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About The Omaha morning bee. (Omaha [Neb.]) 1922-1927 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 21, 1924)
BEHIND THE SCREEN^ . By SAMUEL GOLDWYN _ j ((notlnaed from Yesterday.) His reaction to life is. you see, in pergonal, Intensely emotional. •Nothing is more persuasive of this than in his interest in certain Imper sonal topics. Chaplin loves to talk about government and economics and religion. Mention of a new “Ism” oj "ology” brings him loping from the farthest corner of a room. When Ru pert Hughes came out to Hollywood lie and Charlie were much given to what somebody calls “topics—just topics. Nothing could have been more illuminating. While Hughes conducted his side of the discussion in a spirit of dispassionate inquiry, the less scientifically trained mind of the comedian struck out with a poet's frenzy at everything which he did not like. One could see it was not really abstract truth which he de sired. It was the theory which most successfully represented his own prejudice. His prejudice is against anything which interferes with his own per sonal freedom. The censor, the In come tax, any supposed obstruction— these are hateful to him in the degree' to which they infringe upon that cov eted senee of power. One day when I first came to know Chaplin well, he was with me in my apartment at a Hollywood hotel. While we were talking the telephone rang. Charlie looked terrified. "What do they want you for?” I asked exceedingly amused. “A guest," he answered with a grin. "Mrs. X— asked me for din ner tonight. I promised I'd be there and then found out she had asked a whole lot of people. So you won't catch me going.” This was my Introduction to char ! lie's most notorious social falling. • often thereafter 1 witnessed his strug gles against being taken Into cus tody. I,ess frequently I was one of a group of indignant people waiting for a Chaplin who had promised to tome and never did show up at all. Not long ago a friend of mine asked him why he so hated to make or keep an engagement. I aon t Know, answered Charlie. 'T suppose, though, It’s because I hate to feel that I have to do any thing at a certain time. It just de stroys my pleasure In doing it.” At this my friend suggested, “Ah, Mr. Chaplin, but don't you think that is because 'way down deep you don't ■ feel quite free? The person who is conscious of real freedom doesn't fret at any such superficial bondage.” He looked at her eagerly, delighted ly—just as he always does when con fronted by a new theory. “Why , never thought of that, but I believe it’s true,” he assented. “You see,” he added, “when I was a young boy [ I never was free. I was always the one who had to stay at home. My . brother Sydney didn't hang around as I did. He went off to Australia." Then for the first time 1 suspected what was responsible for Charlie’s love of power. Those early years of his In J,ondon when, the son of poor vaudeville artists, Ife experienced hunger and tragedy and the constant , terror of the next day, have driven far Into his brain. No prosperity can quite rid him Of fear. That is why he wants to assure himself in every way of his present strength. For what is it hut fear which makes a man conscious always of the thick ness of his armor, the sharpness of his weapons? There was one engagement of his which Charlie did keep. When Claire Sheridan, the English sculptress, came to California she expressed im mediately a desire to meet Chaplin. My friend. Abram I„ehr, thereupon invited the comedian to a dinner given for tile handsome author of “From Mayfair to Moscow.” "And don't you dare fail me this time?' admonished Mr. Dehr as he proffered the invitation. Charlie not only obeyed: lie obeyed in a dinner coat. From the first, so Delir i*eports, the two seemed en tirely satisfied with each other, and that occasion led to a friendship upon which Mrs. Sheridan dwells so glow ingly in her "American Diary.” Charlie is well liked by the average woman. Indeed, most people are at tracted to him. Why should they not he? His drollery, his quick and vivid response to the moment, his friendly, boyish smile, the manner which makes you feel at first meeting as if you had known him all your life— these would lead the usual person to pick him out in a roomful of dis tinguished people. And ail this quite v apart from the glamor of his reputa '>• tion. He makes another appeal. The first time I ever met him I felt sorry for him. The humor of It, that I should want to help him—this young, i harming Fortunatus—struck me al most at once. But I could not help it. Afterwards 1 found that nearly every one else shares this feeling. Of course, exactly the same thing Is operative on the screen. For Chap