T> SEPTEMBER FIFTEENTH nh PRICE FIFTEEN CENT S CWICAGOAN PROPERTY OF THE Chicago Historical Society 632 NORTH DEARBORN STREET — « — -so^c/>«2nf) MANS FtATO QUjOUAA w\oi &\dild££MeU2 A LW AY r ME BLUE OITCWID COQDAY.PAnir ¦ IMPORTED BY LIONEL , 320 flFTW AVE , NEW YORK CORDAY LIPrTICK9— JUPERLATIVE/ The new Millinery Department presents to the very smart woman hats that fulfil her most exacting requirements. /ve/pUca4- of /ranch models indwiducdLj fitted to tha head. We announce a beautiful and complete collection of advance modes ~ ~ ~ surpassingly smart. Par,s MCAVOY Chicago 615 N. Michigan Avenue CHICAGO 2 TI4XCI4ICAGOAN o o THE CI4ICAG0AN>" Dp THE THEATRE DRAMA BLACK VELVET — Southern aristocrats and a lecher playing havoc with the pride of his hide bound family. Frank Keenan in a dying scene that lasts only a minute, thereby speeding up his average three hundred and two percent. At the refurnished Playhouse, 410 South Michigan Boulevard. THE GREAT GATSBY— F. Scott Fitzgerald plus Owen Davis with plenty irony. Use your own judgment, but the crowds seem to like it. Mr. Rennie does some notable acting and the cast is fairly well selected. The Studebaker, Michigan and Van Buren. COMEDY GENTLEMEN PREFER BLONDES— The mo notony of Miss Loos overcome by Mr. Emerson s stagecraft. Bring a copy of Freud to thoroughly enjoy the show. The Selwyn, Dearborn at Lake . REVUES LE MAIRE'S AFFAIRS— Miss Tucker emerges suddenly into a genius. Lester Allen is— just funny. Ted Lewis is not what he used to be. A consistently entertaining and dizzying ex pensive presentation. Woods, Randolph and Dearborn. ARTISTS AND MODELS— A super "leg show" yearning to be aesthetic. Apollo, Randolph and Dearborn. WOOD tyfJrHf oPthb HffCfNTURY ^SOPHIE |% | TED TuckeR4ewi HESTER Allli msm REVUE «££&> PRAISE every CRITIC *50PWIE AN ARTIST. GOOD TED LEWIS**0 VALUABLE LESTEE ALLEN ALSO SWINE* IT WAS TO LAUGH XWRSELF PINK* __ STEVENS*, MUSICAL COMEDY of this popular show. The Olympic, Randolph and Clark. KONGO— at the Princess. local color African play. Walter Huston in a Sunday, Sept. 5th. CASTLES IN THE AIR— Two excellent songs and a romantic plot are the principal attributes COAL-OIL JENNIE — at the Blackstone. Frank of thic nnnniMr thmir Thp Olvmnir RunHnlnh Craven's comedy, with Ernest Glendinning. Monday, Sept. 6th. OPENINGS TREAT 'EM ROUGH— at the Harris. Frederick and Fanny Locke Hatton's play about Italians and the Irish, with Genevieve Tobin, George Gaul, William Ricciardi and Thomas McLarnie. Saturday, August 28th- LOVE 'EM AND LEAVE 'EM— at the La Salle. John V. A. Weaver and George Abbott's comedy about New York shopgirls who reside in a board ing-house, with Miss Florence Johns and Harold Walridge. Sunday, August 29th. THE POOR NUT— at the Cort. Elliot Nugent starring in a play written by himself and his father, with Miss Norma Lee, Percy Helton and Miss Betty Garde. About college football. Sunday, August 29th. THE MIKADO — at the Auditorium. A Gilbert and Sullivan revival with Frank Moulan, Charles E. Gallagher, William Clark, William Danforth, Miss Stella de Mette and a Japanese soprano, Hisa Koike. Wednesday, Sept. 1. THE VAGABOND KING— at the Great North ern. Brian Hooker and W. H. Posts' adaptation of "If I Were King" with Dennis King as Francois Villon. Music by Friml. Monday, Sept. 6th. SONG OF THE FLAME— at .the Apollo. An operetta, with music by Herbert Stothart and George Gershwin, with Miss Tessa Koste. Monday, Sept. 6th. I CAN'T BEAR IT! — at the Adelphi. A farce, with Reginald Owen, Miss Allison Skipworth and Miss Laura Hope Crews. Sunday, Sept. 12th. YELLOW— at the Four Cohans. Margaret Vernon's drama. No definite date. VODVIL PALACE — First class bills. STATE-LAKE— Next best bet. First run movies also. MAJESTIC — Continuous from noon to 11 p.m. MOVIES DEAREST ENEMY— at the Illinois. Herbert Fields, Lorenz Hart, and Richard Rogers' Chicago, Oriental, McVickers and Roosevelt operetta_of the Revolutionary period, with Miss present super productions. The first two are notable for their hysterical architecture and Helen Ford and Charles Purcell. Sunday, Sept. 5th weird stage contraptions. SYhe STUDEBAKER *S- 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 entertainment— here is a play whose only mission is to entertain — AND IT DOES! TI4CCI4ICAGOAN 3 o o 9 V o * CALENDAR OP EVENT/ 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 cool. Music and a place to dance. Good entertainment. 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 and a wonderful dance floor. LA SALLE ROOF GARDEN— Jack Chapman's orchestra furnishes the music. Dinner and dancing from six (o 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. GALLERIES ART INSTITUTE— Mystic, striking, Russian are the pictures of W. 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 B dg. DUNBAR EXHIBIT— Artists of the American school are being shown at Dunbar's. 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. MUSIC RAVINIA OPERA— The Opera House in the Woods, where the accoustics are equalled by no other 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. GOLb UNITED STATES SENIORS golf association championship at Rye, N. Y., Sept. 7-10. UNITED STATES GOLF ASSOCIATION ama teur championship at Baltusrol club, Short Hills, N. J., Sept. 13-18. AMERICAN WOMEN'S CHAMPIONSHIP— Merion Cricket club, Philadelphia, Sept. 27, Oct. 3. YACHTING CHICAGO YACHT CLUB— First leg Triangular race, Chicago to St. Joe., Sept. 3. CHICAGO YACHT CLUB— Gehrmann Trophy series "Pup" Class , Sept, 4.5, 6. CHICAGO YACHT CLUB— Second leg Triangu lar race, St. Joe to Michigan City, Sept. 5. JACKSON PARK YACHT CLUB— Michigan City to Jackson park also third leg Chicago Yacht club triangular . Sept. 6. RICHARDSON CUP— Races at Toledo, Sept. 8, 9, 10. JACKSON PARK YACHT CLUB— Lutz trophy series "Q" Class . Sept. 10, 11, 12. CHICAGO YACHT CLUB— Autumn regatta Sept. 25 PLAYHOUSE T%HW£T L.M.SIMMONS AND JOHN TUERK - LESSEES MATINEES WED. AND SAT. ^2^5 PHONE WABA5H 0073 an f/ie spirit ' o/ & 3/r/A of a Nation "- C.i/fiu///et,Post M.J.NICHOLAS PRESENTS FRANK KEENAN IN BLACK VELVET BY WILLARD ROBERTSON V/ie audience sat spellbound" — J/wftffiQcu'fflJmrican. 