nh CI4ICAG0AN "^¦^B •mi f PROPERTY OF ?AGO HlSTORICAl !32 NORTH DEARBOR )) WANS" FLATO PAQPUMS C BY LIONEL,; APIS, IMPORTED AVE, NEW YORK ramie fcuml 320 MICHIGAN AVENUE • NORTH Just South of the Bridge GOWNS • WRAPS • MILLINERY rzxzx *Jvlrs. "Powell and her assistants are now in Paris making selections from the foremost creators of original models for fall and early winter. These exclusive and advanced modes will be exhibited together with our own adaptations. For your inspection September ist 2 TI4E CHICAGOAN OPTH6 Hflaw • SOPHIE |% I TED m\ Tuckek4ewiS LESTER ALLEN aenssF revue j%&> PRAISE £7wr CRITIC VV5oPWIE AN AISTIST. GOOD TED LEWIS*"0 VALUABLE LESTEE ALLEN ALSO SHINE* IT WAS TO LAUGH NWESELF PINK* ASHTON STEVENS *» SELWYN EVENINGS 8:30, THURSDAY AND SATURDAY MATINEES 2:30 Edgar Selwyn PRESENTS 'Gentlemen Prefer Blondes9 A dramatization by Anita Loos and lohn Emerson of Anita Loos' best seller Popular Thursday Matinee : THE THEATRE DRAMA BLACK VELVET— The struggle between white and black brought again to the stage with dramatic freshness. Frank Keenan in another role the public love him in. At the refurnished Playhouse, 410 South Michigan. THE GREAT GATSBY— Excellent stage adap tation of F. Scott Fitzgerald's novel of the same name. James Rennie is Gatsby and a gorgeous character he etches. Studebaker, Michigan at Van Buren. COMEDY "IF I WAS RICH"— The lovable human comedy continues in high prosperity at The Cort, Dearborn at Randolph. GENTLEMEN PREFER BLONDES— Continues in high favor at the Selwyn. Dearborn at Lake. MUSICAL COMEDY CASTLES IN THE AIR— Good music, splendid chorus and Romance! Olympic, Randolph and Clark. REVUES LE MAIRE'S AFFAIRS— Sophie Tucker, Ted Lewis, Lester Allen and fine supporting cast in gay assemblage. Lavish entertainment. Woods, Randolph at Dearborn. ARTISTS AND MODELS— Paris Edition. Phil Baker and the eighteen Gertrude Hoffman girls doing their stuff. Apollo, Randolph at Dear born. VODV1L PALACE— First class bills. STATE-LAKE— Next best bet. First run movies also. MAJESTIC — Continuous from noon to 11 p.m. MOVIES Chicago, Oriental, McVickers, Roosevelt, Or- pheum, show the first run movies in the Loop. The first three named put on a veritable vodvil show as well. AFTER THEATRE ENTERTAINMENT PARKWAY ROOF GARDEN— Dancing on high where the evening air is cool, and the charges moderate. Parkway Hotel. GARDEN VILLA— A Venetian garden, with the sparkle of fountains, and twinkle of Japanese lanterns. Congress Hotel. CHEZ PIERRE— Artistic and fanned by the lake breezes that wander down East Ontario Street. SAMOVAR — Down in the depths, where it's very Russian and as cool as a cellar. 624 S. Michi gan Avenue. BEACH WALK— Boats pass by with their little lights, and the waves wash against the landing. Edgewater Beach Hotel. VILLA VENICE— On the banks of the Des- plaines. Twenty-eight persons in the entertain ment given and a wonderful dance floor. LA SALLE ROOF GARDEN— Jack Chapman's orchestra furnishes the music. Dinner and dancing from six to one. Real food royally served. LaSalle Hotel. GARDEN OF ALLAH— Romantic and preten tious. A pleasant drive along the North Shore, west to Waukegan road lands one there. MUSIC RAVINIA OPERA— The Opera House in the Woods, where the accoustics are equalled by no ether outdoor opera in the world. Stars from two continents foregather here, for the delight of summer opera patrons. Informal Sunday concerts each Sunday at three o'clock, at Ravinia, and on Monday evenings, symphony orchestra. at the STUDEBAKER wi£Eyand SEATS NOW ON SALE FOR 4 WEEKS William A. Brady's Production OWEN DAVIS' New Drama The Great Gatsby From the novel by F. Scott Fitzgerald WITH James Rennie AND A CAST OF SOME TWO SCORE Direct From a Long Run at the Ambassador Theatre, New York You go to the theatre for enterainment — here is a play whose only mission is to entertain — AND IT DOES! TI-JECr-HCAGOAN 3 ~ a <* o ' • • o o • * » -/- o • * ** ° * \ **••• • Si%i<iBatwaiiii»iniMiwtiwi^^ CALENDAR, Of_ tVtNT/ CONCERT— Hart House String Quartet of Toronto, Canada. This leading ensemble from Canada will give their concert at the Mandle Assembly Hall of the University of Chicago, August 6. GALLERIES ART INSTITUTE— Mystic, striking, Russian, are the pictures of SV. S. Schwartz among the one man shows at the Institute. His ladies show the whites of their eyes and sport red, purple, blue hair. ROULLIER GALLERIES — Whistler, Zorn, Lepere, are on the walls at Roullier's. Lepere's etching of the cathedral at Amiens is a thing of beauty. Fine Arts Bldg. DUNBAR EXHIIT— Artists of the American school are being shown at Dunbars. Wyant, Keith, Ranger, Hassam, Dougher and Payne are among those displayed. Mr. Payne is a Chicago artist of note. London Guarantee and Accident Bldg. CHICAGO GALLERIES ASS'N.— Middle West and Western Artists. Jackson Blvd. ACKERMANN'S— English prints of hunters in pink coats, antiques can be found at Acker- mann's. SPORTS GOLF WESTERN JUNIOR CHAMPIONSHIP— To be held at the Edgewater Golf Club, August 10-15. CHICAGO OPEN CHAMPIONSHIP— At Evan- ston Golf Club, August 17. WOMEN'S WESTERN CHAMPIONSHIP— At Olympia Fields, August 27-28. TENNIS ANNUAL NATIONAL JUNIOR CHAMPION- SHIP— South Side Net Club here for the third successive year, August 9. ANNUAL INTERSECTIONAL TEAM MATCHES — Drawing the leading players of America to the Town and Tennis Club, August 16. YACHT RACES CHICAGO YACHT CLUB— Richardson cup races, August 14-15-16. Lipton cup races, August 19, 20, 21. JACKSON PARK YACHT CLUB— Final Ben nett Cup Race, August 21. Lady Skipper's race to Hammond Beach, August 22. COLUMBIA YACHT CLUB— Lake Michigan Yachting Ass'n. Regatta, August 14. Virginia Cup Races for Q class, August 27, 28, 29. MARINE PARADE— Given jointly by all Chi cago Motor Boat Clubs, August 14. BASEBALL CUBS PARK — Professional. Addison and Clark Streets. Cubs vs. N. Y., August 17, 18, 19. Cubs vs. Brooklyn, August 20, 21, 22. Cubs vs. Philadelphia, August 23, 24, 25. Cubs vs. Boston, August 26, 27. 28. Cubs vs. Cincin nati, August 29, 30, 31. COMISKEY PARK— White Sox, Professional. 35th and Shields. White Sox vs. N. Y., August 1, 2, 3. White Sox vs. Boston, August 4, 5, 6. W;hite Sox vs. Philadelphia, August 7, 8, 9, 10. White Sox vs. Detroit, August 14, 15. TURF HAWTHORNE RACE TRACK— Revival of rac ing in Chicago evidenced by the transfer of Hawthorne track interests to Chicagoans. Track at Illinois. OTHER EVENTS UNVERSITY OF CHICAGO— A series of lec tures on Hinduism are being given by Professor S. Radhakrishnan, of the University of Cal cutta, August 9, 11, 12, 17, 18, 19, four-thirty o'clock, at the Joseph Bond chapel. Because frequently managers make last minute changes, events here listed should verified. PLAYHOUSE T%Nmir L.M.SIMMONS AND JOHN TUERX - LE55EE5 MATINEES WED. AND 5AT.*T235 PHONE WABASH 0073 an i/?e 'spirit 'of a 3/rfA of<a Net ton "- C.</fiu///et,Post M.J.NICHOLAS PRESENTS FRANK KEENAK IN BLACK VELVET BY WILLARD ROBERT 50N V/ie audience sat spellbound'' — JredlW-Qai^Jmr/can NEW SHUBERT OLYMPIC Popular Matinees, $2.50 JAMES W. ELLIOTT'S GLORIOUS Castles in the Air The Most Beautiful Musical Play the World Has Ever Seen WITH DONALD ROY VIRGINIA BRIAN CROPPER O'BRIEN CORT MATINEES WED. & SAT. A LAUGH FEAST! WM. ANTHONY McGUIRE Author of "Kid Boots," "Six Cylinder Love," "Twelve Miles Out," Etc., presents Joe Laurie, Jr. IN THE COMEDY HIT OF THE HOUR "IF I WAS RICH" WITH AN UNUSUAL CAST INCLUDING Joseph Kilgour Ruth Donnelly Violet Dunn May McCabe Fred Irving Lewis AI Ochs G. D. Byron and Joseph Baird Charles Dow. Clark Ray Walburn John T. Doyle Dorothy Blackburn Dorothy Fenron Vola Price Mildred Lillard 4 TWECI4ICAG0AN cyouco)ha S££k smaAttJur^s I — I JZLXVlL I are lovely cool frocks for- JL JL warm days and balmy nights ? ? ? attractive and appropriate apparel for* travelling * ? ? charming things for the trousseau ? ' • ? ? ? ? • Ivats and accessories that give the joyous satisfaction, that only smart thirtgs' can give • • ? • and you will find. moderate prides-/ McAVOY 615 N. M ickigan Avenue (Superior 81x0 '? THE CHICAGOAN, published semi-monthly by THE CHICAGOAN, Frederick M. Rosen, Pres.; Harry Segall, Editor; Dean Patty, Managing Editor; 417 Main Street, Wilmette 111. Executive and Editorial Offices, 154 East Erie Street, Chicago, 111. Subscription, $3.00; single copies, IS cents. Vol. 1, No. 3, July 15, 1926. Second Class Rights Applied for at the Post Office at Wilmette, 111., under the Act of March 3, 187?. CopyrightApplied for, '1926, by THE CHICAGOAN, INC. HARRY SEGALL, Editor DEAN PATTY, Art Director <TA CI4ICAG0AN TU-E TALK OF TWE TOWN We have it on excellent authority that the large wall-eyed Pike (or was it a scarlet wiffenfoofer) that Pres ident Coolidge yanked from the lake was not caught — it surrendered! And why ? Why simply because since it was a babe its all consuming ambition has been that one day it would be raised out of the water by some august per sonage. It had dreamed wildly of seeing the baited hook of the Chief of Police of Cicero — but after fruitless years of swimming about, when the Coolidge worm beckoned, if resigned itself fish like and with an "we-can't-have-every- thing" expression and a grim smile on its haughty face, made for the presiden tial worm and gobbled it up in one sin gle solitary gobble. The time is coming when Chicago will need a subway! And it's not more than a matter of twenty or thir ty years distant! We realize what a broad statement this is, but gifted as we are with the divine afflatus we can vision Chicago's future and thus know whereof we speak! While there is as yet not the slightest traffic congestion in our loop, yet mark us that one day, a few decades hence, State and Madison Streets will teem with humanity, trucks autos, Fords and street cars will crowd the streets and bootleggers will do busi ness by mail! Keen realtors itching for untold millions (untold only in income tax reports) will do well to be guided by our foresight and buy up all the available property on State Street be tween Madison' nnd Lake! We give this information to our readers despite the fact that our price per copy remains at fifteen cents! Wish we could get the "out-of- towners" kick from a ride on our busses! Riding in one yesterday we were startled out of a sound slumber by a lady standing up and shrieking to her husband, "Look Henry — there's the Lake!" A little farther, ^P, passing the Water Tower she softly yelled : "That must be the Allerton Club! Walking through Lincoln Park, we saw a little boy bouncing his ball against the base of one of the monuments. At first we were a little annoyed at this further indication of the disrespectfulness of the younger than younger generation. Then we noticed that the statue was that of Hans Chris tian Anderson and that he was smiling genially and benignly at his small play mate. What's become of our gun wom en ? Not a single solitary lover or husband shot for, it seems, ages! Dear ladies, is it because the thirty-day- wait in our hospitable and lenient coun ty jail awaiting trial and resultant ac quittal is too boresome? You know, if you make a request, you can call on your modistes, barbers, or dentists in the interim — and who knows, perhaps a theatre now and then ! And it is a child ishly simple matter to smuggle in a grand piano to while away the dreary days! Think it over, ladies, before you cast aside the delightful and innocent target practice! Were you ever the fourth one pressed against the rail in that last bench on our busses? Ever notice how nicely the rail curves there to ac commodate (?) your spine? And when he comes to get your fare and you give him a bill! Ever notice how pleased he is? Such an ex pression ! Then his moment comes ! You hold the dime out. the person next to you laughs, he thinks you're drunk ; you can't get the dime in after three thrusts at the clank-machine. Finally — bang! They not only snatch the dime away from you, but they bite the end of your finger off as well. Men if you would save the price of seats to a Ziegfeld Revue, ride atop a bus, seating yourself on the west side of the coach headed north and east headed south and let your optics fall into the passing cars; you will see the 6 TI4ECI4ICAGOAN form divine to better ad vantage than ever put be fore vou in the nudest of nude revues. And all for a thin dime! Nfryda the famous oriental snake dancer and star attraction at The Town Club on Wabash Avenue, caused almost a panic the other day on State Street, among the thousands of busy shop pers. The charming little girl was standing outside one of Marshall Fields show windows with her pet "Allah" a six-foot python draped about her neck. Suddenly the "pet" uncoiled itself and went wrig gling along toward Wrigley Building in search of who knows what ? Neryda, thanks to our signal systems, was able to capture it ere it crossed the street — you see the "pet" was waiting for the green light ! Anyhow, that's our story ! 