lin owes his supremacy as much to the tears as to the laughter of the multitude. This pathos of his comes from an enduring isolation. He Is, and I think always will he, a lonely figure. Be loved by many, applauded by all. he is merely with—never of—the crowd —not though he gives it back gesture for gesture and laugh for laugh. Not misleading, the look of listening which so much Impressed me the first time 1 met hlnv. For early In life Chap lin took Ills seat In the parquet of life and ever since he has been watch ing the reat of us actors unfolding our drama. l)o not he deceived he j cause sometimes he vaults over the footlights and behaves Just like the performers. Even when he Is at his merriest pranks, even when he is talking most confidentially and affectionately to his friends, he is still the onlooker, detached from the rest of us by 1 know not whst fast ness of spirit. The most Intimate of Charlie's friend* In Hollywood are Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Bickford. He goes over to their house frequently, and the three talk picture* hard and fast. Chaplin, of oourat, frequently *eo* in the creation* of the other two an opportunity for characteristic suggestions. When, for Instance, h* saw the moated castle In "Robin Hood" he ■aid to Fairbanks: "Wonderful. Doug! Just think what I would do with that drawbridge on Sunday morning! I'd let It down so I could take In the Sunday papers and the milk bottles and then draw It up tight so thnt nobody could get at me all the rest > of the day." One time I asked Charlie who was his favorite screen actress. "I think Mary Bickford." he answered unheal tatingly. "You see there's a wonder ful quality gbout her—it's that mors than her acting." Unlike almost every other screen actor, Charlie doe* not work from * script. When he start* a new *torv he I* apt to come Into hte *tudlo and rsav, "Build me a kitchen and a din Ing room.” He ha* *t thi* moment perhaps only the germ of an Idea But day by day he develops It, and as he does so his scenario writer puts down each ecene. Thi* method has «*,*?*■ beer, described, and I touch upon It here only for Its value In revealing hie psychology A scenario would undoubtedly Irk him ae much * as would a social engagement. A1 ways, always, c'haplln must be as sured that he is free, that his indl vlduality has scope for Its sponta neous play. His emotionality is never more ap parent than when he is at work. Often he becomes exhausted in hit efforts to inspire one of his company with the desired emotion. “Heavens!' he will cry. “It's enough to break your heart—such stupidity"’ When he sees the rushes, anger and despair are apt to break from their leashes and run away with the projection room. Often, however, these emo tions are directed quite as much toward his own part in the perform ance as toward that of others. Char lie has. In fact, that capacity for be ing dissatisfied with his own work which Is a part of every great artist. The world at large does not seem td know much about Charlie's broth er, Sydney. Yet he is a very real brother and Charlie has a very real affection for him. He himself is an excellent comedian with only one dis advantage—ho is the near relative of a great comedian. This relation ship, I may add, could never l»e de tected from a casual glance at the two, for Syd Chaplin Is rather tall and rather blond and his features are much more sharply cut than are those of his brother. Syd, by the way, possesses a very ready wit. Once when dining with Mary and Doug he listened to the latter’s statement that the costumes for "Robin Hood” had cost $162,000. "Hmph!’’ commented Syd, “I should call that 'Robbin’ Doug.’ ” It was after completing his $670,000 contract with the Mutual Film com pany that Charlie made with the First National company a million-dol lar deal calling for eight two-reel pic tures. This did not sound difficult. The comedian expected to complete the order in a year. (Instead, he has only just recently finished the last of the National Film pictures. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. Jackie Cnogan and "The Kid.” The few superfluities which appeal to Charlie Chaplin must have some association of romance. For example, he is very fond of mangoes, and every evenlg that a certain Los An geles cafe has this delicacy the man ager calls up Chaplin's house. When Charlie sits down in front of a glass of this exotic fruit he is positively radiant. "Lovely musty odor!" he will com ment. To him the delicacy calls up visions of long-robed, wide-sleeved eastern men, of caravans winding thread-like across the desert, and of incense rising in fretted temples from the feet of golden gods. Every bit of him goes oiSt to meet this glam orous suggestion just exactly