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 TI4ECI4ICAGOAN THE CHICAGOAN, published semi-monthly by THE CHICAGOAN, Frederick M. Rosen, Pres.; J. McGralh, 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, 15 cents. Vol. 2, No. 1, September 15, 1926. Second Class Rights Applied for at the Post Office at Wilmette, 111., under the Act of March 3, 1879. Copyright Applied for, 1926, by THE CHICAGOAN INC J. McGRATH, Editor DEAN PATTY, Art Director CI4ICAG0AN BELIEVE IT OR NOT \ FTER all, the young lady who •*• •*• mistook the water tower for the Allerton Club should not be crucified too unmercifully; the poor dear doubtless has an excellent classical background. ~\TOW that the municipal author- ¦^ ^ ities have seen fit to make legit imate such things as love making in the city parks, much might be said both for and against the future sale of Mr. Freud's little books. T HAT advertising has thrown it self and is about to take its pint sold — eight coupons good for one pint. Sorry, but the address is still vague. * r I "'HAT there should be bums on ¦*- Madison Street is forgivable; and that a bum should ask for a dime is conceivable and not too damning; but that a bum should ask for a dime for a cup of coffee, when we all know it costs only a nickel where he's going, will be forever a thrust ^be tween the eyes of injustice and im position. Why doesn't he say he wants a cup of coffee and a couple doughnuts? * H^O the litany of "The World's ¦*¦ Greatest Newspape.r" metro politan Chicago is indebted for the following recognition: the center of comprehensive subway systems, the city smokeless, the town of no accidents, and the capitol of the in hibition belt. architecture. Moreover it has a saw mill approach which is bound to intrigue everyone living south of the glaciated area. And in its front yard, which, of course, is Grant Park, is a delightful Lane Bryant grouping of pillars. Take a look at it; it's celo- tex. TF you've missed him, you'll ¦*¦ never get a chance to wave a blue banner in Heaven. He wore two flags in his hat and he walked down the boulevard whistling "The Star Spangled Banner." When he stopped in front of the Congress he stated that he was from Gotham place in the dead, still rows along with conversation and eugenics was thrust upon this office the other day when the report reached us that a certain advertising agency in town was giving away a coupon with every \ FTER years of walking on tip- -*•¦*¦ toe through the old Randolph Street I. C. Station, after years of cautious treading past the gardenia stands and the daisy stalls and then skipping lightly to the train shed be fore the station went crashing to the tracks below, we have now re ceived our reward. We have a brand new station at that location — a structure that would warrant any number of years of waiting. It is done in the Northern Wisconsin lumber camp period of suppressed and was about to do the West. We take it, however, he wasn't from college, because he didn't spurt the usual platitude about the Wrigley Building looking like a wedding cake. 6 TWECWICAGOAN EDDINGS are a nui sance, absolute ly a nuisance, and certainly they are boring; sometimes we wonder why people have them. And still, if we remem ber correctly, we are forever attend ing some nuptial flight of a near sighted friend. Moreover, curiously enough, a person usually finds him self in the bridal party, which is al ways a bad sign. Of course most of us get paid. after a fashion, for being of the bridal party — cigarette lighters, cuff links with English riding scenes, silver knives with cork screw and bottle opener attached, and a hun dred other things a person never uses. And the next morning there is always a splitting headache — always; it must have some thing to do with the ceremony. And with the headache is, un failingly, a resolution to lay off weddings ! And still (there must be something psychic about it) in a week or so there is another wedding, and we find ourselves with another gardenia and a smile. After all those brave resolutions! If only something different would happen it wouldn't be so bad. We have all had itching desires to be present at one of those delightful occasions when the groom becomes seized with a violent and uncontrollable attack of hiccoughs and can neither consent nor object to the ceremony and no one knows whether the couple is legally married or not. Who hasn't hoped that sometime one of the attendants would step on the bride's train and the guests would be torn between a mad desire to laugh and a realization of a mar velous opportunity to be sophisti cated. Wouldn't it be grand if the bride would say, "Oh, hell, go on with the wedding"? Think of all the years wasted in straining our ears to hear someone actually GIVE the bride away — give her away with enthusiasm and gestures ! But you've never seen any of those things, have you? Of course not. You haven't even seen the colored maid or the butler catch the bride's bouquet, have you? There you are. Advice to Candidates NOW that one or two of the can didates for municipal and state offices have already started their campaign for election or re-election, we wish, at this time, to give some superior information on effective campaigning. Mr. Coolidge, of course, has a patent on his prize picture of C.C. raking hay while Mrs. Coolidge bakes biscuits. That number al ways works; it's fool-proof. The The Original Joy Ride prospective candidate sitting sweet ly in a chair with his grandchildren grouped about him is getting stale; presidential elections between 1900 and 1920 killed it.