146 Macdougal Street, New York City, N. Y. July 18th. Editor of The Chicagoan, Dear Sir: For years, many people have striven to make me the target for the most preposterous and un scrupulous lies imaginable, and I have always received them with a patience sometimes amused and sometimes contemptuously indif ferent. At present, however, I have determined to put an end to this crude, mendacious sport, and this letter is written to in form you that I will instruct my lawyer to sue you for libel, de famation of character, and false ridicule, unless you print a de tailed retraction of statements contained in a review of the novel, "Count Bruga" (I have just started a similar suit against the New York Evening Graphic). Both you and your reviewer may find it difficult to prove that I have been invariably physically ejected from gatherings, and, as a matter of fact, I doubt whether you would be able to cite even one or two instances in support of your feebly malicious lie. Again, you will be required to substantiate the statement that I am forever "pawing considered females" at parties . . . Curiously enough, Chicago is filled with writers and artists actually guilty of the afore mentioned episodes and mannerisms, but these culprits have been mercifully spared in favor of one man who is not a member of their ranks. The reasons, of course, are that this gentleman in question happens to possess a nimbly ironical and candid tongue, and a direct and often scornful personality — quali ties not relished by those people who have found themselves unable to manu facture an adequate retort. Lacking much actual ammunition against the poet in question, the expedient has been to allow the imagination to seek refuge in a mud-puddle. However, I am somewhat weary of this charming, little game, at the present time, and I can only repeat that, unless your re traction is promptly printed, my suit for libel will be immediately instituted. Sincerely, Maxwell Bodenheim. Dear Max: Profuse apologies! The Editor. F: Iound: Chicago's most ethical dis tiller. In his life there is no sly creeping down to a basement still, no smuggling, no fear. He is frankly, and with the government's knowledge, the owner and operator of a number of distilleries whose output is sold to li censed dealers. Some times, in spite of all precautions, the liquor falls into unlawful hands. Our friend sits up nights, we have heard, with Wayne Wheeler trying to think of ways of pre venting that. No man can boast that the distiller has ever given him a bottle of whiskey. He won't even take a bottle out of stock for his own con sumption. When he wants a drink he lets his chauffeur drive around to some bootlegger. This must be true: it the man's own storv. is Bughouse Square Fifty-eighth Street has always been simple and unassuming. Though it is lined with pleasant houses its chief function is that of an artery leading into the university, and, conversely, back to fraternity houses, drug stores, tea rooms and other pur veyors to H. R. M. the student. It was therefor something of a shock for us when we saw caisson rings placed ready for use on a Fifty-eighth Street lot where building operations had just be gun. Caisson rings on Fifty-eighth Street which has seldom run to more than three-story houses and ten foot basements! We looked at the rings in side and out, poked them with our foot, shook our head over them and finally went away doubting our own knowl edge of building materials. But when we again visited the spot we found the rings doing their stuff in four neat round holes seventy-one feet deep ; caissons on Fifty-eighth Street near University Avenue. They go through thirty feet of hard-pan to bed rock and form the foundation of the tower which will be the chief architectural feature of the new unit of the Chicago Theological Seminary. Thus the theologians who turn their thoughts and their architectural symbolism to the heavens prove that they have their feet more firmly planted on and in the ground than many a twen ty-story loop office building. But Fifty-eighth Street can point with pride to another new building, the Thorndike Hilton Memorial Chapel, a tiny sanc tuary where persons of all creeds are welcome It is as lovely a spot as one can find in Chicago. Go to see it. The chapel is open daily from eight to five-thirty for "rest and meditation." Eventually TI4E CHICAGOAN 7 it will be a part of the Theological Seminary Group. And while you are in the neighbor hood you might go from the sublime to the corporeal by looking in at Stagg Field. The last time that we inspected it the new grandstand was progressing handsomely. It is to the concrete stand on the west side of the field what that was to the poor old wooden stand. In other words, it is an exceedingly impres sive mass of steel and concrete with all modern conveniences. Since consider ably more than half the concrete has been poured, it looks as though the structure would be ready for occupancy by October first. We spent a delightful half hour the other night sneaking into the field and climbing around the stand, until the watchman shooed us away, fearing, probably, that we would carry off one of the hundred and sixty foot girders as a souvenir. At any rate we had time enough to take in the magni ficent view of the campus — the stand faces south — and to pick out our seat for the coming football season. We chose one about half way up and on a line with the center of the field. Uni versity Athletic Department please copy. ? A Have you noticed the new combs and brushes in the washrooms in Hen- rici's? At least our paragraph achieved this much needed reform. However, the management tells us that since they've changed the things the cus tomers have become so inordinately fond of them that they've stolen three sets already. So it looks as if the relic will again be doing duty! Managing the destinies of the Madison Street branch of the P. O. News is one Nathan Franklin, as handsome a chap ns ever handed you the Picayune Gazette when you wanted the New York Times! Under the magic of his effervescent humor you purchase magazines you never dreamed of reading. Ask him for the Literary Digest and he hands you a copy of The Illiterate Weekly, request the Cosmo politan and he thrusts Blue Stories, True Stories, Confessions, Obsessions and Repressions upon you! And what's more you buy them ! Lou Bennett who ably assists the Magnetic Nate is like wise no slouch at foisting periodicals upon you. They're the Personality Kids and the P. O. News is lucky to have them on their staff. A A IT doesn't seem fair. There is a sta tue of Grant in Lincoln Park but where is Lincoln in Grant Park ? And Abe is made to stand up in his own Park while Grant sits on a horse ! Can it be dirty politics? ? A Most of the rest of the country thinks that Indian who traded Man hattan Island for a string of beads wasnt such a sucker after all. A A The other evening we met three girl hikers labelled: N. Y. to L. A. They had left Manhattan on Friday noon and were in our sacrosanct loop Monday. Pretty speedy walking con sidering the only cars they got lifts in were Chevrolets and Fords. As for art," declares a voice from XJLthe wilderness, personified by the authoritative Miami Herald, "we be lieve the movies are a finer reflection of life than the dead daubs of the masters, regardless of their beauty or technical finish." The comparison is about as logical as relating Swiss cheeses to spring breezes — and just about as sig nificant. A A We continue to marvel at Harry J. Ridings, right hand bower to the be loved George M. Possessed of a per sonality second not even to Jolson's, handsome as we'd all like to be, statured beautifully, keeper of thousands of fine friends, he is nevertheless content to stay out of politics. We are certain he could be Mayor by simply lifting his finger for he is to us what Gov. Al Smith is to New York. You simply can't help loving the fellow once you've shaken him by the hand and been fav ored with his inimitable smile! Long may he be with us! — The Chicagoans. The Blonde: Marriage is really becoming necessary! The Brunette: Assuredly; my dear, for without it we should have no divorce! TUECUICAGOAN PERSONALITIES A born fighter — this Robert Crowe. He is always attacking someone — legally, of course! And when he stops to catch his breath someone attacks him — not always legally. So, for Robert, life seems to be just one little scrap after another — to say nothing of slush! If Judge Marcus A. Kavanagh could be divided, by some miraculous pro cess, into one hundred times himself, our criminal "elite" might be more — democratic! Albert J. Carreno and Edna I. Asmus The old conception of Heaven with its golden streets and pearly gates is passe. Heaven, to the mod ernist, is Chicago with Charles H. Wacker enthroned as its benignant mentor. Chief of Police, Morgan Collins, is a motherly soul. Aside from the wor ries attendant upon keeping the silver stars shined, he is continually admon ishing his large family to get enough to eat when visitors come to town, not to be out after dark and to leave the curtains up when going away for a vacation. J. Ogden Armour is a busy man. Besides raising the value of raw meat, he gathers a little grain now and then, plays a strenuous game of quoits with the federal trade commission occa sionally, and makes "millionaire" speeches on ho.v to forgot losses and begin anew. TI4ECI4ICAGOAN A GENTLEMAN IS INTERROGATED It is the witching hour of midnight.. A room at the Detective Bureau. Standing belligerently around an anaemic little runt who squats in a chair in the center of this room are four of our finest and most pugnacious keepers of the peace, alias guardians of the law, alias terrors of wrongdoers, commonly called officers! Depending on the class of job he is hired for, this runt is known as "Razor Bill" "Cut throat Mike" "Strangler Al" "Sandbag Charley" and other equally respectable patronyms. The officers have their coats off, their sleeves rolled, and their guns handy. The terrible and dreaded and cruel and much mooted Third De gree is about to begin. In fact it is already in progress: First Officer (deeply apologetic) : Now, sir, believe me, we profoundly regret our having to bring you here, but you know how the law makes one do things! The Runt (Pettishly) : I shoulda been to work an hour ago! Second Officer (hastily) : We'll try and hurry as much as possible, be as sured of that, sir! Third Officer (placatingly) : Mere ly one or two questions and you can go, sir! The Runt: Well? First Officer: First, tell us you bear us no ill will for having brought you here — we really can't forgive ourselves, even if we did catch you redbanded ! The Runt : Just because youse come upon me as I was pulling my knife outa the guy's body you jumps to the con clusion that I killed him ! First Officer (hastily) : Oh no, sir — you're quite mistaken — Second Officer: Really you are, sir — we only escorted you here because we thought you might know something about it! The Runt (doubtingly) : Huh! Third Officer (piteously) : Oh, please believe us, sir! The Runt (grudgingly) : Well— all right! (The four officers register immense relief. ) Fourth Officer : We'll try to justify your trust in us! Third Officer: Do you mind telling us if it was your knife? The Runt: I consider that an im pertinent question! Third Officer: Excuse it, please! Naturally we thought that — The Runt: I'm not interested in what you thought! First Officer: And you're quite right, sir! Second Officer: If it isn't imposing on your good nature, sir, would you mind telling us where you were at eleven o'clock on the night of the mur der? (And as The Runt register displeas ure at this query, the officer hastily adds:) Of course, you don't have to answer ! Second Officer: It's entirely up to you, sir! The Runt: I was delivering some dynamite at the County Jail at about that time! The Four Officers: : Oh, then you couldn't have murdered that man for he was killed three hours later! The Runt: How about a few drinks? I'm starving. (The Sergeant brings a bottle of Sunnybrook and some sandwiches and a recess for refreshments is called.) (An hour later, the inhuman gruel ling is resumed.) The Runt (suddenly) : Say come to think of it, I've got a job to do — how about us all meeting a month from today? The First Officer: Will you prom ise to be here? The Runt (glaring at him) : Want me to put it in writing? The Other Three Officers (hastily) : No, of course, we don't, your word is all that is necessary, sir! A month from today, then! (The Runt rises to go and the four officers scramble over one another to open the door for him). (As he passes out) All Four (in unison) : Good night, sir, and a Merry Christmas to you! Where, oh where, are our humani tarians to put an end to this fiendish medieval inquisition? — Harry Segall. SMITHER AND SMOTHERS On his first and only visit to the tropics, Smithers found: The country oppressive with flora and fauna; Hunting trips unbearable because of wild hogs and Mesquite Indians; The food inedible from overspicing; The people unintelligible because of his ignorance of Spanish; The liquor undrinkable in the in tense heat; And a native who returned his lost pocketbook containing two dollars. So Smithers regards the tropics very kindly. While on Smothers' first visit, he found: The country enthralling be cause of the profusion of nature; Hunting trips a constant thrill be cause of wild hogs and Mesquite In dians ; The food delectable because of stim ulating seasoning; The people highly considerate be cause of his few remembered words of Spanish ; The liquor a delightful relief from a tropical sun that only served to make it more enjoyable; And a native who stole two dollars from him in a game of black-jack. So Smothers has nothing but curses for the crooked tropics. — Wayne G. Haisley. a A How simple a thing it is to stand out from the multitudes these days of Rab elaisian wit. All one need do is to hold back though it chokes him the quip scintillant about either the senatorial campaign expense;*; Mexico's religious trouble and then of course the French debt. THE CHICAGOAN FOOTNOTE/ ON I4&ADLINE/ A prisoner in the penitentiary at Leavenworth made a long distance call to St. Louis and charged it to the war den. What can be fairer than that? Looks like Leavenworth is vieing with cur own hospitable little jail in the matter of courtesy to prisoners. Why not start a big: "Be Good to Prisoners Week!" In one of our newspapers last week appeared the following headline : "Kip's Colored Wife in England Dark on Plans!" Sounds facetious, n'est ce pas? And since we're on the subject, one of our high-priced sleuths reports after all these months that this marriage came about because Kip had on his rose- colored glasses the day he met Alice! And last night we heard a song called : "I'm Looking at the World Through Rose-Colored Glasses!" A man in Kokomo, Indiana, recently fired two bullets into his brain suffering only the loss of speech! We can account for this phenomena only by presuming that this man probably had ample room in his head to accommodate the lead. So there is something to be said in favor of being empty-headed! ? Chief of Police Collins returns from vacation in Wisconsin. Crooks better look out now and limit themselves to but one or two crimes a night! A A Swiss Scientist returning from an exploration expedition in the Phillipines brought back with him some photo graphs, one of which showed a woman with a tail ! As if that's any news ! What woman hasn't a tale? A The old hi-cost of living exists only in spots here. Walking down Halstead Street we came upon a sign on a res taurant window : "Watermelon On Ice 5 Cents!" And a i-it farther down the street, this: "A Place to Sleep Fifteen Cents!" Moral: Move to Halstead St. . A The movies are surely slipping! Time was when "The Picture Was the Thing!" Now it's "PAUL A S H — BIG STAGE PRESENTATION— supported by a picture!" A Dr. Bundesen claims Chicago is a very healthy city! And who knows that better than our crooks? ? We read that Serbia's King received a raise in pay and that Kingdom now pours one cool million per year into his royal jeans! Still you hear people proclaiming that heavy lies the head that wears a crown! Heavy is right- — heavy wages ! A Isn't it about time for one or all of our enterprising newspapers to begin their yearly: "Do Your Xmas Shop ping Early! — The Reporter. THE FOREIGNER Grayson, so far as breeding goes, is as American as the seventh - inning stretch, hot-dog stands and Tom Mix. More, his grandfather fought under Grant and his father had been a Rough Rider. But the withered spinster who oc cupied the room adjoining his in the unpretentious Greenwich Village brownstone front in which he was awaiting the arrival of that fickle god dess, Fame, was certain Grayson was a foreigner of some kind — possibly an Armenian like this here author who wrote "The Green Chapeau." You see, one night when the rain fell in silver