as every bit of him goes out to meet the broad, rollicking humor of the derby pulled off by the string. Domesticity does not fit into my conception of his character. He is too individual, too much oppressed by threat of routine, to sustain any such close relationship. One can es easily imagine De Musset or Ver laine mowing the front lawn of his suburban home as Chaplin responding contentedly to like conditions. My association of his name with these two great French poets is not accidental. For Chaplin is not a mere comedian. He Is a poet—the great poet of the screen. His fierce rebellions against man-made fetters which would trammed the individual soul in its progress toward complete expression, bis sensitiveness to Impres sion, his strange combination of emo tionality and complete detachment— these alley him In spirit with the youngest and fieriest of bards. Sure ly, too, his professional achievement Is consistent with this spirit. For Chaplin has brought from the border land of the subconscious mind those emotions which he sets before you. In that single small figure with the baggy trousers anil the flopping shoes he reveals the loneliness and frailty, the lurking irresponsibility, the fears and aspirations—all the Intermingled pathos and humor of the universal soul. "Shoulder Arms,” for example. Here Chaplin bears for you the real Everyman at war. Stripped of his bombast and fine speeches, of the brave front which he presents to his fellows, the soldier stands stark be fore you. It is a poet's realization of those things burled beneath the surface of garb and manner and every day speech, and -It 1; all of a poet's concrete expression of them. One evening while I w-as dining with Chaplin in Los Angeles a very smartly dressed woman leading a small boy by the hand entered the testaurant. The moment that the latter caught sight of the comedian UGLY.1TGHINGSKIN The Firs* Application Makes Skin Cool and Comfortable. If you are suffering from eczema or some other torturing, embarrassing skin trouble you may quickly be rid of it by using Mentho-Sulphur, de clares a noted skin specialist. This sulphur preparation, because of its germ destroying properties, sel dom fails to quickly subdue itching, even of fiery eczema. The first appli cation makes the skin cool and’eom fortable. Rash and blotches are healed right up. Rowles Mentho-Sul phur Is applied like any pleasant cold cream and Is perfectly harmless. You can obtain a small jar from any good druggist. Catarrh Clinical teata have proved that Zonite ia highly effective in caaea of naaal catarrh when uaed ia dilution a* a naaal apray. Ita effect ia to cleanne the niueoua mem brane and reduce abnormal dis chargee, thua clearing the naaal paaaagee. Note: Atomiser fitting* mnat bo •f hard rubber. he rushed over to him and threw his arms about Chaplin's neck. There was a look of rapture in the big brown eyes which I have never for gotten. (Continued in The Morning Bee.) f Adele Garrison ^ ^ “My Husband’s Love” Madge's Quirk Wit Turned a Neat Triek. The news that the car, which we ' feared was trailing us, was just be hind us again gave me, curiously enough, no added twinge of terror, but instead a sudden flash of red hot wrath. "I’d like to wreck that machine," I muttered grimly as I shifted geais and resumed our halting, laborious journey. "But it won’t be long now until we know for certain whether he is trailing us. laiok out for a bridge, Edwin, We cross It just be fore we come to Canoe Place Inn.” Slowly we crept along the road, and as slowly behind us came the car which was causing us so much uneasiness. Of course it was possible that the other car was only keeping in the rear because of the advantage of following our rear light, but Ed win's account of the car without lights stationed at the place where the bay road came out Into the vil lage savored far too much of espion age for my peace of mind. “I think the bridge is just ahead,” Edwin said quietly. “Yes, it is, and as soon as we get a few feet higher we can see the lights of the inn. There they are now.” I gave a little sigh of relief as the ghostly mist before my wind shield was pierced by the cheery lights of the famous hostelry. "I'm going to go faster now,” I warned Edwin, "and turn into the lr.n driveway without slackening speed. Will you watch the other ear?" The Quick Turn. "To see what they do when you turn?” he asked, and added without waiting for my affirmative, "You don't miss any bets, do you, Madge?” I was too Intent upon my wheel to answer. Although I am an experi enced driver, the task before me gave me an uneasiness as real as It was unreasonable. But like most dreaded things, it turned out to be easy of accomplishment, and when I was di rectly opposite the inn driveway, I