- Some candidate might be able to pull the woman vote of the district by having hin picture taken with some dignified, bible-inflicted old woman who is supposed to be his maiden sister who has sacr\iced her life for the W.C.T.U. and the East ern Star. Certainly worth the price of the photograph and the old lady's fee. But here is something better. First get a human app:nl story in the newspapers about taking up social service work. Then get a picture of ten or fifteen orphans making daisy chains to place around the neck of the candidate. Put the candidate in the center of the picture with a book in his lap; he is reading fairy tales to the little orphans while they lay daisy chains around his neck. Good for five hundred thousand votes. Moonshine, Good and Bad ALL moonshine is divided into three kinds: bad, worse, and infallible. The other night we en joyed a draft that was pale dry and highly intoxicating. We got it — in Grant Park. We can show you the exact spot. We were driving down the Outer Drive when suddenly we saw out in the lake a thin line of red. Even as we put on the brakes it grew in size and brilliancy. It was not the reflection of the steel mills in South Chicago or Gary; those were accounted for by two smudges of light further to the right. We watched in breathless delight and slowly realized what was happening. Unaccustomed as we city dwellers are to seeing natural phenomena, we knew that we were witnessing the rising of the moon. Slowly it was lifting its head out of the water. The man's eyes twinkl ed at us over the edge of Lake Michigan; presently we saw his lips curve into a smile; and at last his whole head appeared TWECmCAGOAN 7 above the water as a jack o'lantern on a stick bobs up in front of a win dow on Halloween. All the while a constant stream of motors poured down the drive, their occupants unconscious of what was happening or perhaps trying to show the moon that they knew per fectly well that he was merely up to his oldest trick and that they wouldn't flatter him to the extent of stopping to watch. We have seen people — and who can say they weren't the very same ones as these motorists — go into ecstasies over the rising of a painted moon against the back drop of more than one movie theater. But we hereby challenge the Messrs. Balaban,Katz, Lubliner, Ascher, Schoenstadt, and all their associates and competitors to produce a stunt half so good as that which the moon pulled off single-handed the other night in Grant Park. Pornographic Literature \ survey of Chicago book stores x *¦ shows that the so-called porno graphic book is starting up in busi ness for itself. For seven dollars and fifty cents the following can be ob tained: "Decameron," Heptame- ron," "The Rainbow," "Janet March," "Fantazius Mallare," and quite a fine collection of Rabelais and Zola. Un expurgated, all of them. Moreover, fortunately, they are rather bravely displayed. There are, however, books of a similar nature which command good, satisfying sums: "The Memoirs of Casanova," one hundred fifteen dol lars for ten volumes, guaranteed un abridged; James Joyce's "Ulysses" in unquestionable original, seventy- five dollars; Frank Harris' "Mem oirs" in two volumes, fifty dollars; "Painted Veils," fifty dollars. Inhibition-bound Chicagoans, however, for fear of contaminating the minds of the maids, are very apt to hide such volumes behind the dusting line of their library shelves. "Fanny Hill" in best editions is slipped under the counter for one hundred dollars; and "The Modern Evelyne," which does a little better, goes for one hundred fifty. All with condescending bows of thanks from the booksellers when the bargain is completed. MERHywE«.THEH. T T was on the *¦ back plat form of a Broad way street car that we overheard his intimacies and his literary outlet: the former, in all justice to the man, was ap proximately as cosmopolitan as a wrecking crew; the latter, although adequate, was, perhaps, slightly limited. But if he did not know all the authors and all their character istics, he did, certainly, know one or two of the most thoroughly sat urated and representative ones. The Little One: Look Mamie, a' 'Gyptian bathtub, but no running water. The Big One: Yeh, but ain't it a beauty for size, tho. s TWEGUIGAGOAN At Diversey Street three celebri ties entered the car— three well ad vertised persons — each of whom he called by the full name— The Coun tess of Cathcart, Emily Post, and Michael Arlen. The two women, curiously enough, received his jolly greetings with presbyterian in difference — one prompted by careless impulse and the other by complete over sight; but Mr. Arlen, with his usual trans-At- 1 an t i c forgive ness and appeal, held no particular aversion to street car conductors as a class and im mediately struck up a conversation about something he saw in Lincoln Park. Like most literary personalities, the conductor showed a well de veloped indifference to the stories of other people and busied himself with the affairs of making change. As a matter of fact, he was, for the moment, wrapped in the classics; Homer and Dante