a single gesture of hospitality. Her friends did as they pleased in her home — just so they didn't annoy Constance. Sometimes she appeared. Sometimes not. There was much excitement. And a good time was had by all. 'NSTANCE kept off^ all save the society pages of the pnpers for almost four years. Then came the tale of her Parisian divorce, brightly enhanced by the sheen of a million dollar settlement. While in that dear Paree of much overrated gaiety, she encountered Henri la Bailly de la Falaise de la Coudraye, a Marquis by courtesy since there is no French nobility. And, moreover, the special and particufar Marquis of Gloria Swanson, Queen of the Screen. The Marquis — Hank in Hollywood — is the personal foreign representative of Joseph P. Kennedy. And Joseph P. Kennedy is head man of Pathe. A very competent representative, Gloria's boy-friend turned out to be. Having seen Constance {^Continued on page 9(^}