swerved the wheel, and—careening perilously, but safe—the car rolled into the driveway, where I stopped. "By Jove, they were following us,” Edwin said. "They were coming af^er us at our own gait. Look at them now.” The car was proceeding at a snail's pace, and from one side we could see a head, muffled so that one could not tell whether it was that of a man or a woman, looking back and watching us. The next minute, evidently com ing to some decision, they shot on again, “Turn off your engine." Edwin sug gested, "so we can hear what they are doing." I already had done so, and as the rear light of the other car disap peared into the fog, and the chug of their engine grew fainter, I began to wonder whether we were not mia taking the ordinary curiosity of fog bound travelers for something more sinister. But, In another few seconds, there was a change In the noise to which we were listening, and Edwin spoke quickly. "They are turning around." I turned my switch key quickly and started the engine. "What are you going to do?” Ed win asked. On tile Wrong Side. "Go on as we have started." I an swered. "The lights of their car will help us on a little way, and then we’ll come to the road lights leading i.~.-.—. ! into Hampton hay. They will have to turn around again, and anything is better than waiting to se* what they are going to do." "1 agree with you," lie said heart ily, aa we rolled out Into the road and started down it at a smart pace. L'ehlnd us a doorman of the inn who belatedly had appeared at the en trance stared in puzzled fashion after as. and then went back into the lighted hostelry again. “He probably thinks we mistook this place for the sanitarium to which we ought to be heade^,” Edwin com mented, and then with quick warn ing, he added, “Volt are over on the wrong side of the road, Madge.” "I mean to be,” I said grimly, and I kept my car at the left, with the result for which I wished. The ad vancing car, plainly puzzled, slowed up a bit and began to edge over to the right. As they did so I turned a bit to the-right myself, as if I had seen my own error, and then when I was almost upon them, swerved again, crowding them off the road, and bringing them up with a snap ping rending sound against the bush es by the roadside. “I believe you've done the trick, Madge.” Edwin said, as two men scrambled out of the car. “Nobody hurt, and the car perhaps out of commission, Zt least delayed. X take oft my cap to you.” From Buenos - Aires L i Mrs. George Lindgren. A charming person seen in a silhou ette done by a Swiss artist in her own Buenos Aires is Mrs. George Lindgren, who is the guest of Mrs. Arthur Dinren, enroute to California from her Soutli American home. Mrs. Lindgren brings flattering news of a former Omahan, Mrs. Thomas Parker (Harriett Smith), who is prominent in ciu bwork in Buenos Aires. Both Mrs. Lindgren and Mrs. Parker are members of the exclusive Columbia Literary club, the oldest or ganization of American women in the southern capital. They are also members of the Patri otic Society of American Women, which raised $350,000 during the war, and has since been taking care of tubercular French children. Mrs. Parker is its corresponding secretary. The aim of the club at thjs time is to raise funds, to support an American nursing home in Buenos Aires. Americans are taken rare of In Brit ish hospitals now ,and wish one of their own. Mrs. Lindgren is on her w ay to the Pacific coast, where she will visit her two children who are in school at Coronado beach. She deplores the snow in Omaha, for she had hoped for a winter game of golf on mid western links. In Buenis Aires they are able to play the year around. Mrs. Lindgren is dividing her time between social events and shopping tours. Winter clothe* which she will w ear in May and June in Buenos Aires can still he procured here. Mrs. Lindgren left Omaha today. | Burgess Bedtime] Stories y By THORNTON W. BIBGK88. ho who !n hi* mind The other’s viewpoint seeks to find. —Peter Rabbit. Peter’s Mischief Is Discovered. Peter Rabhit, gnawing the bark from the fruit trees in Farmer Brown's young orchard, had no guilty feeling. To him those young fruit trees were Just the same as any other trees By this 1 mean that he knew no reason why he should not eat the hark of these Just as he ate the bark of young trees in the dear Old Briar Patch ainl in the Green Forest. They were just trees to him. But the hark was a change from the bark he had been eating. It was tender and sweet, and Peter promptly decided that he would come up there again the very next night. Now. Farmer Brown’a Boy had been keeping a watchful eye on that young orchard. As the snow had grown deeper and deeper, getting nearer and nearer to the top of the wire netting around