spears he was enthusias tically discussing his Art with a fellow poet, a creature who affected a cape and she heard him employ such tongue- defying, ear-tickling terms as onoma topoeia, terza rima, iambic pentameter, sapphics, alcaics, choriambus, dactylic and hendecasyllabics. GOLD A hateful thing is gold! Because of it men sin. With it one can purchase Knives, pistols, cocaine, gin. Gold causes awful wars And robberies and strikes. Of a more evil thing I've never heard the likes! Gold is to blame for all The virtue that is sold . . . Know what I wrote this for? Why, nothing else but gold! — Willard King Bradley. A URBANITY Like a blur, A city looms Against the air in space. Cosmic, weird Its smoke, its soot, Fleshly pure Its lair and lute, Lyric lewd Its sacrosanctitude, Its vices — comely base. — William Simonoff. THE CHICAGOAN 11 Aimee Semple McPherson Have you heard Aimee Semple McPhersor. ?" queries a highly colored signboard, picturing the figure of a slim, well-built woman garbed in a white uniform and navy blue cape with an open Bible in her hands. The background of this poster is a huge structure with tall columns and an immense dome — the "Angelus Temple, Church of the Four-square Gospel." The street cars of this city — Los Angeles — carry cloth advertisements which read: "Angelus Temple, Aimee Semple McPherson, Evangelist Pas tor." They tell further that three serv ices are held on Sundays with a round dozen during the week and that the seating capacity is 5300. Since curiosity always gets the better of imagination, one proceeds with vary ing degrees of interest to this Angelus Temple. The foyer of the building is hung with tawdry paintings of biblical scenes. In a large showcase are dis played the usual pamphlets, evangelical tracts, autographed photos of its pastor and printed statements of her testi mony. , White-garbed women stand at the entrance of this theater-like building, while the "brothers" usher members and visitors to their seats. The interior is like a h u g e audi torium. In the orchestra pit a brass band blares evangelical hymns while the people drift in. Suddenly the band ceases its raucous playing. A hush falls upon the crowd. The members of the Bible school solemnly take their places around the balcony rail ; women — in white uni forms, men next, and finally more women. Strange faces these — the faces of failures! A blast of the trumpet. One mem ber of the band blows taps. Taps at the beginning of a service ? Two workers carry a white satin banner to the platform which reads, "Silent Prayer." The congregation obeys. An electric gong announces the end of prayer and the Bible school moves from the balcony to the choir loft. Somewhere, back of the first balcony a door opens and closes. It is heard throughout the auditorium. There's a faint rustling as a woman descends. "There she is!" And before the excited whispers have died away, Aimee Semple McPherson proceeds slowly to the plat form. A short applause greets her, and — a dramatic en trance has been ac- plished. As s h e kneels a few seconds at the desk in the center of the platform and then moves to h e r throne-like c h a i r , one notices the per fect fit of her heavy white silk frock, and her hair, exquisitely arranged and richly hennaed. A "broth er" is seated to her left, a Salvation Army worker to her right. Again the band blares a gospel hymn. More ap- p 1 a u s e, vigorously lead by "Sister" McPherson. Then, in a voice that rises and cracks unpleasantly Aimee announces a hymn. Reading the first verse she admonishes all to sing heartily, after which she stretches forth graceful, slender arms, and with well-studied movements, leads the singing. There follows a short prayer in front of the amplifier, for, the whole world is "listening in" Another hymn, the last line of which is accompanied by the waving of handkerchiefs — fresh ones, of course! Aimee calls for a xylophone. A male quartette from the Bible school exer cises its lungs while two husky "brothers" carry the xylophone to the platform. Three little girls whom pastor McPherson discovered singing in the corriders one day, sing a hymn to the ukelele accompaniment of the oldest. There comes a lull. People are asked to join the church; to take home the distributed cards, and to pray over them before making a final decision. Many having already decided to join, walk up and stand by the railing which separates the people from the band. Pastor Aimee gives them a short talk, punctuated by frequent a m e n s and hallelujahs by the congregation, after which she tells them to come up to the platform and receive the right hand of fellowship. No evangelistic meeting is orthodox without testimonials. Therefore, mem bers of the Bible school are urged to And listen don't be a sap, make him take a taxi." give testimonies of their salvation, and sacrifices. One young man declares he gave up a promising career in the movies to preach the gospel wherever it pleases the Almighty to call him. He washes windows and scrubs floors to pay his way through the two-year Bible course. One woman, feeling "the call" so urgently, abandoned her two child ren to their grandparents, securing the amount needed to pay her way from Canada to Los Angeles by "faith." Among the adherents is an Indian prince, who, in May 1927, will finish his studies and go back to India to save souls. The congregation becoming restive, punctuates the testimonies with "amens" and "praise-the-Lords." The pastor, however, reaching over the head of the Salvation Army worker, drains the con tents of a hollow-stemmed goblet of orange juice. The voice box properly lubricated, pastor Aimee reads the notices: the band is doing its bit for the kingdom even though it lacks instruments, mem bers are urged to buy instruments and learn to play them. Baptismal service is to be held the following Thursday (Aimee getting into the font, after donning rubber garments.) A wedding is to take place that evening, affording her a long desired opportunity to preach her wedding sermon. (Continued on page 20) 12 THE CHICAGOAN ~-g«i %-m The Hold-out in the Anti-Matrimony Club! THE CHICAGOAN 13 HTie TI4EATRE There isn't the slightest element of gamble in theatre-going at this particular time. An unadulter ated evening of pleasure is assured, for though a little more than half of our playhouses are lit, the lack of attrac tions is compensated for by the quality of the fare provided. You can take the list, shut your eyes and say "eenie, meenie, m i n e y mo, catch an attraction by the toe, etc.,' and unhesitatingly buy tickets for the one your finger points to when you open your eyes. The clean fine fun and spar kle of "If I Was Rich." The wistfulness of "The Great Gatsby." The wit and laughter of "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes." The dramatic tensity of "Black Velvet." The lilting music of "Castles in the Air." The showiness and richness of "Artists and Models," and last though hardly least, "LeMaire's Affairs," with Sophie Tucker, Ted Lewis and Lester Allen. They all possess undoubted appeal to your pleasure-loving soul ! See them all for there isn't a weakling in the list and all deserve attendance. In OUR last issue we men tioned the fact that when theatrical press agents cut loose on description they are unmatchable. The following from Zit's Theatrical Weekly about the charms of Greta Nisen is an example par excel lence ! "FOR SUCH WORDS AS THESE QUEENS HAVE LIVED AND ALSO DIED IN VAIN And it came to pass that Ben Ali Haggin asked Walter J. Kingsley to tell him his thoughts about Greta Nissen, her dancing, her pantomine, and her beauty, in the episode of "Mile Blubeard" at the Globe Theatre, where Florenz Ziegfeld presents the blonde daughter of the Norse Vikings as a breath-taking, gloriously artistic exhibit of the splendid in gifted womanhood. And Kingsley said: 'One can describe Greta Nissen only in great music or great poetry. She is that rare and wonderful combination of genius and beauty that we so de voutly seek. Surrounded by lovely girls, as sweet as flowers, she transcends them all like Zenobia among slaves or Diana over her hunting maids. Like the sun, she drowns all other lights. Splendidly lovely, a divinely endowed artiste, a dancer of passionate grace and charm, Greta Nissen has everything. Her pan tomine at the Globe is a masterpiece. It has beauty and distinction in the grand manner. It promises greater Drawing by R. C. Young achievements to come, for this artiste is creative, ambitious, and a dreamer of magnificent dreams, who believes, with Arthur Symons, that if one dreams hard enough and long enough that dreams come true. She has a uniquely rich endowment, physically, mentally, and artistically. She is made for great ness and her pantomine and dancing would be great art on any stage. (Continued on page 32) Mr. Frank Keenan THE scrap-books of the actor who has achieved are always an il luminating record of wide fatig- able sincerity in work, for increasing striving for the fuller expression, of the continuous step onward. Frank Kee nan, who, presented by M. J. Nicholas in the new drama, "Black Velvet," by Willard Robertson, at The Play- house, has one of the most interesting sets of scrap-books to be found in the theatrical profession. Not alone does it show the milestones of Mr. Keenan 's long and distinguished stage career, but in one of the earlier volumes there may be noted, together with a review of that artist's work, a prophecy which Frank Keenan has most inspiringly ful filled. In the illustrated American of April 14, 1894, Austin Brere- ton, the eminent international critic, wrote: "Mr. Keenan, whose remark able succes as the gypsy, Miles McKenna, in Rosedale, was rec ently noted by me, was' born in Dubuque, Iowa. His first ap pearance on any stage was made at the Boston College Hall in 1876. His professional debut took place with the veteran, Jo seph Proctor, at Lawrence, Mass. Mr. Keenan had an ex perience in the old stock days, which is now invaluable to him, of playing in every class of piece. He also had the advantage of acting with many players of high repute, and of receiving the benefit derived from appearing in theatres where the stage man- a g e r s thoroughly understood their calling. Some of Mr. Kee nan 's earlier successes were made in plays written by Mr. James A. Hearne, the author of "Shore Acres." In more than one of these plays he acted the star part, meeting with partic ular success in "Hearts of Oak." About two and a half years ago, he abandoned the stage and entered the house of a Boston publishing firm. For tunately for himself and for lovers of good acting, he reconsidered his inten^ tion and returned to the stage last spring, at the Boston Opera House. His chief hit here was made as "Fagin" in "Oliver Twist." If Mr. Keenan has the courage and the determination to go ahead in his chosen calling, he may do (Continued on page 32) 14 JOCIETY IF you really wr.it to know the truth of the matter, all these daughters of the rich who have joined the ranks of the working girl in the past few years — aren't In it simply for the exercise — nor the love of a career. Not at all. Granted that it does make one interesting to accomplish things — and that it does fill up time between sea sons and the period between debut and marriage — to say nothing of adding that piquante gesture of genius — and all that jolly old tush. Still, be it known, that a penny earned is a penny to spend. And the younger genera tion — including the young marrieds — is even willing to work to get a little more spending money. No allowance is big enough these days to cover all the needs of the lilies of the social field. Naturally they find it expedient to "sew and spin" — for a consideration. You can't, you know, have all the things done at the beauty shop, buy all the gowns, sport things, books, anti ques, trips to Europe and the south, club dues and club bills, motor and horses, on what father or husband sees fit to allow. Consequently a career — be it ever so humble — is not to be sniffed at. There are, of course, only a few things that one may do that can be taken seriously. One may write — oh, preferably, one may write ; but writing and getting paid for it — ah, that's hardly synonymous! Interior decorating has not lost caste (if any thing it marches on, now that everyone has the fever to reproduce European interiors into strictly American apart ments). Book shops continue genteel, but confining; antique shops ditto, but most educating (you've simply got to know all about the things you collect and sell!); the stage — unless- it is as Elinor Patterson Codman found it — a little risky — but fascinating . . . . so fascinating that at least twenty of the younger smart set are studying in local dramatic schools; selling clothes isn't bad; "arting" is ideal if it in cludes a studio, but after all one must have talent, and there is a real dreath of that in the more cultivated circles; singing, professionally is being done hardly at all. But one way and an other the "poor little rich girl" who simply must augment her allowance, makes whatever job she goes in for amusing and fashionable. It's surprising how many take a fling at journalism. Dorothy Keeley Aldis (Mrs. Graham Aldis) has a flair for the "pat" sentence and she garnered a weekly wage, just sitting at home at her typewriter this winter, the while she awaited the advent of the new Aldis heir, sending bi-weekly articles to the woman's page of an evening news paper. "Gypsy" Lewis, the spouse of the dilettante J. Hamilton, does a stunt for the over-a-milhon circulation Her ald-Examiner every Sunday and they do say she makes enough to pay her expenses in Europe all summer. Dorothy Rend, whose two sisters Mary and Helen have put their talents to work, is not out of her social shell yet and still she h3? ambitions to be a reporter, but until she lands the job, she is writing lyrics for popular songs, and the music, too. And even the Winterbotham clan is not too proud to write if there be remuneration therefrom. Theodora Winterbotham Badger (Mrs. Shreve Badger) has been taking a page out of the book of her aunt Mrs. John Alden Carpenter, who has made lots of money of her own interior decorat ing, by writing a series of articles for a magazine on simple interior decora tion. She has already made several talks at the largest department store in town on table decorations for which she and a number of the young women of her set, who did the same thing were well paid. Elizabeth Chase, a modern Diana of the Chase, if you put Diana in the Chase that used a horse for her hunt ing, has little time to earn any money — she's so busy running around to horse shows, and carrying off ribbons and trophies — is not the writer her Aunt Janet Fairbank is — but she wrote a magazine article — or a couple of them THE CHICAGOAN this summer, describing the trip she and her sister Janet took down into Mexico this Spring, for the purpose