SIX
The DAILY NEBRASKA
Sunday, NovemTww 26, 1939
Articled
Contributions from
the student body.
Verse
tfm i'i-iim --L-" Vl U
And so
By Harold Turkel.
Everyone is asking the same
question. Why did William Rear-
den commit suicide? Here was a
man, they say, in the very prime of
life who had everything to live
tor'. He had money, friends, and
fame. The man had been a great
actor and was financially inde-
Pe1.
Why should such a man kUl
himself? Certainly life should
have held enouirh for him The
Kid arrhintm; that a love
tabloids are hinting that a love
affair drove him to that act of
desperation, but I know better.
For many years I knew him inti-
. J , ...i... wriM:
maieiy. x . Know way """'"
Rearden killed himself. I can
swear to the fact that he was not
insane or in love; nor did he kill
himself in a fleeting moment of
exLT whaV hrwarng
he took hS owS life Perhaps it
would be bet?e7if I told the story
Z Its T entirety
A?I have said William Rearden
YrtKrmu-
let the critics agreed, took its
place with the greatest of all time,
His deep melodious voice and his
handsome face made women flock
to his performances countless
numbers were turned away at the
door But William Rearden was
not a were matinee idol. He was
a ereat actor proud of his art.
Besides being his business man-
airer. I was his friend and confi-
. t. t.r.m tt I
dant I knew William Rearden
better than any other man. I was
well aware of the fact that the
stage was his whole life. He loved
the costumes, the footlights, the
makeup, the applause more than
anything in the world. He had had
numerous love affairs and had
been married twice, but I knew
that he had never given his heart The little hat-check girl in the even seen me one of his best had been doing. And he answered
as fully to any of those women as Topper Club looked at Sir Wil- friends. And as I stepped inside in monosyllables never looking at
he had to his beloved stage. ham in surprise. He was a reg- after him, I saw him passing the me.
Loved to act. ular customer, good for somewhat hat-check girl like a new Lock- "Did you lose in that poker
He used to tell me that nothing over the regular tip every time heed sizzling by an observation game last night?"
pleased him quite so much as to he came In, and he seldom missed blimp. "No."
hear his own voice ringing out a night. Now he was hurrying Something had happened to That stopped me again. So I
across the theater. It gave him a past her as if he were trying to change him drastically. It must ordered a straight whiskey. I was
sense of power, he said, to feel that avoid her. Thinking what losing have been something important, out of the mood now for anything
ha could momentarily capture the that 50 cent tip would do to her And I decided right there that I new. This business was too seri
souls of all those people. fifty thourand dollar bank account, would find out what it was. You ous for me to be distracted by
He was always acting; he never 8he stepped forward and said in see, I had read all of Conan Louis' concoctions. I told the
stopped whether he was on or off her patronising way, "Good eve- Doyle's works, and most of those waiter to bring me a newspaper,
stage. He walked as tho he were ning, Sir William," She made a of the other great murder writers, too. I thought I could read a
wearing a crown and royal robes; question out of it, meaning, In an amateur way, I practice de- little while I was waiting for Sir
he talked as tho each word was to "'Where's your hat, you four tecting myself, and I am an ad- William to loosen up and tell me
be preserved for posterity. Ev- flusher." mirer of anyone who can reason what was troubling him.
erything he did, he did with a He looked at her, dropped his out a situation from circumstan- "Dld yu wln much, then? I
flourish. I think he could have eyes and blushed. "How do you tial evidence. So. smiling in an in- asked, just to get him started
swept the streets without losing do," he said, and rushed (if a gen- genuous way, I checked my hat talking,
the least bit of dignity. Oddly tleman like Sir William can rush) and went after Sir William. "Not much."
enough, he was not a shallow man, into the bar, looking for me. Detecting. I swallowed part of my whiskey,
nor was he vain. He just liked to What I saw. I found him at a table in the Picked up the paper, and glanced
act that was all. His love for I had been standing outside the corner, gulping down a whiskey. at It here and there. One of those
the theater was a profound, sin- door when Sir William got out of He was strangely pale, and the lnS silences that seem to be un
eere, undying affection, which was the car. It was a warm night and corners of his mouth were twitch- breakable hung over the table. I
really beautiful to behold. He I had decided to wait there a ing. He looked like one who has opened the paper with an osten
often told me, "Bob, if I didn't minute and let the brilliant spar- just lost a sweetheart or a mother tatious flip that was meant to con
have the theater, I think I should kle of the New York night pour or something. His fingers on the vev tne idca tnat 1 though he was
die." over me. That would get me in the whiskey glass were so tight tht a hc'l ot a Person nt to talk to
...for himself. mood for anything new the bar- they were white, and he was mut- mc- But ne didn't seem to notice.