hailed the car at North Avenue and it was appro priate that he call each by name and pass a comment on his health. And still the conversation went on about Lincoln Park — an amazing tale by Michael Arlen. The expression on the face of the conductor changed; there was the look of a man who had made a grave mistake ; the classics had been imposed upon. And with all the thoughtlessness of a person who is willing to admit fallibility, combined with the curious persistence of a man who will carry his point, he turned to his own-termed Mr. Arlen with these words, "Say, Oscar, where do you get off? Huron Street?" Swim the Channel/ WE certainly wish that someone would publish the pathologi cal reason for the great American urge to swim the English Channel. The newspapers have been so full of their caterwauling illustrated with pictures of greased women with swimming masks, that the office boy, the poor fellow, is thrown complete ly off his circuit. He comes to work late, carrying enormous stacks of books to prove that the English Channel has been crossed in boats and that the country on the other side of it is an explored, populated subdivision. He even said something about one of the English Kings, whose name he couldn't remember (it was probably dear old John who assumed every royal prerogative), who was obsessed with the same urge, and in order to get the idea out of his mind, he gave away Calais to the French. According to the office boy, the king is supposed to have said, "I can't have the American newspapers writing me up, so I gave it away. And I'm certainly not going to swim to any country that isn't mine." The office boy is very sensitive and high strung, and although we don't feel that everything he says should go in the Bible, still we are forced to admit that he is, at least, partially right. Possibly he isn't the only person who is disturbed by the newspaper feature stories of swimming the English Channel Wash Day in the Tenements going over Niagara Falls in a barrel, and hot-dog' eating contests. Even though you're so sophisti cated that you have luncheon at Huyler's, you'll have to wave your last year's golf sox to the sincerity of the city park commissioners to make beautiful the city. Certainly the series of sign boards, done in pond-skum green, which decorate Michigan Avenue are as striking as any you've ever seen on any country road. The object of the signs, it seems, is to educate the public to the fact that there is a possibility of connecting Michigan Boulevard with the Outer Drive. Will someone please page the Wom en's Landscape Beautiful League? Crime Ripples and Waves 'T^iie other day we received a letter •*- from a certain Texan in which he stated that he liked Chicago for its inexperienced, childish attempts at crime. How interesting. It is not the intention of The Chicagoan to limit to the super lative all adjectives applied to Chicago, but, when the newsboy begins to tell the conductor how to run the train well. Of course, if it were merely a matter of the number of killings, that would be a different story. To Memphis and "Saint Louis, so we are told, we must make our bow — both cities being very proud of their reputation. But when it comes to concentrated crime development unrestrained by muni cipal interference, certainly we have every reason to resent the attitude of the man from Texas. The Chicago police will get him if he isn't careful ; either that or he'll be taken for a ride along with the rest of the sum mer tourists who underestimate the sweep of our unrecognized powers. The other day on the "L" we saw a man who insisted on paying his fare to the conductor. "Why don't you take my fare?" he asked. "Why, I don't take fares," the conductor told him. "Well, I have to pay somebody — here take this." But the bored conductor grinned and walked away. What we want to know is — how did that man get by the ticket gate? TI4ECI4ICAGOAN 9 Downtown Stock Yards "\^7"on't someone please prevail * " upon the Chicago Tribune to see what can be done to improve the north-east corner of Michigan and the bridge; they're always so glad to do things. The Voice of the People might suggest whitewash and geraniums, but a wrecking crew would be really more appropriate. The building — with the whitewash and geraniums — we might, for rea sons, overlook; but so far as we can see, there seems to be no excuse for down town stock yards. The south side corporations take cai'e of that point very adequately — particularly when the wind is from the right di rection. We can't have a cold all the time, you know. And to have the bridge go up and delay all traffic on the north side of the bridge for ten or twelve minutes is approxi mately as pleasant as having a tooth drilled by a sadistic dentist. Holier- Than- Thou Now that we've had a very fine summer with plenty of rain and excellent crops in the hinterland about which we hear so much — now that the sale of baby bibs and pink bloomers has exceeded the hopes of the most extravagantly optimistic promotion manager in the loop — and now that Governor Small has de cided to give us more highways and Mayor Dever has consented to catch all the crime leaders, punish beer runners, and close the brothels, all our worries are over until Christmas. And we certainly hope that the holier-than-thou element of the boul evard will have time to remove a few warts and carbuncles from the bible bump on their heads and learn to walk down the boulevard with out gaping at every man who doesn't wear a Wilson Brother shirt and every woman who doesn't buy her clothes in Marshall Field's basement. What's A Moron? After