of adding to a fund that will buy her a new hunter this fall. I haven't seen it published yet, but if Elizabeth writes truthfully, it should be a whiz of a story. And still in the writing class, though she has a private income of her own, is Mrs. Carter H. Harrison. After every globe-circling jaunt that she and the former Mayor of Chicago take, she does a series of newspaper articles, for which she is well paid. Mrs. Kellogg Fairbank sticks to books and small magazine stories for her own income, and hasn't branched out into the less exotic form of litera ture that we are pleased to call jour nalism. And her daughter Janet takes a little job now and then to add to the pin money. Last winter she cata loged the Racquet Club Library (what a jolly waste of time — who reads any thing at the Racquet — unless it be the papers and the magazines?) and doing it by the hour, she was able to put by a nice little nest egg that hatched out in Paris for opera tickets, teas at the Ritz, and a few dancing lessons. Paul Stone-Raymor, Ltd. Mrs. Wayne Chat field-Taylor is one of the most popular and active matrons of the younger married smart set. She L\ the youthful mother of four small children, and is having built one of the handsomest large homes in Lake Forest, with an eye always to the comfort of the youngsters and the friends they will have around them THE CHICAGOAN 15 SOCIETY Janet Pauling writes, too — Janet who would only have to look pretty to justify her existence — and gets a weekly check for doing it; and Mildred Fitz- Hugh, the daughter of the Carter Har rison FitzHughs, has a magazine story published every now and then to pay some of the expenses of going to the races all over the country. But Mil dred is making more money right now at the little antique shop out in Lake Forest that she, her sister Virginia and Mrs. Billy Swift own jointly. It's a fad to buy wedding gifts there — things for early American collecting brides, and this Spring has been a per fect bonanza for them. Some of the other little fortunes that are being made to spend, go to Marion Stoebel Mitchell who sells her poetry , and has a regular job on "Poetry" Magazine; Jane Morton, Mrs. Billy Swift's sister, who sells motor cars (Jane has always had some kind of a job to swell the limited al lowance her father (Mark Morton) gave her. Others are Mrs. Livingston Fairbanks, who joined the Cold Cream Aristocracy and took a thousand dollars for giving her picture and endorsement for a well known face cream ; Mrs. Edward Vilas Piatt, who sells antiques at a store on Michigan Ave. ; Mrs. John Vincent who sells gowns at a Michigan Ave. smart shop; Mrs. Robert H. McCreary who does in terior decorating with Louisa San born Hill helping her ; Marion Ol- cott, the daughter of the Henry C. Olcotts, who has a book shop; Mrs. Philip Maher (the daughter of the famous scientist, A. A. Michelson of the University of Chicago) who gave advice as a gift, "secretarys" at a department store for a while ; Katharine Ham- ill, who does office work at a wom- ans' political organization head quarters ; Frances McFadden, daughte: of Mrs. Parmalee Mc Fadden, and niece of Ernest and Abram Poole, writer and artist, re spectively, who writes for a maga zine to the tune of a neat little in come from frivolities. Mrs. Howard Linn still contin ues to thrive at her avocation of in terior decorating, and is getting a good profit from the Illinois Women's Athle tic Club for giving it the perfect and correct interior; Mrs. John Carpenter is always making enough to dress her, self with her work, she just finished do ing a LaSalle Street bond office a while back; Mrs. Volney Foster has a thriv ing business in ready-to-wear, Mrs. George Porter, whose husband is im mensely rich, has a book store but doesn't pretend to realize much on it yet; and even Mrs. David Adler, who sent her book to the publisher last month, is looking forward to the income it may bring her. Lots more would get themselves jobs if they knew what to do. In fact, I hear Daphne Field Kelley (Stanley Field's daughter) quoted as having said that she'd always wanted to do some thing. She'd thought of writing a cook book, using some of the famous old recipes that have been in her mother's family for years, "but," wailed Daphne, "I can't put that across for mother comes from Baltimore and all the fam ily recipes call for a glass of sherry here, and a pint of champagne there, and in these days of prohibition, no one would take me seriously." — LA COMTESSE. A A Poetry ME, I like poetry when it's good. I started a poem of my own which I liked. It was about a poor street cleaner on Michigan Boulevard who was trying to make a home for .poor babies, but Mary, those flesh-colored stockings are positively indecent. How many times must your mother and I ask you not to wear them? I'm not father! everybody discouraged me, even the landlord, so I never did finish it. Personally, I don't think there's been much good poetry written since Jim Bludsoe, and Mr. Hay was a good poet even though he was in politics. But today poetry is pretty flat; the only ones who stand above the herd are Guest, Johnny Weaver, and Line Crowd and Ella from Wisconsin. I can't re member her last name or where she lived in Wisconsin, but she died. I have a friend on Huron Street who's writing some snappy stuff. He has one number about a man who lived just around the corner. It seems he was a very lonely man, and, every day, my friend was going to call on him, but he kept putting it off. Then, one day, he finally walked around the cor ner and found a crepe on the lonely man's door. Too Late is the title. I guess Service was the influence, all right, but plenty people are mocking Service, even Kipling. I must admit that most modern poetry is bad. Take Millay for in stance. She's always crying about some unhealthy person she can't get, or if she does get him, she's crying because she can't get rid of him. Besides I know whom she's mocking. Some people think it's Browning, but I happen to know it's a woman named Apples who's writing for the Line. Me, I like good healthy subjects for verse, like converted cowboys wiping out saloons, millionaire farmers leaving their fortunes to school milk funds, and bandits risk ing their lives to rescue grey haired ladies who look like their mothers. Of course my friend on Huron Street has one number Drink Your Beer, Baby which doesn't sound so healthy, but it really isn't bad. It's about a chorus girl who found mat rimony less delightful than she imagined so he called it Drink Your Beer, Baby. The first time I heard the title I thought the poem was immoral, like the things Dawson and Villon - (Continued on page 27) 16 THE CHICAGOAN THE PERENNIAL PLOT Once upon a time there were two guillemots who together lived in a beautiful apartment on the Lake Shore Drive in that local ity known as The Gold Coast, because of the presence therein of so many pros pectors. Now, as it fortunately happened (otherwise there would be no story) they had been but shortly married and they were very much in love with each other after the fashion of those but shortly married even in this advanced age of enlightenment. The young bride was, strangely enough, a very beautiful maiden with sweet thoughts and dimples in her knees, and, and, and — oddly the young man was also very handsome, of a noble disposition and the proud possessor of many rich pairs of bell-bottom trousers made of sundry and diverse rare goods brought from many lands, and New York. He was quite like a prince in a fable —almost any unreliable fable — in that, for the first few months after he was married, he used to return home from his work at odd times so that he might surprise, his wife and hug her and kiss her (period.) Little by little a witch called Sub conscious Memories wished a terrible spell upon him. Fie upon her, for no sooner had she done it than a green dragon crept into the young man's so hitherto childlike soul. The plain fact of the matter was that; being a broker by profession and having sound reasons to doubt his own integrity he, with equal whole-hearted- ness, doubted* that of everyone else. And so sad days came upon the young couple. One afternoon the young man came home very unexpectedly at half past two in the afternoon, a thing no hus band who is a gentleman and a scholar ever will do. He mounted in a golden elevator to his eyrie upon the fifteenth floor and let himself into his apartment very soft ly with a golden pass key — this, too, is a foul, according to the matrimonial Hoyle which needs badly to be writ. So soon as he had entered a peculiar ly vile odor met his nostrils. Advancing stealthily through his apartment he looked about for his good wife — al though he did not at the moment make use of the adjective — but, alas, she was nowhere properly to be seen — and in nowise. Soon, however, with the American Husband's impetuous desire always to know the worst he entered her boudoir ! Lo and behold! Oh! very, very low, so far as the young man's spirits were concerned, was his fair wife, looking as though she were the Felts domestic who devoured the Serinus canaria. The young man's mind began to do a macabre. One of the remarkable things about American Husbands is their annoying habit of getting intense ly angry at the inevitable that they have right along known must happen some time. He eyed his good wife for a moment in frank, even quite lamentable, dis pleasure; and then he noticed that the vile smell was predominant in this, his good wife's, boudoir. Instead of being pleasantly gratified that his worst suspicions had been well founded and that he was right again, he became very rude. Seeminglv this sort of thing is the one case where the pussiant male dislikes to have it turn out that he was right as usual. Suddenly he noticed the origin of the very bad odor. There was a lighted cig arette lying deceitfully in the ash tray. A very rough and ready cigarette, such a one as well he knew his good wife never smoked such a one as he well knew were not ever kept anywhere in the apartment. He cursed, neither picaresquely nor daintily. "So !" he threw at her.'Tve got the goods on you at last !" "Wh-what do you mean?" she bluffed very pianissimo. (The dialogue is always the same under these circum stances — =to vary it would be to break faith with literary and lay traditions.) "Simply this . . . ! I shall see my lawyer in the morning." "But why — ? What have I done?" "There's no telling, though I think a jury would guess such an obvious conundrum right off the bat." "But what makes you think . . . ?" "I come in and find an aroma of burn't camel's hair in the apartment. I go to your boudoir. I find you ; I find this! I find the other — nearly . . . !" "You cad! I'm out of breath be cause I'm so frightened. I have but just this moment come in. I, too, not iced the peculiar odor. I took off my hat and put it on the dresser there where you see it and then I turned about looking for the source of the rowdy incense and I saw that cigarette stub burning there. Someone has been in the apartment. I was frightened to death and I was so glad when I saw you come through the door and then you, you, you ba baw bawl m-m-m-e out!" Before her tears he nearly melted. Nearly. . . . Pari passu with her tears his passion mounted — but backwards this time. "See here you little double-crossing houri. Don't think for one minute that you can pull a De Maupassant on me and then cry your way out of it. Mrs. D. W. Griffith has that scene in the first movie ever shot — it don't go any more. I'm going to see my lawyer I'll remain downtown at a hotel until the case comes up and you may have the apartment to yourself and your cab bage-leaf smoking friends. Good bye. Good Luck and Allah strafe you!" He dashed toward the door, thinking how lucky it was that he had got something on her before she got something on him; it is always pleasanter to divorce than to be divorced. At this juncture a third voice cracked out on the desert air. (Continued on page 30) THE CHICAGOAN 17 THE ART GALLERIES IF, writing of the town's only mid summer novelty in paint, the cur rent one man shows at the Art Inc'atute, one were confronted with the task of putting the gist of one's critical opinion into a head — what to do! what to do! You cannot, I have long since discovered, be properly vit riolic when you have to count your ems. The newspaper copyreader, the most Pollyannaish individual imagin able, has ruined the art. Even his time- old holocausts savor irremediably of sweetness and light. And the word, "piffling," simply will not fit. I know ; I've tried it. Yet that is the one word that comes to me when I think of these exhibits. Last year, it was different — in a way. It seemed to me then that I had never seen so much bad painting under one roof. It was unbelievable. Surely, I reflected, the Institute must have agents out. But at least, the very rottenness of the thing made an impression — a smashing impression, as the actor re marked when he received the hen fruit. But this year, even that impresssion is lacking. For the most part medioc rity without a kick. I was wroth with myself for being unable to become wroth. Let us begin with Mr. Forsberg. Mr. Forsberg is a gentleman who teaches art (!) at the Institute. He is said to be the inventor of a system of muscular arm movement in painting, something like the old Spencerian pen manship systems, one fancies. A Finn by birth, his paintings were made in Finland. They are not bad painting — don't get that impression — so far as technique is concerned. But it is a technique which would have passed as conservative fifty years ago. And be yond the technique, there is absolutely nothing. Not a spark. Not a word to say. Mr. Schwartz comes next. Mr. Schwartz goes in for modernism with a vengeance. Personally, I do not be lieve he deserves criticism, but since he is accorded a place here, he must be noticed. His color to me is bludgeon- ingly ugly. His drawing has absolutely no depth, no solidity. Like most faux- modernists, he has taken from this and that ism, this and that trick of tech nique. His "Fisherman's Family' might be Augustus John — anybody. His "Before the Storm" might be S andzen — anybody. As for Sandzen, he is an artist, what ever his faults. I have liked some of his work very much, but I believe he stands up better in black and white than he does in color. He has some thing of the color virtuosity of John Marin or James Chapin without the cyclonic qualities of these two. Glen Mitchell, despite the fact that he has been given a room, is an illus trator and may be dismissed as such. Frances Cranmer Greenman, who comes to us from Minneapolis, has some sustained trickiness in col or and drawing; but I know at least one young critic who disliked her very much on first ac quaintance and who came back to like. She has, un doubtedly, heard of mod ernism, but how much of it has she made her own — ? I must confess, to a cer tain