earh trunk, he had foreseen that the day might come when those trunks would no longer be protected. He hadn’t thought of Peter Rabbit, but he had thought of Meadow Mice. He didn’t want to put more netting around those trees unless it should become really necessary. And so he had kept watch for the first sign of damage. So the morning after Peter's visit Farmer Brown's Boy visited the young orchard. Almost at once he discovered the mischief Peter had done. From one young tree the bark had been eaterf all the way around from the top of the wire netting to "My goodness, here is mischief,” ex claimed Fanner Brown's Boy as he hastily examined other tree*. as high as Peter could reach. When the bark has been taken off all the way around ths trunk of a tree that tree is said to have l>een girdled. A '■! ’ -J!-—=7t tree that has been girdled will die. The instant Farmer Brown’s Boy saw this tree he knew that it would never bear fruit. He knew that It would die. You see, the sap, which is the life juice of a tree, goes up from the roots through the inner bark, and when the bark is removed all the way around the trunk this life juice cannot go up. ‘' .My goodness, here is mischief!" exclaimed Farmer Brown's Boy as he hastily examined other trees. Two others had had a little bark gnawed from them, but they bad not been girdled. Only the one tree had been girdled. "This Is the work of a Rab bit," he said. “I hadn't thought of Rabbits. 1 had thought only of Mice. We've got to do something about this. Yes. sir, we’ve got ot do some thing about this. This mischief was done last night. That Rabbit prob ably will come back again tonight. 1 suppose 1 could watch for him and shoot him, but I don't want to do that. Probably the little rascal is having a hard time to get enough to eat. He shouldn't be blamed. He doesn't know that he has done any harm. I suppose the thing to do is to put more wire netting around these trees, but I haven't wire enough on hand. I'll have to do something else. I can't afford to lose another tree." Farmer Brown's Boy walked over to the bam and his good-natured freckled face looked worried and thoughtful. By and by it cleared, and for a while he was very busy. He was making something. (Copyright, 1924.) The next story: "The End of a Pleasant Surprise." D. A. R. Members Own Many Colonial Relics Many antiques dating back to revo lutionary times have been brought to light in Omaha by Mrs. John Bartli in preparing the exhibit of revolutionary relics for the Colonial tea of Maj. Iasac Sadler chapter. Daughters of the American Revolution, tomorrow after noon at the home of Mrs. Leslie John son. , A quaint newspaper containing the account of Washington's death is con tributed by the hostess. In this, the printer used the name "Washington" so many times that he ran out of the t's and was obliged to substitute an 's'. He apollglies in a foot note for this involuntary desecration of the name of the father of his country, setting forth the cause. Mrs. Finlayson offers a colonial tea pot, and some hand woven linen which has been handed down in her family from revolutionary days. Among her things is a pewter basin out of which a chunk was taken to make bullets. From John R. Webster comes a musket taken by an ancestor of his from a tory and used in the Rev olutionary war. Mrs. Roland Jones has contributed a linen tablecloth spun and woven by her great grand mother, and Mrs. Samuel Maupin a pair of ancient candlesticks and snuffers which were the only lamps known to early colonial days. Mrs. Samuel HanfonJ brings a tiny wooden footstove, 6 by 8 Inches, which her revolutionary ancestors used to carry to church to keep their hands and feet from freezing. Hot coals of charcoal were slipped into the box. which was perforated to allow the heat to as cend. A large collection of coloni il china owned by Mrs. Wlnterson, and a co lonial tea set of dainty cups without handles belonging to Mrs. Jainee Han r--—■— -' Your Problems Sammy: You have done the right thing, the only thing any man would do under the circumstances. You gave her more than one opportunity to do what was right. When a girl is engaged to a man she should not make engagements with others. What you asked of her was just what every! man would ask. Don't worry. It 41 natural that you should miss her because you were sincere In loving her. True love cannot die as rapidly as you injght wish it to. Occupy your mind with good books, go in for ath letics. Join a gym if possible, and cul tivate hobbies. 'Have more than one hobby. When one wears out get another if it is nothing more than roller skating or baseball. You will cease to think of her, and by conducting yourself well you will win the respect of your community and the affection of a splendid girl, one you would be proud to call your wife. Courage and self Ixtrry. may also form part of the e* hibit. reliance are what you need. Stand pat for your principles. Ihi^ is .