reading all these accounts about young girls being at tacked, we suggest that a Statistical Moron Attack Clock, similar to the newspaper automobile death clock, be placed on the corner of State and Madison. Each time a girl is attacked, it will register on the clock, and when the number of attacks reaches fifty, a bell will ring in the city hall and possibly the authorities can do something about it. Of course we appreciate the atti tude of the authorities: boys will be boys, and, besides, they say you have to expect a moron to act that way. However, we still think the Moron Attack Clock would be rather smart. You see, we could all keep posted as to each attack. Besides it would be wonderful material for the In quiring Reporter: "Do you think a moron should attack a girl before dark?" Question asked in front of the Lake Shore Drive Hotel. TV Jr. Rosenwald is going to give ¦*•*-»- us a new industrial museum — the best in the world — -and the very nicest thing is that it is to be in the Fine Afts Building in Jackson Park. In the future noble visitors examin ing Chicago will find a resting place between the stock yards and the steel mills. "D ut here is an item of news which -'—'may interest those who like to hear from old acquaintances. John Thomas Scopes was last year a student at the University of Chicago. It is rumored that he failed to pass the freshman course in evolution at that institution. r PHIS play, according to the ¦*¦ newspapers, the star, and the producers is a hit. First, there is a Topsy and Eva setting with bloodhounds and Top sy 's cracked voice. There is Rain's little dramatic trick of playing a victrola both before and after all homicidal ventures to prove that only a very limited strata of Ameri can civilization truly appreciates tragedy. The Yellow Peril, depicting an excellent San Francisco oriental ism, slinks in and out the rose bushes, shouting damnation to the white race and their children. White Cargo's feline lead, in American clothes, gives one of our sugar plan tations a trial and seduces the staunch, righteous hero immediately after he has professed immortal love to a northern virgin who is visiting his sister. And then there's Old English dying in his chair when he discovered that his goose was cooked and his family name stained. Of course you know he's dead because his fingers stiffen and he can no longer hold his cigar. It was a relief to have him speed up his death scene to a minute and a half. Formerly, if we remember correctly, the entire last act was usually dedi cated to that little touch. Marry A Theatre? Tt seems to be the thing to do — -"- buy your wife a theatre; buy her a couple theatres. You can't keep a wife happy unless she has a theatre or two to play with. It's a good idea to have one in this coun try and one in Europe, because it seems that the European producers are just as intractable as the Ameri can. For Christmas, buy your wife a theatre; it will keep her satisfied. Mr. Insull has just purchased the Studebaker, and, so we've heard, Mr. McCormick has just purchased a cute little play house in Paris for Miss Walska, whose career up to this point has been hysterically un certain. If this keeps on, what will happen to the Shuberts, the Cohans, Mr. Woods and the rest of them? — The Editors 10 TWEGWIGAGOAN ABOUT CHICAGOANS In spite of the fact that Ernest J. Stevens is president of the La Salle and Stevens Hotel companies, he still likes a good football game. Too bad he'll be so busy finding standing room for the rah-rah boys from the east that he won't be able to get a peek at the Army-Navy game! Tracy Drake's success is founded upon the theory that man will pay heavily for distinction. Therefore, a brick layer need only register at the Blackstone or Drake hotel to be admitted to the "four hundred." There's another way to fame be sides carrying ice. Be a bundle boy ! And — if you smile, keep your shoes shined and don't drop any bundles, you may be managing director of the Congress hotel. That is — you might be if John Burke didn't beat you to it! Attention to such trifles as the Sherman House must be irksome to Mr. Byfield who finds life quite full with polo and chows. They say that his "chow hotel" at Grassmere is the finest in the country. 'Tis most exclusive too — only one chow to a room! TI4EGI4IGAGOAN n DO I KNOW DETROIT! Cure I've w-' been to Detroit. It's a city in eastern Michigan that was laid out by Indians. No two streets are parallel, and the cross streets are so crooked you can't get out of the loop— the object being to keep everyone down town as long as possible. Isn't that a typical Indian trick? The loop isn't so much. There's the Gum Drop Building which has red and orange lights on it at night, which doesn't look so moral. Traf fic's a mad house. No cops in the town. Western Union messengers and boy scouts direct traffic. If you hit one red light you hit all of them; if you hit a blue light, you're drunk. Besides there are no yellow cabs in Detroit. That yellow bunch of cab drivers in Chicago couldn't get through the traffic there. Every day's a rainy day without chains. I guess Mrs. Cadillac the first woman to come to Detroit wasn't much of a looker. All the women there have plenty to learn and it looks as though they must have had a bum start. I have a friend (mar ried) from Wisconsin who lives there, and she's pretty good looking, but she hasn't been in Detroit long. Detroit has an Art Institute. A month or two ago a seventy-five thousand dollar rug was stolen from it, which was the first record of a native of Detroit being in the build ing since it opened, but