mild disillusionment in Flora Schoenfeld. She, too, has run the gamut of modernism. At least two of her pictures in the pres et showing are strong work: her mother group (No. 14) and a woman's head (No. 16). Many of the other pictures are rem iniscent of the French modernists. On the whole, I do not get the impres sion that I did seeing a pair of her canvases in the professional members' show at the Arts Club. As for Irving Manoir — I have never been able to take Mr. Manoir quite seriously. — Samuel Putnam. In the Night .... So prettily you lay, asleep .... And I, beside you, wide awake .... I saw bold moon-beam dancers creep Between the hangings. They would take You with them. All around our couch They moved, — their bodies yellow- gold, — In slow parade, then stopped to crouch Above you, bending to behold Your beauty. Wide-eyed, lying there, I knew they'd fail : for I was near. They ran long fingers through your hair And breathed moon-fancies in your ear. They pressed their pale palms to your cheek Until you stirred .... They had no shame In them .... I felt your fingers seek My own. Softly . . you . . called . . my . . name .... — Donald Kennedy Lyle. One of the Paintings by Richard Carr Young Recently Exhibited at the Art Institute 18 THE CHICAGOAN CHICAGO BLUES TT Tell hath no terors for a Loop I I Hound. After having spent ten •*- -*• years in the Chicago Loop where streets full of craters caused by buckling street laying jobs, done by contracts 1 e t b y buckling politicians, and terrorized over by shrieking trucks and scooting taxis, one could feel only peace and a quite sense of calm security in Hades, be it ever so Dante. The day was excessively hot, which is not a cliche when speaking of Chi cago : days are always one of three things in Chicago: excessively hot, ex cessively cold, or excessively windy. The harried demos were showing each other along the narrow sidewalks as usual. At the corner of Washington and State a police official of the conven tional Celtic extraction was cursing at the driver of a taxi : not that either one of these gentlemen really abhored each other — quite the contrary; they loved each other, as people grow to love each other in Chicago. A short distance away the elevated railroad ground along like Longfellow's Brook — with a sore throat. Out in the river the fire tug was rushing to the pyre of a million dollars worth of insurance making a noise similar in scope and intent to that which might be expected if all the dead mopped up in the combined Iroquois and Eastland disasters had gotten together and decided to harangue in uni son toward an eight hour day for spooks. Down on the lake front, twelve hundred and eight loco motives, proudly strutting where Mr. Harrison benevo lently let them in proudly to strut were billowing forth float ing miasma and filling the air with sounds comparable to a Niagara Falls suddenly turned into a flow of old boilers. It was killing day out at the stockyards, as any observant proboscis could easily testify Market Street a tug was remonstrating, with Heaven and Gary, Indiana as auditory witnesses, over the opening of a bridge which could not be cleared be cause a truck had broken down upon it. Into this exact reproduction of gehenna at its hottest point strolled two anthropological specimens to whom all was pink music and chocolate moosh. For aught they knew they were the only ones in the Loop that day ; of sound they heard nothing save the car essing tones of each other's fondant voices. As they walked down Washing ton street between office buildings so old they looked like last year's Forest Preserve Murders just uncovered, and office buildings so new they looked like obscene, Gargantuan infants born and turned loose upon the world without so much as a diaper, they were con scious only of wriggley feelings which mildly titillated their toes and rose in exquisite spasms up their spinal columns to the cenotaphs mounted on their shoulders. Passersby walked in wide circles around them, as they would have walked in wide circles around a needy war veteran with half of himself blown away. At crossings blase taxi drivers, calling them unpretty things under their lusty breaths, made a swift turn about them. They had the consistency of personal safety popularly ascribed to drunkards, reformers, evangelists, pro hibitionists and other mental cripples, in that nothing could hurt them while they were in the thaumaturgical trance. At To the slightest degree the faces of observing pedestrians relaxed from the habitual moron Chicagoan's fixation of hate, doubt, fear and anguish. And then, like a bolt from the blue, as they passed a crowded spot, something ter rible happened. The young bride let out a little scream ; and the young husband turned certainly redder than he had turned when he stood up and feebly "Yes'd," back at the minister. For a moment they stood staring at each other with looks of blackest despair and then com ing somehow to himself the benedict left his fecund looking wife in the mid dle of the sidewalk surrounded by an imaginative crowd of men who had not yet gotten as far as her face and rushed down Washington Street. Up to a swiftly walking individual he breath lessly dashed. "Oh, sir!" he pleaded, "won't you please come back! You see, We were just married this morning — and that such a thing should happen on our very wedding day! Something terrible will surely come to us unless you cancel it. My wife is almost in tears; if she should actually weep I would simply die ; she's so sweet and pure and holy and easily hurt, and, and, and . . . ." "Say! Whatinthl are you talking about — you damn nut?" growled the man who happened to be a successful Chicago plain clothes man — though his clothes were not plain but remarkably intricate. "Come back!" wailed the uxorious youngster. "Oh, sir, please PLEASE come back!" Under the young mono gamist's urging the minion of law and a reasonable amount of what passes for order in Chicago walked back. Suddenly the young husband stopped at his amah's side, and stepped off about a foot, carefully. "Now, please, sir; if you'll just walk backward between us and undo it — you see, you walked squarely between us a minute ago and on our very wedding day ... !" The detective complying growled, snapped, showed his teeth at the crowd and hurried off, hating himself because he had been tricked into doing something rather human. And then a miracle occurred on Washington Street! Four hundred and eighty-two half dead, weary, blase, neurotic, erotic, dis illusioned, three - quarters undernour ished, one hundred percent poor though dishonest Chicagoans smiled and for three-fifths of a second looked humanly pleasant before hurrying on to resume cheating each other. — Jack Woodford. THE CHICAGOAN 19 300KT- A Vacation Book- Shelf " a boo k underneath the bough," sang Omar a few years ago. It was a good line and still works won ders in making Paradises out of Wild ernesses. Here are a few books that will help you forget what Mr. Fahrenheit's invention is registering "in the shade." the red gods call: A tale of romantic nights under the Southern Cross, the far-away tinkle of a guitar and the lovely cadences of a dusky girl singing a Spanish love-song. A night, darkly mysterious, laden with the half- felt rumor of a revolution. A dual with bright knives flashing in the moon light. Away off Out There where romance is waiting around every corner to spring at you. Romance! the splendid rascals Pirates! The Spanish Inquisition ! Gold, Pearls The luckless king, Charles Stuart, waiting for his doom. in bad with sinbad: A modern Arabian night (and knight) in Bagdad- on-the-Subway, a tale that takes you from Times Suqare to Chinatown and back again. Excellent stuff. travel charts and travel chats: Whether you go to Europe this sum mer or whether you do your Cook's tour on your front porch, you'll want to read Frederick Collin's book. De cidedly new! Charts of where to go, whatto see, where and what to eat, all spiced with pungent witty chatter about this and that. The book itself is a trip to Europe and no bother about pass ports. A A C. E. Scoggins, author of the red god's call, is one of the regular S. E. P. writers whose work is always awaited eagerly by his large and grow ing public. Not long ago Mr. Scog gins published in that magazine a short story called "Not So, Bolivia." The title phrase has had the unusual distinction of having become a part of the slang vocabulary of the "slinguists" in California. There it is quite common to hear your slightest question an swered flippantly, thus: "Not So, Boli via!" miss TIVERTON goes out has now gone into the fourth edition. This charming anonymous book is winning high praise all over the country, every one clamoring to know who the author is. There must be a reason and a good one for the author's anonymity. The book, lovely and delicate, is one to be proud of, so that can't be the reason. Almost everyone is agreed that it must be a woman, for only a sensi tive, intelligent woman could under stand and interpret the elusive psycho logy of the book's heroine. A wistful, exquisite girl, vividly alive to impres sions, a member of a vulgar, new-rich family with whom she has nothing at all in common, is the spirit of this mov ing and delightful novel. The New York Times selected it as one of the fifty outstanding books of the year. It has been compared favorably in Gals worthy and Hugh Walpole. The fourth edition is now selling. But still the cry of "Author, Author!" echoes and re-echoes, unheeded and unanswered. Did your grandfather sign the Decla ration of Independence? If not, can you give a good reason why not? Dr. Wm. E. Barton, author of "The Life of Abraham Lincoln," "The Beautiful Blunder," etc., while in Washington, D. C, with his two small grand-daugh ters and grandson, took them to see the Declaration of Independence. After having looked at the signatures of John Hancock, Button Gwinnett, et al., Mary Esther said: "Now let's find Grandpa's." Dr. Barton blushed painfully and was forced to admit that his name was not there at all. The children were dis appointed but little William Barton Stilwell solved the problem by saying: "Grandpa has his fountain pen. Let him sign it now!" (Quick Curtain.) A A Only one book has issued forth from the mid-season presses that has been startling enough to give many readers prickly heat under their summer collars. Whether it comes under Books, good — or Books, bad — depends largely on which side of Com- stockery you stand. And just how many of the gutter allusions one under stands. Curiously enough the volume is one of poetry, "Is 5" by e.e. cum- mings, to be exact. You may feel like a suburban friend of mine who read the book and said, "The right thing isn't wrong with me to understand this stuff." Or you may want to join the author in a g r a n d , nose-thumbing revolt against American smuggness. What ever your attitude, Cummings remains a writer of excellent verse, verse punc tuated in the manner peculiar to Cum mings and that school of American writers who fill the Dial. The man's poetry can convince you that two and two is five, or seven, or anything else he pleases, and that is power, as well as poetry, of the first order. "The American Ballet" by Ted Shawn, beautifully illustrated with photographs of Shawn in his most am bitious poses and costumes; finest of paper ; a n d completest o f summaries make the book nice to own as well as necessary to one who would know the art of the American ballet. Shawn proves himself to be very literal minded for he has secured Havelock Ellis' in troduction to his work. "The Duffer's Handbook of Golf;" you'll know it by its vivid plaid cover books. Giantland Rice knows I the appoplertic hue of the an- \ gered golfer and has neatly af- A fected it for his cover's color. If JH you are a duffer you'll sym- JV pathize \\ i t li tin- predica- ¥E ments. It you have gone be- /¦ vond that, you'll have a good ffjjv laugh. Briggs JbL did the illus- Q^_<L-Ji5^ (Continued on page 27) 20 THE CHICAGOAN DIONYSIAC DAWN Drunkenness. . . . divine reeling of stars .... a drunken god with purplish-red wine dripping down his dirty-streaked grey beard, pulling the strings of a crazy, dancing universe, laughing maudlinly .... a strip of moon-drenched cloud over a skyscraper roof .... morning on the lake .... green matins of Dionysus . . . . a satyr's laugh .... hoof-beat of faun .... splash of a fountain .... pit-pat of scurrying nymphs like rain . . . . faun, satyr, fountain, nymphs .... all old poetic props, curse classical background .... Mr Dionysus, meet Mr. Volstead .... driver must be drunk .... see how clipped that cor ner .... else, don't know business . . . . fresh from country, maybe . . . . all get jobs taxi drivers .... must be dam dis'lusioning .... North Side's hell of place .... Hobohahmya . . . . Hah! .... We're goin' Dutch's place .... good beer there .... no good beer any more .... dam home brew .... better'n nothin' .... monks . . . . old days .... they had bellies full .... wish was monk .... man's gotta drink .... necessity get drunk ev'ry three months .... W-william Jones says so ... . exhaust .... got let off steam .... life's hell, anyway . . . . dam pro'bitionists don't un 'stand . . . . not s-s-sensitive .... got no-no nerves .... what's dam copper holdin' us up for .... Sloane, show'm p'lice card .... tell'm we're goin' Dutch's place .... he ought know Dutch .... Dutch's all right if is bootlegger . . . . dam moonshine get now'days .... aw ful rot ... . full ether .... wake up blind some morning .... dead, maybe . . . . not like good ol' hootch .... 