Beware, Girls
Lovers are the most devoted where they least expect to wed.
All they seek is cruel conquest, and when hearts are made to yield,
They forsake the broken fortress and besiege another field.
They are like the crafty serpent coiled beneath the fairest flower,
Till the butterfly or the hum-bird falls within its deadly power.
Our Rumor Department
By Our Los Angeles Correspondent
An enthusiastic reader sends us an epistle of inquiry. We cannot say that it is from “Paul” to the Corinthians, because, though the correspondent signs “Paul,” our noble John Henry reads “Whiz Bang.”
Paul wants to know whether or not it is a fact that there is anything to the rumor that Owen Moore, former husband of Mary Pickford, is due to marry Mildred Harris, late wife of Charlie Chaplin? So far as Whiz Bang knows, neither Owen nor Mildred have any wild desires to become as one. Mildred scarcely seems of a type that would appeal to the silent youngster whom Mary released at Minden. Speaking of Minden? Where is that place? Oh, yes, up in Nevada. Wasn’t it Nevada which was going to show the Fairbanks and Pickfords that such sudden splitting of the wedded bonds couldn’t be pulled off in that sanctified state? And didn’t Whiz Bang tip you off that Nevada was long on talk and short on official action.
Yes, indeedy. Doug Fairbanks puts on the old carpet slippers and Mary smoothes his hair for all the world like an old married couple and no one to say them nay, not even Nevada.
The “rumor” which friend Paul sent to us reminds us forcibly again that you can hear anything about any one in the picture world or connected with it. Stick around the Alexandria hotel lobby for ten minutes and the pedigree of every male and female whose face appears upon the screen will be peddled to you ad libitum.
Three years ago the Alexandria hotel lobby was the scene of gigantic picture operations—in the mind. It was customary for ten million dollar organizations to be formed every five minutes. That was in the days of the magic rug. It seemed no one could step on the rug in front of the hotel counter without becoming stricken. New studios by the thousands were built every night between six-thirty and seven o’clock.
But they don’t have the rug at the Alex any more. Remember when Charlie Chaplin tried to lick his wife’s manager and tripped from the rug onto a scantling, his priceless feet exuding themselves skyward? Since Charlie slipped and fell, the rug has been removed. The reason perhaps is that few hotels get a chance to brag of Charlie Chaplin staging a fight in their lobby and the Alexandria evidently trusts that if a return engagement occurs Chaplin will not be able to complain of slippery underfooting.
Charlie looks better than in ages. He’s leading the very quiet life, and working hard.
Reverting again to rumors. Take ’em all and all, most of the picture “support” on the various lots is comprised of persons who would find it pretty rough going financially if called upon to exercise brains. And they are petty.
Small town gossips of a mean nature, jealousies and back bitings prevail. This doesn’t always hold to the extras alone. Some of the stars are just as bad. Harold Lloyd pays considerable attention to Bebe Daniels. The result is that the jealous girls have it in for Harold and Bebe. It happens that Lloyd is a very decent young fellow, so far as reputation goes and many a doting mamma gets ideas in her head when she sees the young millionaire roll down the street in one of his splendid cars. Up to date there has been nothing brought against Lloyd, even by jealous ladies who crave and don’t get his attention. He steers clear of the jazz bunch—as clear as can be done and remain at all popular.
Mildred Davis, for the past two years his leading lady, is frequently seen in the company of Lloyd at the fashionable gathering places. The girl is a beautiful looking young creature, possibly 18 or 19 years of age and naturally those who watch the picture hurdy-gurdy wonder whether Lloyd is stronger for Mildred than for Bebe. Either young lady, so far as appearances are concerned, would go a lot further and not meet up with a more promising gentleman, though marriage may be furthest from the mind of the trio. These youngsters work hard and have to attend pretty much to business.
The wild parties still prevail though they are getting a little more exclusive. People are chosen who don’t have a reputation for bringing up reminders the next morning of everything that happened. This is a good idea. Every girl who got drunk the night before discovered before noon next day that everyone on the lot had heard about it.
In our references to Hollywood and Los Angeles society, we don’t wish to be accused of laying everything to the picture people. Far from it. The high society bunch sets a faster pace if anything. One of the wildest orgies ever attempted in this hextic community occurred recently in the vicinity of Elizabeth Lake, a distance of some 80 miles from Los Angeles.
It seems that the sacred inner circles of fashion and pictures found that the ground was being trampled upon too much by the plebeian element and that the ensuing gossip often ended unpleasantly. Over canyon and mountains many of the guests were carried by aeroplanes. This item will be news to some who think they are on the “inside” of the jazz doings around Los Angeles. The ultra ultras are putting it on stronger than ever—but far away from home, husbands and wives.
Big men of the pictures and high social standings, who never bat an eye at certain queens of the amusement world when at work, joined in a carnival of revelry that surpassed most anything provided for jaded appetites hereabouts—not excepting the nude bathing parties for which Hollywood and Pasadena became famous with introduction of private bathing plunges, out of doors.
Outside the Sodom and Gemorrah cottage, big powerful aeroplanes waited to carry back to Los Angeles those who find that an air trip to be very clarifying after a night of social carnage. One man, it is reported, though brewed up like a boiled owl, landed his two passengers safely on one of the landing places near Hollywood. There is first-hand information that brewed up airplane drivers have operated in the vicinity. To date the motor bike cops have found the pave too hot for them to pinch any one.
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A bribe in time saves nine.
Pasture Pot Pourri
A baldheaded man likes to tell about the hair-breadth escapes he’s had.
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A shortened skirt maketh many a flirt.
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If ignorance is bliss—then why be otherwise?
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In the race “Back to Nature,” the Bathing Suit is a close second. The Evening Gown leading by a fraction of an inch.
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If a body find a bottle comin’ thru the rye,
Don’t it make a body sore to find the bottle dry?
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Flattery is like cologne; to be smelled but not swallowed.
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When you’re down in the mouth, remember Jonah. He came out all right.
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It’s the little things that worry us. We can dodge an elephant, but not a flea.
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Variety is the spice of—Salt Lake City.
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All the world loves a lover, except hubby.
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