I shall never forget that fate- tender might find for me to drink, tcring to himself. The poor guy And then, a little line in the
ful evening when William and I I had tried it before and I knew didn't even notice mc as I stepped section of lost and found notices
walked out the stage entrance that if I absorbed enough of that up to the table. And I heard him attracted my attention. It said
after the performance into the glitter, I could also absorb what- say. "It won't work. It won't! I that a top-hat had been found up
cold December air. "How was I ever Louis mixed up. can't do it." on Fifth avenue a top-hat with-
tonlgut, Bob, eh? How was I?" I stood there a moment, and "Can't do what." I said. I be- out an owner. I read the thing
he asked eagerly. then, feeling ready to go in, I lieve in taking my quarry by sur- over several times. In some pc-
"You're getting better with each moved to the door. The Negro prise. He started, dropped the culiar way it held my attention,
new play," I replied. "Tho au- doorman swung it open and held empty glass, and mumbled some- Sir William had come in without
dience certainly went wild to- it with a broad grin on his face, thing like, "Hello, how are you, a hat. But if he had lost his he
night." A3 1 started in, however, I caught sit down." And then he relapsed woulJ have bought a new one.
"The audience," he said in an eight of the reflection of a car in into silence, fumbled the glass up- Still, it was something to talk
Ironic tone. I don't act for the au- the chromium plating on the un- right and poured himself another about. So I said. "Here's an In
dience. I act for myself. I act be- opened half of tho door. It was whiskey. tcresting line In the 'Lost and
cause it makes me feel good, and Sir William's. I saw him get out, I had thought maybe he would Found.'
not because it entertains the au- and then I stepped back to greet tell me what was the matter right "It doesn't look very important
dience. Some men need drink, him. then. I hoped he wouldn't because at first sight. It just says that
some men need drugs, and some Sir William looked preoccupied they never do in the best stories, somebody abandoned a top-hat in
men need women; all I need is and just a little bit wild. Ho told But it would be a good test of the middle of the sidewalk. But
the theater." the chauffeur not to come back, surprise as an clement in making think what that must mean. No
He walked up to the car to get threw up his head, squared his a criminal confess. Not that Sir one in New York would do a thing
In. The running board was icy, shoulders, and brushed past mc William was a criminal, of course, like that, lwcau.se anyone who has
and he slipped and fell. He was and the doorman's teeth without but it would bo a test just the money enough to wear a 'topper'
unconscious, so I rushed him to seeing either. game. Well, you see, it didn't work, is the cafe society type And
the hospital. "Concussion of Uie Something I wrong Ile jutjt gat lncre gulplng the among Us who do wear to hat3
brain," the doctor said. He as- What the hell, I thought, liq.ior, and trying to act as if their importance has been so in
sured me, however, that he would 'What's the matter with the nothing was wrong. bred that we consider them India
pull through. eu?X' x , , , ldle conversation. pensible. The loss of a hat Is a
Then convalescence. Bill as I called him had always "Clumsy of me," he said finally, major calamity. One can lose
I spent many hours with Wil- been my ideal of perfection in tapping his glass. money, jewels, anything but one's
11am during his convalescence. All manners. He could smile in a situ- "Yes," I answered. And I started hat. I can imagine a person losinc
he talked about was his acting, atlon where I would have been to talk about the races, and where his hair before he loses his hat
He couldn't wait, he said, to get fighting mad. And he always kept I had been, and what I was eoine and lots of us do w'hv vn t,i.
William Rearden took
Inside story
of an actor
Qn tQur Jf he
did not find R new one that he
liked
The little table at his bedsire
was covered with manuscripts
which he was diligently studying,
None of them .however pleased
him. "I ve got to find a play, he
Mid. "that will really give me an
opportunity
Opponumiy W snuw wuai J. ve BVi.
y fhi-itio ravine that I ve
have the critlcs raving that Ive
reached new heights of greatness.
"77 'TJJu,'6" T rAk
- t" J'
s er ?n Ind
days are ahead of men and I
can t wait to eet out of this
,omna, t s it "
ua'""c" w
. .assurances,
"Take it easy, Bill," I said,
won t be long now.
"damned bed." He was out of the
hospital and feeling as well as
ever, but he was never to act in
another play again. As a result of
the shock which he had expert-
enced, he could speak only in a
quiet, husky voice. No more would
his stentorian tones ring out
through the theater, and by this
ironic fate his career as an actor
was terminated.
The moment that he found out
that he would never regain his
natural voice and would, conse-
quently, never appear in another
T lira a rio-ht Jt urAfl TlAf lnntT
What' Sir William couldn't stand
A short short story of
a man without a hat
concerning the suicide
who lived for the stage
play wag Qne Umft tha(. he djd not
act He jUBt aat and brooded. I did
a poor job of cheering him up.
"Hell, man," I said, "there are
other things in life besides the
stage. You've got plenty of money.
You
ove to all th ""-
vvny re a.e u
jvu w. .
despair.
x, v. " V ,7 ' i in A
But he was not listening to me.
e just sat there, glassy-eyed and
"? Juat,Bttt V. ' 57.7,1-'JT . Z
yusf,roie- ft YV E.f if
fr "
V01Ce( "nothing. Why, why, you
Vnnu Rnh I'm not pood for anv-
lu 7" ' a " ,l fv, T
thing I know. They shoot a horse lng the months that followed. He
"It that's broken its log. Maybe that's &ave the biggest and liveliest par
what thev oueht to do with me." ties, he was seen with the most
- - -
LOT1 t tftlK LTiflL WttV. 13111. 1.