15 cents shot .... boy! them was good old days .... I'm goin' to settle down outside of London town down in a vil lage by the sea .... wish this London . . . . civ'lized country .... man's dam fool stay here .... get out dam coun try soon's possible .... sit pub all day long .... drink Johnny Walker .... chuck barmaid under chin .... tha'sa life .... go South Sea islands like Gaugin .... Moon Sixpence .... cheap book .... he had right dope, though .... must be almost there .... see lamp posts . . . funny .... reminds Russian ballet .... When the moon shines on the moonshine .... Drunk enness .... divine reeling of stars .... a drunken god with purplish-red wine dripping down his dirty-streaked grey beard, pulling the strings of a crazy, dancing universe, laughing maudlinly .... Dionysus .... dawn on the lake . . . . Dutch's place. — Samuel Putnam. A A AIMEE SEMPLE McPHERSON (Continued from page 11) "The offering will now be taken," continues the pastor, urging that it be liberal. And, from the response to this admonition, one can easily believe the rumors that this woman is a million aire. One remembers at this moment, too, that Aimee has one hundred branch churches! Before proceeding t o h e r sermon, pastor McPherson requests that no one leave the building while she is preach ing, saying that it disturbs her. The request is usually ignored toward the latter part of the sermon — perhaps only by the curious! As to the sermon itself? Three long texts are quoted from as many different parts of the Bible. Strangely enough, however, Aimee interperses with her text, explanations of her expenditures. Many rumors are afloat, she complains, as to how she disposes of the ample collections gathered a t h e r meetings. Opening her arms wide and striking one fists against the palm of the other hand, she cries: "A friend of mine lent me a saddle horse the other morning. I went for a short canter — the first pleasure I have had in weeks. In three days the rumor was rampant that I owned a string of horses and raced them at Tia Juana, making a lot of money on the side." Prolonged howls of laughter — earsplit- ting applause ! Is she satisfied? It seems so, for the sermon itself is launched. It is the old tale of Michael Angelo and the block of ancient granite that contained a flaw. As the story unfolds itself, Aimee reenacts the episodes, grabbing an imaginary shovel and pushing it into the floor with her foot, manipulating an invisible broom, posing a la Susanne Lenglen with imaginary hammer and chisel. "The greatest need today is that people overcome their imperfections," cries Aimee. "Wanted — " Aimee raises her slim white arms and leaps as though to intercept a forward pass — "wanted overcomers!" And with this climax of emotional or religious fervor, the ser mon ends. The Salvation Army worker, guest of honor, leads the closing prayer. A few moments of silence follow, and then the electric gong rings and the people file out, yawning — o n 1 y the curious, of course! A brilliant actress or a religious fanatic, one wonders. And the doubts multiply as one watches the unfolding of the present kidnapping case, the aspects of which change with each suc ceeding edition of the paper. One may be a cynic to doubt the pure motives of this woman evangelist, but one de tects the savor of sensationalism and cheap publicity in the "role" of Aimee Semple McPherson. — Vivien Mercer. A Why do I sit like this at mid night While sleep stands there with folded arms Sneering and laughing? Why must love always make of me A mad fanatic, railing at the fate that strips me Naked for the winds to lash ? You were the last to drink my wine, Leaving the broken crystal as it fell. Since you gather them not, Blameless leave me if in passing Once again this way, They cut your feet. — Sereto L. Hollingsworth. — Helen Babcock. THE CHICAGOAN 21 I =* i TT\ /7, \W\ J\ Iv"/* PJ^ijS ^F$£Z ** / A*»>. |~2jj ' TO H |\i kJl \ / l /^t > j^_ V ***^ "<^ ^kr^~^^ \ ;^| ^^^^J 22 BEGINNERS WANTED In A world where expereince is a sine-qua-non so-how-the-Sam-Hill- can-you-get-itf Many a beginner is deterred before he begins. The mer chant wants an experienced salesman; fche manager, an experienced actor; the candy manufacturer, an experienced chocolate-dipper. We even have pro fessional beauties who issue forth from Atlantic City each year to open movie theaters, lead parades and cause young girls to ponder if they too, should not let their hair grow long. As a result one is either a professional — or a pro fessional amateur — or nothing ! A great many of us are — not professional. We know how to work, but when we want to be amused we let George do it. We get our self-expression by turning radio dials, dropping a tear, or, when we are aroused to real frenzy, shouting, "Atta boy!" In such a world we are afraid of making fools of ourselves. We are afraid that someone will think that we think that we can do something! Even when a man with as much cour age as conviction issues a call for ama teurs the bold spirits that answer comes silently, with side glances over their shoulders and alibis on the tips of their tongues. Such was at first the behavior of those pioneers who responded to the Art Institute's invitation to members to join a sketch class whether they could draw or not, preferably if they could not. Between two and half past on Thursday afternoons this winter and spring they slipped shyly into Fuller- ton Hall. Smiling little embarrassed smiles they paid a nickle for three sheets of paper, a stick of charcoal, two paper clips and the use of a drawing- board. They tiptoed down the aisles to the seats with the best view of the stage. If they talked, they talked iv whispers. Some thought they could draw, some were afraid to draw but wanted to know how it was done. Within half an hour they were all drawing. The credit belongs to Dudley Crafts Watson, acting head instructor in the Department of Museum Instruction, who not only conducts the class but also conceived the idea of it and per suaded canny directors to give it a trial. "Art is long and time is fleet ing," but in fifteen years Mr. Watson succeeded in getting his class of adult beginners. "Everybody can learn to draw," he says. "Not that everybody can be a great artist, but everybody can learn to set down his impressions on paper in an eminently satisfying way. When you start to draw an object, however familiar, you will find that until that moment you never half observed it, but after you have drawn it, you will remember it forever. If you like to take photographs as a record of a sum mer vacation think how much more fun and enduring pleasure you would get out of making sketches of the sights you see." Mr. Watson's enthusiasm is conta gious. Even though you may be one of those can't-draw-a-straight-line peo ple he makes you wonder if, after all you haven't a hidden spark. "Draw ing," he says, "is not only one of the finest but also the most fundamental forms of expression. It preceded writ ing. It is the great universal language. Draw a little every day and see how eloquent you will become. I believe that one of the great reasons why France has remained an art center for so many years and why the French people are noted for their taste is that so many of them are able to express themselves through an artistic medium. Wherever you go in Paris you fin someone drawing. You may see a- old man come into a theater or a rest aurant. Perhaps he is a member of the Academy, bearded and dignified ; but do not be surprised if in a little while he reaches into a pocket for paper and pencil and begins to sketch. In this country very few of us do THE CHICAGOAN that. Even if we know how we are afraid of making ourselves conspicuous. I am amazed and appalled when 1 visit our great winter resorts. There we have the most beautiful of natural settings and could have the greatest facilities for self expression, and what do we do? We sit around and wait to be amused. We get a large part of our exercise dealing cards at a bridge table. The ladies used to crochet and tat — that was little enough — but now they don't even do that." Fortunately, Mr. Watson does not think our case is irremediable. That is why he started his Thursday after noon sketch class at the Art Institute. "In nearly every family there has been some one who drew or wanted t draw," he says. "Here in America we have been so busy getting estab lished for the last two or three or four generations that the artistic strain has been submerged. Now that we have more leisure it should have a chance to develop." The class is enchanted. It is a most informal class. There is no red tape of matriculation, no tui tion fee (except, of course, the prere quisite membership in the Art Insti tute), no roll call, no questions. Now pupils may enter the class at any les son. Old ones come if they want and stay away only if other serious obliga tions oblige them to. The *membership is largely feminine (remember that the class meets at two-thirty in the after noon), ranging from those who are just old enough, to those who are not quite too old, to go down town alone. The average attendance for this first year has been eighty. Among the problems that Mr. Wat son has assigned have been the figure in repose, the figure in action, in de sign. The class was initiated into "rythmic drawing," and one exciting hour was spent in drawing to actual music. The hopeful artists began to bring in for criticism drawings that were made at home. Several women formed an additional sketch class i:: their neighborhood. "Mr. Watson's class, now ad journed for vacation, has not stopped work, as far as can be learned. In time of peace prepare for war and in vacation time make ready for school, seems to be the motto of the Fullerton Hall artists. (Continued on page 31) THE CHICAGOAN 23 ./MART RENDEZVOUJ There is one place where food at noontime means anything at all this weather, and that is at the Petit Gourmet with its little tables and awnings scattered around a small studio courtyard. The Old World manner of the court, its intimate shop windows, iron stair rail, hanging vines, mean much to one who must find a retreat from the heat of the boulevard. There is only one Paris — and if you can't be there, try court of the Petit Gourmet — and you will be almost happy; will be happy in fact, after you find that not only has the place hyac inths for the soul, but bread of utmost perfection for the tummy. The food is perfect. Or if you want to be utterly Chi cago, or someone that's visiting you does, take him, her, them, to the Pal mer House and have the odd sensation of walking downstairs to get a view of Chicago from the rooftops. Around the walls of the Chicago Grill stretches a wall fresco that unfolds an aerial view before you, and for a painted can vas, the effect is very real, indeed. Speaking of pictures and walls re minds me of the Chez Pierre. Sev eral of us were look ing at a clever cray on sketch there, and because I seemed to be particularly inter ested, Pierre himself took it down and gave it to me. Try it some time, and if he hasn't read this, it may work. Even if it doesn't you will have had a wonder ful evening, for the Chez Pierre is a real place to dine and dance. I mean to move to the Sovereign where (as long as the pennies hold out) I can swim my head off. They have a swimming tank that is popular with all the younger executives and bachelor girls from one end of the North Shore to the other. A swim and dinner date at the Sovereign insures Y. E. further dates with his chosen lady, for it's like presenting her with candy from Gray lings, she knows he knows what's what. If you want to try something new and amusing, if not positively funny, saunter down to the midnight per formances of the Duo-Masque players on East Grand street. They usually promise three brief plays, a comedy, a tragedy, and a farce. We saw only a tragedy and a farce. Try to get there a while before the plays begin. The Lower Depths Tearoom will hold you entranced and dazed. If the smoke cloud doesn't get you the smell of stale beer will. All joking aside, you haven't seen Chicago if you haven't tried a Duo Masque or a Dill Pickle Club where Art is being Arty. A When it comes to masks, can anyone tell me why the management of the Villa Venice thinks that one can be curious about masked Marvels in such a weather as this? Let's suggest that the old curiosity ceases to work in August, and that it's because of the pleasant drive to and fro, as well as the good music, that makes the place intriguing. A A The lovable George Leiderman and the charming Rothschild make The Rendezvous Gardens a delight. The food is fit for a King and the enter tainment the best that Chicago's out door gardens offer. An evening here is both an investment in health and pleas- The new show which the city's busiest producer Rr.y Mack put into the new and elegant Frolic Cafe is unusual in both talent and lavishness. Mack has a decided flair for picking talent as is evidenced by having in his show such first-water entertainers as Joe Lewis, Mirth Mack, Williams Sisters, Jay Mills and others. ? ? "The Great Gasby" Reopens at Studebaker Theatre The new season was officially opened at the Studebaker Theatre August 1st, when William A. Brady presented "The Great Gats by," with James Rennie in the title role. This is the highly praised dra matization by Owen Davis of F. Scott Fitzgerald's popular novel of the same name. Mr. Brady obtains first place in the list of Chicago's new plays by having opened this drama on the first day of the new theatrical year. 24 THE CHICAGOAN /PORT/ REVI EW The folks who have taken lots of pride in the progress of their city, shoot ing holes at the same at the "Windy City" handle, finally are willing t o admit it. That recent bally-hoo participated in by Rickard, Dempsey and Clements on the heavyweight fight situation exuded enough wind to keep the town cool for the next year. At the start the thing was impossible, although the newspapers, gave great slabs of space to various angles of it because some of it made good reading. The majority however, razzed the pro posed enterprise and later it died a natural death when the boxing commis- sion blackballed all championship heavyweight bouts that may be contem plated in the future. The boxing game, which came back to life here July 10, has been getting along nicely. Jim Mullen, the demon promoter has staged two fights — one for a cham pionship ; another that was one of those all-star shows. The latter had more fighting on it than the first but despite this, the crowd was not what it should have been. Jim Mullen is now en deavoring to find out where and when and how the fans here like their fights. So he is going to stage his next show at the Cubs Park and make a night affair out of it. Various of the snaller clubs are pop ping up here and there with shows and appear to be doing well. The annual Chicago to Mackinac yacht race has been run and again the usual aftermath has developed. The rain question concerns the winner — as if ordinarily would. Intrepid won on a time allowance of ten seconds but now the crew of the Dorello, second placer, threatens to stir up quite a rumpus by having its boat remeasured. The Dorel- loans say that the re-measuring will give them the prize. The finish of last year's race also ended in a verbal scuffle so it is likely that eventually the yachts men will do something to eliminate any further possibilities of "yapping" at the finish of Mackinac races. Tournaments of all sizes and shapes are now getting under way on various courses of the city. The Jackson Park course seems to be one of the busiest with the city public parks meet having been staged one week and the women's Cook County championship the next. Golf in this section has brought out two golfers this year who threaten to get some place in the national realm during the next few years., One is Dave O'Connor of Lincoln Park, public parks champion. The other is Edna Hierman who has been playing a splen did game in recent tournaments. Ex perts say that they are destined to swing the canes with the Jones' and Colletts' of the future. — The Sportsman. A Col. William Roche who manages the handsome Harris Theatre cares not who makes the country's laws nor who writes its