just to prove what advertising can do for art, ever since the robbery, the institute's been packed with people who want to see where the rug used to be. Now they're building a new Art Institute which probably won't be very popular because they won't be able to show the spot where the rug was stolen. I have a friend living in Windsor who doesn't think much of Detroit. He says it's the most immoral city west of Gommorah, which also might or might not be true. Of course there's no kick coming from Chicago, where every night is Satur day night and Saturday night is New Year's Eve, but other towns might talk. But he says people from Detroit aren't very friendly — coming to Windsor to celebrate the Fourth of July, etc., etc., which' is all right because the Canadians play plenty dirty tricks on the Americans. In Walkerville there's a sign which translates WHISKEY which is so big you could see it from the Tribune Tower if you were thirsty enough. Nothing ever closes in Detroit. Innocent looking ice cream parlors, ¦£*¦ <€* healthy butcher shops, drug stores (they aren't so innocent or healthy), moving picture houses (neither are they) never close; they all have big signs OPEN ALL NIGHT. And if you're caught on the street sober after midnight you're taken for a Canadian, which isn't so good be cause some people in Detroit don't like Canadians, and it's quite a run from Grand Circus to the ferry, which isn't so bad as it sounds be cause in Detroit few people can run very fast after midnight. My friend from Windsor says that if Chicago had Detroit's location we'd have a World's Fair here every year which might or might not be a good thing for Chicago, depending on what kind of world's fair it would be. Of course, if it's like the one at Philadelphia it wouldn't make any difference if we had it or not, because no one knows there's going to be a world fair at Philadelphia anyway. After this siren-blowing summer no one in Chicago cares whether any more celebrities ever come to see us again or not — cardin als, elks, moose, or princes — in cluding the Scandinavian. I was in Detroit two months and never saw Eddie Guest or Henry Ford once, although I did have the products of both thrust on me — one in a traffic jam and the other in a hotel lobby. (Continued on page 27) ' •..,.::¦ .. ^::U, ¦> . ,:^.: .;;—¦: . * . ¦: : * ^;: Inferiority Complex 12 TWEGUIGAGOAN TUEATRE Again they tell us that there wiF be a propitious change in the status of the theatre in Chicago this season — that Chicago will enjoy original productions in which the cast, sets, etc. are selected for the premiere here, and that the productions coming from New York will not be, as formerly, tenth-rate. We have heard all this before — for the past five years — but we're trying to be optimistic and there might be a possibility that this year's produc tions will bring the local theatre out of the obloquy in which it has been submerged. We hope so. During the season recently con cluded, there were but few offerings of more than average merit, and those few originated elsewhere. In the few plays which had their metro politan showing in Chicago, there was not displayed the originality in production of which an intelligent little theatre director from Beloit, Kansas would be proud. There certainly was not the faintest sus picion that the producers, for the most part, knew the first principles of direction, display, casting, cos tuming, or settings; nor, for that matter, was. there the slightest con ception of what the author tried to convey. There are, it seems, in Chicago no resident managers or producers of more than maudlin merit or, as a matter of fact, producers who have the courage, acumen, money or in genuity to give us productions that even approximate the completeness of the Broadway offerings. Such unfortunate conditions, they tell us, are gradually disappearing, but so slowly, certainly, that the process of complete liberation from eastern influences will be a matter of several sophomoric years of development, growth and ameliora tion. Inceptions in this direction for the present season have already made themselves evident in "Gen tlemen Prefer Blondes," primarily a Chicago product, as well as with works now in rehearsal for September openings, such as "I Can't Bear It," and Frank Craven's "Coal Oil Jen nie." The Messrs. Shubert promise several musical plays and revues created for the taste of the Chicago public in their theatres here. George Cohan is at present prepar ing "Yellow," a drama by Margret Vernon, for the Four Cohans Theatre reopening. perior plays, such as "They Knew What They Wanted," "Desire Un der The Elms," and "The Dybbuk" did not satisfy the peculiar puritan and recalcitrant tastes of Chicago, while others, like "Kid Boots," Al Jolson and Leon Errol, had fair and profitable runs. This year the productions al ready scheduled are promising. They are offerings in which Chicago will be particularly interested. The majority seem to be musical: "The Vagabond King," "Dearest Enemy" and Shubert's revival of "The Mi kado" and "H. M. S. Pinafore." "Craig's Wife," George Kelly's Pu litzer prize play, is expected soon. "Love 'Em and Leave 'Em," "The Poor Nut," and the Marx Brothers' "Cocoanuts" are on the way. Most of these productions have been ac corded glamorous welcome by New York critics. The summer tryouts at Stamford, New Haven, Philadelphia, Atlantic City and Boston for Broadway plays show several new tendencies, many of which are unsuccessful. This system of "trying out" is being adopted by Chicago in an attempt to gauge the success of a presenta