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318 Yes, Mr. DeMilk assistant who was having trouble with a writing assignment, "Don't worry about whether it's good or bad. Just please me and your troubles are over." His boundless energy and explosive fury made the miracle of his kind of bigness possible, achieving his grandiose purpose with the best of the mortal timber available to him and the air of a person called upon to moor a ship with a thread. He put boredom to flight by sheer pyrotechnics, and in gentler mo- ments enthralled the shopgirl and housewife by his sensitive eye for finery and elegant trappings. As a ritualist with attentive acolytes as his aides he sought an ideal world. When he did not find it he made one of his own, reduced it to his will and whim. The last twenty years of his life were spent in the narrow confine of studio and staff. In that period Hollywood, hopelessly gregarious, saw nothing of him socially. Here and there was a DeMille intimate but the rest were rektionships rather than friendships. In those years he was an unwilling partner with the film colony. Like nature, he developed protective tissue deflecting the jests of the rude and the taunts of the ignorant. If Hollywood was frigid, he was thrice frigid, deriving his strength from what was viewed as the most nutritional of all Hollywood vitamins—big returns at the boxoffice, When the industry made a shortsighted show of brav- ery a few years back, pretending that a new thing called tele- vision was no menace at all, DeMille blandly declared that Hollywood's fate rested on the new medium. It was the sort of prescience that had stood him well. The outraged cries of be- trayal from Hollywood executives forced him into an agonizing silence, depending as he did on the purse of others for his pro- ductions. The tantalizing riddle of Cecil DeMille was his remoteness from an industry of which he was the main attraction. No crown from colleagues rests on the head of the fabled Hollywood vir- tuoso. Probably the most incisive of these reflections on DeMille