songs for the simple reason that what interests him most often his theatrical duties r.re taken care is the happiness and welfare of horses, dogs and quadrupeds of all variety. And to this end he devotes all his leisure time. Here is he pictured with "Mary- Co/. William Roche vale" a registered Shetland Pony, one of twenty-five he cares for, all imported from Scotland. "Fashion Plate' the head of the herd he keeps at the Lin coln Park Zoological Gardens. Together with Al Parker at the Zoo they raise colts and sell them to circuses and vaudeville entertainers, being extremely careful that the pur chaser will treat them in the humane Roche manner. He also has Police Dogs, "Poms" and "Pekes" and last but hardly least, some Jap chickens imported from the Philippine Islands. And busy as he is yet he always finds time to do what he can to add to the pleasure and well being of us fortunate bipeds who are lucky enough to know him. A great lil' fellow, this Colonel Roche. Yes, sir! And the more you talked and I lis tened, The more tears glistened, Not on my eyes but in my heart, And every word I heard Seemed to strike us farther apart; Until I would have given All I had to have driven Them back . . . those words . . . — Peter A. Lea. THE CHICAGOAN 25 MU/ICAL NOTE/ Out for the occasional sullen rush of a Northwestern limited or the insistence of a vicious mos quito (an insect easily, vanquished by cigarette smoke) Ravinia is the most wonderful place in the world to hear music. The out-of-doors has a soothing and curative power that over-extends into the kingdom of tone, and the murmvrs of the park blend restfully with the pure gold of the tenor and the sob of the strings. The spacious ness of this spot serves as no deterrent for orchestral and vocal sound. Neither the occasional rasping tone nor the oc casional muffling so peculiar to large halls obtrude. At Ravinia the audiences observe quietly during performance and give themselves up to the well-bred noises of rapture and appreciation only at the proper moments. The singers are the cream of the Metropolitan Opera, whom the canny (incongruous adjec tive) Mr. Eckstein procures by dint of diplomatic haggling with the powers of the East. They are paid staggering salaries to sing divinely in a beautiful setting for cultivated ladies and gentle men. The daily papers swoon in an effort to assemble appropriate words of commendation. And, but for one fly in the ointment, this is all as it should be and very nice indeed. Only one old issue persists with damning obstinacy: What do the singers sing and what does the orchestra play? And after raising this particular issue I do not intend to dogmatize and to deny the right of opera to exist. It has been consigned to oblivion many times as a bastard form of art, lacking uni formity, outrageously vulgar and scenically impossible. The net result has been — nothing. No, there is too much good opera to be sensibly a rad ical for absolutism in music and the abolition of this queer melting-pot of song, scene, symphony and ballet. But why the same old procession of bad music by second and third-rate composers? Why, again, the preten tiousness of Puccini, and salon music of Saint-Saens (for the score of Sam son is as gilded as a chair of the 70's), the bald banalities of Verdi and Doni zetti and the empty largeness and drama of Montemezzi until the lover of music turns to the gramaphone to hear Siegfried joyfully forge his sword. Look through the weekly schedule of the company at Ravinia. Puccini, Verdi, -Massenet, Gounod, Donizzetti and Puccini again. And nothing fresh or curious for a masterly band to play 01 for great singers to sing. But too much destructive criticism is naught and suggestions for an im proved repertoire are in order. I step bcldly forward, make a deep bow to the Patron of the Park and submit the following list: Mozart: The Marriage of Figaro, Cosi Fan Tutte, The Magic Flute, The Abduction from the Seraglio, etc. Richard Strauss : Salome, The Cavalier of the Rose, Ariadne auf Naxos, (delicious summer fare). Moussorgsky: Boris Goudonov, Kho- vantschina. Beethoven: Fidelio. Debussy: Pelleas et Melisande. Wagner: Die Meistersinger, Tristan and one or two of the Ring (instead of the pompous "Lohengrin" which even Wagner is supposed to have repudiated ) . Verdi: Othello, Falstaff. And if all this is too serious, I should relieve it with a mixture, not neces sarily of the hairless and toothless an cients of the repertoire but with the operettas of Oscar and Johann Strauss and of Franz Lehar. What a glorious place Ravinia would be for those! A few objections can be over-ruled in advance. A drastic change in the repertoire is not essential. Mix a few of the above with the present reper toire, shake the public gently and the f o 1 lo w i n g season it might cry for Mozart instead of sugar candy. The exigencies of staging elaborately would be no problem. Ravinia is not making history anyway in the decoration of the stage and we could afford to use our imagination a bit for the sake of good music and singing both. A re-vamping of the roster would be expedient. Some new singers would come, some old ones would go. The problem of casting would not be formidable when scores of excellent European singers trained in the principal roles of the works men tioned above could be coaxed to Amer ica for a summer to work for some of the Ravinian largesse. As for the audiences I submit a guarantee that, after they view the season in bulk, they will journey night ly northward as regularly as ever. A (Continued on page 31) 26 i/UBUK&AN ACTIVITIES A strange sense of restlessness pervades the North Shore towns, a foreboding of change, a premonition of supressed desires about to be unleashed; all these are straws in the wind that point toward an event constitutionally known as their day at home. A quaint custom this . . . prob ably dating from the time of Noah, when, to perpetuate that loyalty so necessary to community spirit, he called the clans together and said, "Come on boys and girls, come back to the roost and pay homage to your shelter in the time of storm; bring the children and the animals along and we'll make it a howling success; wel '11 do even more, we'll make it a custom that will be handed down to our children's child ren and then some (other people's children)." So they came from far and near, these loyal souls, and great was the merry-making. Noah, the good old scout, looked with approval on the festivities, looked with pride at the children and animals frisking about, slapped his side and said, 'It's a wow.' " So they called it a day ; and the common council sat and called it a day ; and all the bodies politic have been sitting ever since and calling for a day when they might stop sitting and go out and romp on the village green. Therefore we mark our calendar with a Winnetka Day, a Glencoe Day, a Highland Park Day . . . and woe unto him who enters the aforemen tioned precincts on their respective days without the brotherhood of man in his heart, and a bankroll in his pocket. Rather a novel series of entertain ments started at Skokie Country Club the afternoon of Sunday, July 18th, at four thirty, when Rudolph Reutter who has frequently appeared as soloist with the Chicago Symphony orchestra, initiated what is to be known as th twilight musicale, Mr. Reutter is in ternationally known as an artist of ran ability and Glencoe is to be congratu lated upon harboring a group of citi zens whose vision is sufficiently clear to recognize the value of such a project. The tired business man, knocking his wayward ball down the fairway after a grilling day of overshots and under putts, surely needs some spiritual uplift before taking up the burden that awaits him at the entrance gates. The Sheridan Shore Yacht club is the scene of great activity both aquatic and socially. Farther south in Belmont harbor the Chicago Yacht club is en couraging it by competitive races fol lowed by Sunday dinners. It is inti mated that Highland Park may build a breakwater that will afford protec tion for similar crafts and the enthus iasm for yachting, which has been so inexcusably dormant, may have a rena scence. Mrs. Dwight C. Orcutt, the newly elected president of the Winnetka Music club, is busy with the plans for the coming season of recitals. Judging from the group of executives who will be associated with Mrs. Orcutt, the success of the programs is already as sured. — Park Row. THE CHICAGOAN ARE YOU A CHICAGOAN? 1. What is the origin of the name Chicago ? 2. What public building has a quo tation from Milton at its front por tals? 3. Where is the shortest street in the city? 4. How long a hike would it be from one end of the city's shore line to the other? 5. What Chicago citizen has made a fortune being kind to dumb animals? 6. What lies 40 feet below the sur face of all streets in the loop? 7. What was the first newspaper printed in Chicago? 8. Who predicted that Chicago would be a sea-port in 1928? 9. How many railroads terminate here, making this the great terminal city? 10. Who first played politics and landed in the original mayor's chair? Answers : 1. Chi-ca-gou, Indian name for wild onions that grew along the river. 2. The Tribune Tower. 3. Armstrong Street, at 732 N. Michigan — approximately 40 ft. long. 4. Twenty-five and five-tenths miles. 5. Alonzo Clark Mather, President of the Humane Stock Transportation Car Co. 6. Tunnels where 3,000 electric cars haul freight, coal, etc. 7. The Chicago Democrat, in 1833. 8. The Chicago Chamber of Com merce in 1921. 9. Twenty-four trunk lines termin ate here. 10. The Honorable William B. Ogden, in 1837. A A LOCAL LIQUOR MARKET Tendency points to lower levels. Competition eoo keen and output exceeds demand. Our advice to large imbibers is not to stock up ! Per Case Scotch — Johnny Walker $100-125 White Horse 90-115 Black and White 90-120 Bourbon — Old Crow 100-125 Odds and Ends — Ale Light $ 15 Antique Whiskey 125 Old Taylor 115 Old Grandad 110 Wine (Calif.) 90 Cordials Mixed 125 Corn Whiskey, Gal $15-20 Beer, Case, Good $7 Champagne Not Wanted — W. D. Murphy. THE CHICAGOAN Books (Continued from page 19) "Here and Beyond," by Edith Whar ton. As the title indicates it's one of psychic affairs that go into the un- understandable. I suspect every woman writer has several such books up her sleeve. Anne Douglas Sedgewick re cently came out with a nervous col lection called "The Nest" and now it is Edith Wharton whom we never be fore suspected of being anything but placidly comfortable. "The Magnificent Idler." Beautiful title for August isn't it ? Beautiful sub ject too; Whitman was so perfect at idling. Anyone who could be "Me Im- peturbe" and abide by that philosophy was entitled to a good deal of idling. Omar Khayyam's legend is getting firmly implanted. Edward Fitzgerald did fairly well by him in his transla tion, and now come Haldayne McFall with "The Three Students" as gor geous poetic prose as one will find in a long day's journey. Those who have read MacFall's "Wooings of Jezebel Pettyfer," know his beauty of style. The outlaw horse is coming into his own as a subject for literature. Ross Santee, in "Men and Horses" knows the outlaw horse and has him down on paper exactly. In passing, the stories by Will James about Smokey, the wild horse, that have been appearing in Scribners, deserve the praise they are getting from many readers. Like the surge of the sea or the mov ing strength of strong winds, Donn Byrne's "Hangman's House" carries the reader through full romance. You may call Byrne sentimental, even sweet, but that is only when you don't under stand the gift of the Irish for the mov ing word. If you care to read seriously, don't overlook "The Story of Philosophy" by Will Durant covering them (the philo sophers) from Plato to Dewey, or "Havelock Ellis, A Critical Study," by Isaac Goldberg. There is a man who has the art of looking into the life of his subject — while there is life — and writing a biography that offends neither the discriminating reader nor the man analyzed. So much formid-season offerings. In another month will come the big on slaught of millions of printed pages; printed pages; printed sometimes with the living word, and more often — with print. Literally millions of pages! Hence the reviewer, he has his uses. — Lee Nore. Poetry (Continued from page 15) wrote, but there's not another reference to beer or wine in the whole thing. I read a book by Edgar Lee Mas ters, and I couldn't find two words in the whole thing that rhymed — just a lot of words about people who are al ways cheating somebody and never get reformed. The same with Ha/rriet Monroe. And they've both lived in Chicago for years and never made the Line. Why don't those people get wise to themselves? My friend on Huron Street has a rhyming dictionary which helps him a lot. For instance, he looks up "lark" and finds "park," "dark," "spark" or "Clark." But you take The Hotel by Harriet Monroe, and it hasn't any rhyme. She at least could have used "sell," or "fell," or "dwell" to rhyme with "hotel." And another thing about my friend on Huron Street. He doesn't wear Windsor ties and he doesn't look like a heifer about to jump a fence. He even combs his hair. He's just a plain poet of the people, writing verse about honest folk. And he doesn't compile anthologies and fill it with his own verse, either. Take William Ellery Leonard, for instance. I read his Two Lives and went to church as soon - as I finished it. My God, no one but Brigham Young should write a thing like that, and it's true — that's what hurts so — everything he says in that book is sup posed to be true. Don't you think he could have been decent enough to lay the story in Salt Lake City instead of putting it in Madison? He's a pro fessor up there. Of course, it's writ ten in sonnet sequence, and that's some thing, but he didn't have to tell all those things and then insist that it's true. Why tell everybody, that's my point. I have a rule for poetry which I always use: If you can't tell it to your mother, it isn't poetry. I read some poems of Sherwood An derson because they were about Chi cago, but he wasn't fair to the town. The same with Carl Sandburg. Chi cago isn't so bad as they say; it isn't a groan coming from a mortuary, and it isn't a cat rummaging in an alley on a rainy night as they seem to think. Of course we have South Halsted Street and the Near North Side, but there's no need to tell it to anybody who doesn't already know. That's what makes me mad. — Jack McGrath. CHICAGOAN A Criterion of Quality An exclusive opportun ity for the advertiser to double his selling effort at a minimum cost to ward the concentrated class market of the Chi cago area. A most effective entree to an acceptance from those "small bodies of arbiters" whose discrim inating buying prefer ences set the standards of taste and quality — a definite influence re flected in the merchan dising success of any product, thruout the Middle