tion. Detroit, Cleveland, Columbus, Indianapolis, and Milwaukee seem to be the feeling places for Chicago managers. (Continued on page 32) THE CHICAGOAN HAIR, HYSTERICS, AND A BAND 13 The new and rather imposing building on Randolph Street near State, faced in brick, and magnetic by virtue of a jewel-like electric sign, is the Oriental Theatre. Every evening around six the crowds begin to collect on the sidewalk be fore the ticket office. They surge forward in giddy mass formation until they are marshalled into com pact columns by long men clad in turbans and the gaudy trappings representing Mr. Katz's vision of the Orient. As the hour progresses toward seven the line elongates, ser pentining along the walk toward Dearborn Street and turning the corner toward Lake and the elevated line. And as the bat talion grows larger, the number of suave major-domos increases. They soothe the impatience of the hot and tired hundreds with phrases about the "next show." It is to be imagined that every one finally gets in. But such conjecture does not square with the size of the mob nor with the mental picture of the four- bit pieces as they drop meticul ously in front of the ladies the gentlemen prefer inside the efficient- ticket office. Obviously this huge tower of brick filled with a grotesque col lection of tapestry and bric-a- brac, decorated with badly as sorted colors, diseased with a vulgar "toniness," has become a Mecca for sprawling thousands. They go, drawn by one man, to a dim citadel of mock Levantine dis play. And the man is named Paul Ash. That he has caught fast hold of the popular imagination in this city there can be no doubt. There are Paul Ash dolls, Paul Ash scarfs, neckties, Paul Ash trays, Paul Ash bobs and Paul Ash autographed raincoats. A Rialto urchin has even made a bad joke about Paul Ash and his brother Jack. He has been made the subject of sermons, he has been imitated at masquerades, he has been treated as a theme — a great man of our times — by pop- eyed high school students. And these facts may jar on you pleasant ly or unpleasantly, depending on whether you think him a vulgar monger of bad musics or an apostle for an art of the people. Fifteen years ago this exquisitely marcelled bandmaster was earning thirteen dollars a week on the west- side of Chicago. It was during the jazz epoch when the direct, heartful appeal of the "blues" was being superceded by the tin-pan, kettle- ) smashing form of jazz. Mr. Ash migrated to San Fran cisco from which, directly or in directly, all significant men of jazz seem to have come. (Whiteman, you recall, the down-at-the-heels Jackie with his poor little band in the water-front cafe.) Obtaining a job as director of a vaudeville orchestra he experimented upon his audience by facing them as his musicians played. And in that paradox of position, so useless, we grant you to Stokowski, Stock or Toscanini, he found one of the secrets that led to a kind of fame and a fabulously large income years later. For, by facing his audience, he greets and communes with them, and is yet so skillful about it that he does not lose the men who are play ing with him. He smiles genially as he leads his little better than average band through an indifferent Spanish ditty called Valencia or a banal tune of his own composition that consists of a whining query "Why do I love You?" He an nounces a soft-shoe dancer with the modest statement that, in his humble estimation, this particular soft-shoe dancer is a "wow." And he says "wow," too, because that is the word the audience understands. And when he refers to his own estimate as "humble" there are hysterical feminine gigglings all over the darkened house, snip pets of laughs inferring all too plainly that the ladies feel as near to Paul as if they wrere having tea together and that his modesty, while commendable enough, is quite ridiculous be cause who, in all his or her world, could possibly know any more about soft-shoe dancing than Paul. They are snickers of praise, not praise for an aloof or fastidious genius, but praise for a middling good musician who can get himself across the footlights with really uncanny accuracy. He does not inspire because he is not much of an artist. His personality is on a constant toboggan downward toward the personalities of the Loop and Cottage Grove and Logan Square who gaze at him as at the embodied synthesis of High Society and Art. And it would be foolish to be too sniffety about this peculiar ability of his. It is something that prob ably no other man with his limited equipment could do. He is only a fair pianist. If he does his own orchestrating, he does not hold a candle to Ferdie Grofe or one or two other eastern jazz symphonists; the vaudeville that he offers against the background of his rather per sonable saxophonists and violinists and drummers is only average. Yet he packs them in and presides with a tremendous magnetism over the (Continued on page 32) 14 TWEGWIGAGOAN The Jollopi Eight Makes a Bid for Immortality TUECI4ICAG0AN 15 })OOKf- The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman. The fact of the matter is, to borrow a line from the Red Queen, that it takes all the reading you can do to stay in the same place. And sometimes, after you've read and read and read, you find yourself back whence you started. Here, for example, we are at "Tristram Shandy" again, newly prefaced by Professor Wilbur L. Cross and dressed in shiny black. An imposing volume, one that would go well with any scheme of interior decoration — Spanish, Re naissance, or all the "Louies". Tho on second thought we would not recommend it for a colonial