. . . . i mil is v
said.
"But it's true. You know it's
true. When a man loses whatever
genius he may have, it isn't only
that bit of genius that dies. Oh
no-the man dies too. And as long
as his genius is dead, there is
nothing anyone can do that can
bring him back to life. A man's
genius and a man's soul are not
two separate flames. They're a
single flame, and when that flame
burns out, they both die. It's the
fellow who has never had any gen-
ius who is the lucky one. He's just
a clod. He's been dead all the time
J.0..d0L..'rilpn-. ,T Js1ml !ltm.v""t- ?1c
and doesn.t know it That doesn't
hurt, though. It only hurts when
you're dead and you do know it.
That's not a dull pain, Bob; it cuts
like a knife."
Nothing could be done,
I knew that there was nothing I
-ft1lM v ttt would Ho uiv
- , - He
-i4u-ui uH i wi K.nH.
bing, with his head in his hands,
mut erlng, "I'm dead, I'm dead. I
talk I ran walk T ran eat hut
iTZ.T.
Tm dead just the same, dead, dead.
dead" J"st wat nln there
like that was enough to jerk your
fc t Q
William put on a eav front dur-
rtAOiitifiil ummam hA tn
"vw "vuivi., h.tw
distant places, and to the undis-
cerning eye he seemed to be the
happiest man alive. He finally
told me that it was no use He
was miserable. Life simply did
not have any zest for him.
It always struck me as queer
that when he .topped acting on
the stage, he stopped acting off
the stage. He never did things
with a flourish any more. Those
while teeth did not flash very
often now into that smile while
had charmed women in wholesale
quantities. He felt that he was
the most unfortunate man alive,
By Jon Pruden.
cluh is nnpip f"rn,t"n-jnt.."
his life
I tried to show him that ther
were countless people who were
much worse off, but this did not
make the slightest impression upon
him. He took what one might al
most call a delight in feeling sorry
for himself. The idea that he was
not good for anything had taken
a firm grip upon him. He told
me once, "I'm no better than a
washed-up prize fighter who -spends
the rest of his life walking
around on his heels. Once he's lost
his sped and power, he isn't worth
a damn to anyone. Well, that's
me 'Punch-drunk Willie.' I'm
walking around on my heels."
Too much strain.
It was not hard ot see that he
could not continue under that
strain much longer. He was bound
to snap. I was not surprised, then,
when he asked me to straighten
out his financial affairs as quickly
as possible and to see about the
drawing up on his will. Since his
forced retirement he had aged
years. His face had become lined
and haggard, and his eyes had lost
that bright, alert look. When I
left him that night, I knew that I
would never see Willard Rearden
again.
The next morning I read in the
newspapers that William Rearden
was dead. He had fired a bullet
through his brain. I knew, how
ever, that he had been dead long
before he had pulled the trigger
of that gun. He had been dead
from that moment he had found
out that he would never act again.
The body of William Rearden -had
now gone to join his soul.
"I think I'll call the police, and
offer my services in clearing up
what's going to be the 'Famous
Hat Mystery.' I'll make them
realize that there's something
wrong, "I said, taking a wild shot,
and hoping that he would respond.
Bill twisted around in his chair,
tapped the table with his fingers
and swallowed two more whiskeys
in rapid succession. Then he
leaned across the table and caught
my hand in his clammy cold one.
He blurted out, "For God's sake,
don't go to the police."
"But"
"Promise me you won't go to the
police or tell anyone about this."
Great drops of sweat were roll
ing down off his forehead. So I
smiled my reassuring smile the
one I keep for occasions when peo
ple arc about to confide in me, and
said, "All right, I won't do any
thing. But what's this all about?"
He looked furtively around,
hitched his chair nearer, and whis
pered. "That couldn't have been
my hat."
There was another long silence.
And after a while I shut my
mouth. He took another gulp of
whiskey and explained.
"It couldn't have been, because'
I left mine down by the waterfront
last night when no one was
around." And then he broke down
completely. "I can't justify the
act. I have always loved my hat.
More than my overcoat, even. And
it was a splendid one. It fit per
fectly." He wiped away the tears and
continued. "Everywhere I go I
have to check the damn thing. I
can't wear it In, can I? Well, the
other day I checked up, and in
checking my hat you get what I
mean-1 have spent $500 dollars
in the last year. I've got good
blood in my veins, but I'm not
rich. And I can't afford a $500
hat. So I took it off and left it
there in the middle of the walk."
I was amazed at my own astute
ness. I was a great detective
after all. But I said, "I'll not tell
anyone, if you are sure you don't
want it."
He almost screamed, "Dcn't
ever tell the police. They would
bring it back to me. They always
bring things back. I have a wife
and two children to support. I
can't afford a hat."
And then he sighed and leaned
back. "I thought it would work,
but it won't. I can't ever come
here again. The look that hat
check girl gave me curdled my
blood. I can't come here without a
hat, and I can't afford one. My
jTlnrf Jt. wn't, vnvV-;' "