West. A further opportunity for brilliancy and origi nality in the advertiser's message to the group of keen-minds embraced by our readers. The dignity of our columns adding just a bit of prestige to the prestige which your merchandise may al ready enjoy. Primary advertiser's may take advantage of an ex tremely low rate and by scheduling a campaign receive the benefit of a healthy growth in cir culation. Schedules for 6 months being accepted at the present rate. Drive your wedge into the Chicago market by directing your concen trated primary eSort to ward that consumer ac ceptance which registers direct sales from the thousands. For Advertising Rates Address JOHN K. KETTLE WELL Advertising Manager 28 THE CHICAGOAN )8(TW^) (rw^i>8<: J Janus Method of Reducing and Rejuvenating Inc. TLdyth Y^iedrich Rejuvenation of face and body Scientific and Permanent Loop Office: 15 East Washington Street Dearborn 2005 Uptown Office 48 1 1 Sheridan Road Sunnyside 0934 (9 r\ y THE BOULEVARDIER What in the world can there be to say about clothes in August," asked Virginia with a voice full 1 of surprise, when she found that I had been 'shopping for ideas.' Virginia has that two-ounce look even when fully dressed, and just now she — well you understand how it is — she knows that her figure is good in a bathing suit, so I had to explain rather carefully. "My dear child, the designers are I at the height of their season just now I and American buyers are running all over Paris cramming ideas into their | heads so that you, little one, can be | smartly dressed when you decide to : shed that bathing suit." | Whereupon I proceeded to outline I just what some of these ideas were, since Virginia was registering interest. , "There is going to be nothing quite as smart as silk Moire, particularly in black, according to the Blackstone shop. Afternoon dresses with long tight sleeves, severe, depending on the richness of the material for their smart ness is the coming mode." "And what if we like fluffy things," pouted Virginia. "Crepe trimmed in velvet will take care of your peculiar type of beauty," I suggested. Crepe and chiffon velvet combinations will go into many of the gowns, or bands of velvet laid flat on the crepe for trimming. Pearlie Powell favors this type of gown and undoubt edly when she comes back to the city her shop will have a number of them. And when it comes to slippers, pat ent leather will be the word for the Fall season. I. Miller predicts great popularity for the suede and patent combination slipper which is distinctly new. "Raquel Meller certainly started something when she appeared," said Virginia. "You know she always wears ten or twelve bracelets on her arm and goes in for long, long earrings. I notice that Blum's are showing exotic necklaces and earrings to match; some of them very old ones, too." (V. is more observing than I thought for; I take back half of what was said in the second paragraph.) "By the way, Mother has acquired a new coffee table that needs explain ing," Virginia continued. "It's one of those exquisite marble ones from Zorks and the marble is the color of violets. I'd like to know what kind it is; it is more than just a slab of marble." "That, if it is the color you say, is just what they call it on the Conti nent, Bresh de Violet. They make quite a specialty of fine marble pieces at Zorks. Rose Royal, Verdi Marine, are the rosey and green marbles, which come from Greece and Vienna." About half my lecture on marbles was missed by V. She knocked over a perfectly good sand castle as she scram bled up to greet one of the vacation gods home from Yale-Harvard-Prince ton. H'mm, shoes from French, Schriner, and Urner, the correct pig skin. Fraternity hatband acquired at A. Starr Best and Co. Probably wears English pajamas with fancy stripes. >&<l**to*>J> (L^w^sac THE CHICAGOAN 29 «« -^ ^ The Boulevardier (Continued from page 28) This business of noting-the-newest is getting to be a bad habit with me. Virginia and the Sun god left for a swim and I stretched out on the sand wondering just how I could manage to get (and pay for) one of the stun ning smoking-bridge sets at Peacock's for a wedding present to give Virginia should this affair seem serious enough to continue as thrivingly as it had this past summer. To come back to the bridge sets; they come in a satin fin ished silver, made up in individual ash trays and match box holders. Each tray and holder have a small inlay of French enamel with the markings of one of the four suits of cards, the spades and the clubs, black on white, and the hearts and diamonds, red on white, of course. When it comes to buying wedding presents there is no place like Tat- mans. One can get the most delight fully modest yet individual things, such as their little Parisian ivy jars of Jon quil pottery, or the most elaborate din ner service. One could hardly dream of getting anything nicer than the after dinner coffee service that comes in the loveliest of bone china, to be found there. — Marjorie Capron. r: "v. • : "... Bags Novelties Smoking Accessories Costume Jewelry "¦*•• • s • : PARIS- CHEZ -VOUS IMPORTER— COMMISSIONER HELEN HAFFENBERG in EAST CHICAGO AVENUE • « (?.£•••••.. i • j ••••••• \ * i ••••••• \ • i .•••••. i • J ••••••• \ • i „••••••• \T*19 .••"**\3 f* Smart ' Sophisticated Satirical Are you one of "These Charming People" 04ICAGOAN For Your Convenience THE CHICAGOAN 154 E. Erie St., Chicago, 111. Please enter my subscription to the CHICAGOAN. ?13 Issues, $1.50 Q26 Issues, $3.00 Q52 Issues, $5.00 Name Address *0W0W«* 30 THE CHICAGOAN The Perennial Plot (Continued from page 16) "Hey, guy. . . ! Wait a second!" shouted a deplorably raucous voice. "I gotta square this dame before you go." The young man swung around at the door to look into the voluptuous nozzle of a blue steel automatic held by a man with a black mask on. "Listen, fella. I was in this here room when your wife came in. I lays down me cig and fergets it. When she blows in I sneaks into the closet there — then youse comes in. If it hadn't of been fer me coming out now and speak ing up, youse would of made yourself even a darnder fool than youse looks like. Now, lookit: If you'll let me go quietly without sayin nutin I won't blow yer can off — ain't that fifty- fifty?" Very weakly the young man ad mitted that it was an eminently equit able and even charitable arrangement. After the burglar had gone he turned to his wife and began an overture that for tonal chromatics made the Poet and Peasant sound like Chop Sticks played by a one armed man with no fingers. Outside the "burglar," Mr. Delancy Montford Hemmingway, threw away the piece of black material he had found in the closet and used for a mask. He took out his "automatic" and, opening the top of it, extracted a filthy brand of cigarette, for which he had of late ac quired a perverted taste. "My word !" he said, "that was close. Amateur theatricals do broaden one's mind — if I hadn't taken the part of La Chevalier d' Industrie the other night in 'Joan d' Arc's Boy Friend,' I'd never have known how to get away with it." And so, just as in the tales of any reliable fable-monger, the young couple lived happily ever after — one of them afraid to ever again be too cautious and the other afraid to ever again fail in caution: an admirable marriage com pact to which many couples might well aspire. — Jack Woodford. TRYING I've cultivated patience; good nature is my fetish; I hate to lose my temper, I never have been pettish. No trouble ever troubles me ; I do not mope or fume or brawl, But one thing still can get me wild : "I'm trying to complete your call." personally supervises the planning and preparation of all meals served at her Tea Room 118-122 N. Dearborn St. THE CHICAGOAN Musical Notes (Continued from page 25) THE writer of the immortal St. Louis Blues, Mr. W. C. Handy has compiled his output of azure tunes into an attractive book with a per tinent forward by one Abbe Niles a- impertinent illustrations by the excel lent Covarrubias. I rambled over the ditties on the piano and some of them are very tasty. But it struck me that unfortunately, the "blues" song as a type is fading fast. Arising as it did among the great class of Ethiopian shiftless it became the peculiar property of the barrom ivory-tickler, the steve dore, the loafer who watches the trains in and out. Its expression was at first very individual, very simple and very poignant, right from the heart of Mr. Handy's race. It began to grow in complexity when it became the prop erty of the first crude bands, ensembles largely consisting of piano, slide trom bone and a formidable gathering of kitchen utensils and old bottles. But those days have gone forever and the dance orchestra has gone highbrow. No longer can a popular tune stand naked and unashamed. It must needs be clothed luxuriously by an expert symphonist. The orchestrator for Whiteman or Lopez must be a master of color and nuance. The singers of the "blues" would make nothing much of all this, understanding it no more than a Kentucky mountaineer would understand what De Lamarter has done with the Lonesome tunes. Nor would they understand the piquant and subtle melodies, passing for true "blues" that trickle from the fingers of Gershwin and Kern, decadents of the jazz age. A A belated remark or two on the composition program of Mr. Adolph Weidig's class, held several weeks ago in Kimball Hall under the auspices of the American Conservatory. Students played various instruments in solo, students accompanied and sang, as their cheerfully stout and grey haired preceptor looked benignly on. The works displayed were various in qual ity. Many were distressingly long and dull, some showed distinction and talent, and here and there came the lightning flash of genius in bud. The significance of the program seemed to lie in the catholicity and tolerance of the amiable Adolph. Here was group made for his hand, a group of young people who wanted to write notes on paper desperately curious about the tonal or atonal results. The important thing to him was that they should write what they pleased and perform what they wrote if only to fill a spiritual need for themselves. And his part was to stand by as stimulator and guide. For the rest, he knows as well as the next man that Beethovens are not often found on Wabash Avenue. — Robert Pollak. A ? Beginners Wanted (Continued from page 22) At any rate, they have agreed to continue sketching despite either the heat or the cold of a Chicago summer. When they resume their sessions on Thursday, September 16, augmented, it is hoped, by many new recruits, there will be cause for applause and congrat- Continuance of the class is assured ; and Mr. Watson has told the members continuance of the class is assured ; and Mr. Watson has told the members ulations all around." Athens Engraving Company Chicago's par ticular buyers of engravings insist on Athens made plates Engravers for Chicago's leading merchants and many National Advertisers 717 So. Wells St. Chicago Phone Harrison 9396 Smart Tailored Clothes for The Chicagoan BUSINESS DINNER SPORT EVENING -^ Correctness in every detail has long characterized the tailoring artistry of Dinato TAILORS 337 West Madison Street 32 THE CHICAGOAN Theatre (Continued from page 13) 'Looking at Greta Nissen, I repeat to myself T. Hayman's lines describing Cleopatra in "The Fall of Antony,' produced in 1655 : " 'Her beauty might outface the jealous , hours, " 'Turn shame to love and pain to a tender sleep, " 'And the strong nerve of hate to sloth and tears; " 'Make spring rebellious in the sides of frost, ' 'Thrust out lank winter with hot August growths, " 'Compel sweet blood into the husks of death, "'And from strange beasts enforce harsh courtesy.' 'In the cruelty of her passionate pan tomine I see her as Salome refusing the treasures of Herod in her lust for Jokanaan and picture her crying: "'Ah! Ah! Wherefore didst thou not look at me, Jokanaan? If thou hadst looked at me thou hadst loved me. Well I know that thou wouldst have loved me and the mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death. There was a bitter taste on thy lips. Was it the taste of blood? They say that love hath a bitter taste .... But what of that? What of that?' There is blood on the blossoms and sighs and pain and death amid the raptures and roses of 'Mile Bluebeard,' but this union of the quick and the dead is profoundly stimulating. "I have read of an Empress like Greta Nissen looking through Caesar's emerald at the gladiators in the arena. The Norse sagas describe her as Freya, the golden-tressed and snow-white god dess of war, and love and burning cities, splendid feasts and fiery sacri ficial funerals. "Again watching her I am sure that John Millington Synge found the words to fit her when Reirdre cried : "If Conchubor'll make me a queen, I'll have the right of a queen who is a master, taking her own choice and mak ing a stir to the edges of the seas. I will not be a child or a plaything. I'll put on my robes that are the richest, for I will not be brought down to Emain as Cuchulain brings his horse to the yoke, or Conall Cearnach puts his shield upon his arm; and maybe from this day I will turn the men of Ireland like a wind blowing on the heather. — H. Bernard. Mr. Frank Keenan (Continued from page 13) so in the confidence that he has a career of exceptional brilliancy before him. He has had the necessary experience for the stage ; he has many personal qualifi cations for it. He is tall and lithe ; his stage; he has many personal qualifica tions for it. He is tall and lithe; his face is capable of a wide range of ex pression ; he has an excellent voice. But, best of all, he has intensity and indivi duality. His impersonation of the risky part of the gypsy in Rosedale dis plays an unusual amount of power and intensity. His style is his own, and it is strongly, boldly marked. His per sonality is remarkably striking. I hope some day to see Mr. Keenan in a dramatic part of higher grade than Miles McKenna. I am convinced that he will not be found wanting. Granted that he has the right conditions for his work, and the energy to make use of them, he will become a conspicuous figure on the stage." And how Mr. Keenan has more than fulfilled that prophecy is a potent chap ter of American stage history, and never more auspiciously than in his characterization of General John Wil liam Darr, the central figure of "Black Velvet." Mr. Keenan's present Chicago en gagement is further enhanced by its being at the Playhouse, now. The new Lessees, L. M. Simmons and John Tuerk, aided by that very able man ager, Frank Perley, have indeed made it a proud theatre. Completely reno vated, charmingly redecorated, and hav ing about the coolest ventilating system in town, it is become a most worthy theatre-home for the distinguished star and his truly notable play. IWCOR.POH.ATED Advertising Typographers «*. 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