**{2, affair engaging a principle as well us love. _ What To Ih> Dear Miss Alien: I want to ad: you what should I do with my hair* I had it bobbed long ago and would like to have it grow now. Would you advise me to use some of those adver tised lotions, or Is there some kind of massage to help hair grow? Please an swer in Monday’s paper. From your reader, BOB HAIR. Scalp massage is good for the hair. It stimulates circulation. Brushing does the same thing. Keep your brushes dean and use them often, if your scalp is dry, apply a good oil to the scalp once or twice a week, rub blpg it into the head and not getting it on the hair. IfilMl "Every Picture \ 1)1(11 Telle m Story* sikfl. A Winter Find You Tired and Achy? Do You Suffer Constant Backache — Feel Old and Worn Out? Then Follow the Advice of These Omaha Folks! DO YOU gat up theta winter morning* feeling tired, weak—achy all over? Are you to lame, stiff and miserable it teems you can never get back in trim? Does your back ache with a dull, con stant throb? Sharp, rheumatic paint torture you at every step? Then you should be giving tome attention to your kidneys! Winter, you know, it danger time for the kidneys. That's because exposure to cold* and chills wears down body ragislance and throws an unusually heavy strain on the hard-working kidneys. The kidneys are apt to fall behind in keeping the bloodstream pure, and poieon* accumulate that well kid* ney* would have filtered off. Racking backache* come with (tabbing paint; muacle* and joint* ache conatantly; there are headache*, too, with diaaineaa and diatreaiing kidney irregularitie*. Nerve* are “jumpy"; one feel* old—all worn out. Give your weakened kidney* the help they need. Uae DOAN'S PILLS—a atimulant diuretic to the kidney*. DOAN’S have helped thousand*. They are recommended by many Omaha people. ASK YOUR NEIGHBOR! “Use Doan’sSay These Omaha People: J. H. Fry, ala. firaman, 1619 Cali fornia Si., say*: “My bark hurt when I bent over. 1 had to put my hands on my bark when getting up. Everything turned black before me and I saw speck*. The kidney secretions contained j a brick dust substance. I used Doan's j Pills and they gave me relief.” (State ment given May 14, 1020). On October 0, 1022, Mr. Fry said: “Doan's cured me and the cure Doan's made ir, lasting.” Mr*. Guy Parson*, 2216 Leavenworth St., says: “My kidney* troubled rue at times and 1 had severe pains across the small of my hack. I became run down and had no energy and my kidneys acted too freely. The use of Doan's Pills soon relieved the backaches and all signs of kidney trouble." Doan’s Pills Stimulant Diuretic to the Kidneys 4l nil ilrnlrr*. 60c n box. Foslpr-Milbnrn (.<>., Vfii. ('.Itrinists. Iluffnlo, ,\. V, Aching muscles can be relieved quickly with Sloan's. Apply gently without nibbing. Im mediately you feel a comforting glow — tha stiff ness relaxes — the pain stops. Soon overstrained muscles re gain their elasticity and tons. Gal a bottle from your druggist today— 39 cents. It will not stain. Sloan's Liniment —kills pain AII1 M1IBC.3IJB.1T. 666 I* • Prncrlfttoa praparad tar Colds, Fever »i Grippe II la Ik* bm.1 apaady ratmady wa ksav. , Preventing Pneumonia Every day in tome way! CRANBERRIES! A real health fruit that makes the most delicious pie, shortcake, pudding, sauce, jelly and other | dainty dishes. / RECIPE FOLDER SDTT FREE V I American Cranberry Exchange I I 90 Wat Broadway, New York I CARBON COAL $ kOO Per J= Ton The Most Heat for the Least Money UPDIKE c7.i“c* 4 Yards to Serve You i When You Rent Typewriters be sure that you rent machines that will do good work. Our stock of rental machines is kept in good running condition, so that if you need any extra typewriters for rush work you can depend upon them. For rates and other information, write or call. • Special Rental Rates to Students Typewriter! Rented—Rebuilt Typewriter. L. C. Smith & Bros. Typewriter Co. Omaha Branch, 1905 Harney St. JA ckson 2213 Listening In on the Nebraska Press By Will M. Maupin Will M. Maupin, formerly of the Gering Midwest, conducts one of th^ most in teresting features of Nebraska’s Best . Known Newspaper. “Listening in on the Nebraska Press” brings to you the pointed comments of the local newspapers. This column is one more step in serving the Farmer with toe most exact rural opinions throughout the state. LOCAL NEWS The Omaha Bee, with its network of correspondents in Nebraska and Southwestern Iowa, gives you quickly and accurately the impor tant local news from the towns in your neighborhood. The Omaha Morning Bee “TELL YOUR NEIGHBOR”