living room, as being exteriorly a trifle too decorative and interiorly a trifle too — well, as Sterne would say, too Laurence Sterne, one recollects, belonged in point of time to that grand old school of novelists headed by Fielding and counting Smollet and Richardson among its minor luminaries. Those were the days when men were men, and called a spade a spade, not, as did the late and unlamented Victorians, an implement for digging, nor yet, as we moderns brazenly do, a damn shovel. But "Tristram Shandy" is many things besides a novel. It's the first impressionistic work of English literature, for one thing; and it is written in what scholars have long called an inimitable style. For once the scholars are right : it is an inimitable style; an effervescent distillation of bizarre ideas and para doxical emotion; sugary sentiment and antiseptic humor; like nothing in the world so much as a glass of champagne, golden and bubbling in the candlelight. And even now, in this frank and free twentieth century, Sterne's audacities almost take one's breath away. "I wish" — one likes to quote the beginning of Sterne's opus — "I wish either my father or my mother, or indeed both of them, as they were in duty both equally bound to it, had minded what they were about when they begot me." (One is moved to comment that they could scarcely have done better had they been more serious). And so he proceeds to describe the circumstances surround ing the begetting. But that's a long affair, and, after all, only incidental. Tristram does not emerge until the third or fourth book. The story belongs to that most delightful as semblage of persons ever invented — Corp oral Trim, and Mr. Walter Shandy, and Dr. Slop, the "man midwife", and my uncle Toby, my dear, my unforgettable uncle Toby. You re member uncle Toby who couldn't kill a fly? But as unforget table as uncle Toby are the dissertations on every subject in the world, delectably intruded as the tale bubbles on. The dis sertation on noses, for instance; or the one on anathemas, ending with the Romish formula of excommunication; or any of. Mr. Shandy's metaphysical disquisitions. One regrets, once again, that Sterne never finished his book, and left my uncle Toby still unattached and the Widow Wadman not quite reassured concerning the nature of his ail ment. But what we have is pure delight — or, at any rate, delight. The publishers deserve a rising vote of thanks for having dusted off this particular old one. Incidentally, Sterne's other opus, "A Sentimental Journey," is being published as a companion volume to "Tristram," and after reading the one it's in evitable to read the other. Mape — The World of Illusion. It is but a step, chronologically speaking, from Sterne to Mrs. Sid- dons and Goethe — and so to Mr. Maurois' latest book, "Mape — The World of Illusion." Mr. Maurois was so successful with "Ariel" that one expects him to continue doing the same sort of thing. "Mape'* is not, as is the fashion to say, an "advance" on "Ariel." But it's just as good as "Ariel," and what could be better, in it's way, than that? This time Mr. Maurois has a thesis, charmingly set forth in the little prologue to his stories. Here he tells how Francoise, his little daughter, finding the real world not at all amenable to her desires, creates for herself the fairy-land of Mape, where "it never rains," where "everybody plays all day in vast gardens — and at eight o'clock the grown-ups are sent to bed and the little boys take the little girls out to the theatre." So, Mr. Maurois would have us believe, his art is to the artist a land of refuge, of sweet and willful illusion where he is (Continued on page 27) 16 TUECWCAGOAN FOOTNOTE/ ON I4EADLINE/ "Police lay plans to break up gangs of killers." What, again? Oh dear, we do hope they lay the trap in the right place this time. Why not try the city hall? "Republican congressional cam paign will be based on tariff and immigration laws." My God, another poor, bewildered farm plug with a blue ribbon on its tail. "Self-confessed social drinker wins nomination for governorship of Ar kansas." How interesting! You know, the more we hear about these south western states, the less we believe these bible stories about them. "Coolidge bends all to make U. S. dry." There are, perhaps, one or two people who are willing to admit that Dr. Coolidge has already done his part in that respect. "United States Judge rules all but Canadians must get passport visas to cross Canadian border into U.S." Get a couple tubes across the Detroit River and they can make even Canadians comply. "Bulk of millionaire's estate left to his widow and two children." And what about the poor mus eums and art galleries and chorus girls? "Boston woman sues when wealthy young husband goes back to Alma Mater." Where did that man go to school? Must be one of our co-educational schools, like Harvard. "World's biggest movie theatre to be erected on South Side, project to cost five millions." Now we can look forward to a complete disruption of hotel lobby decoration. Certainly the influence of certain loop movie houses can be seen in most of the hotel lobbies in town. "Two killed, three wounded in moonshine battle in Wisconsin woods." We hope there wasn't any shoot ing. "Bankers and traction chiefs get together with city officials and take step in settling the transit prob lem." With an ultimate view of accom plishing what? Changing the date line, perhaps. "New York girl wins meat neck lace for eating twenty-eight hot dogs with mustard." No comment, only we're glad the contest wasn't held in Grant Park Stadium. "Peoria mayor suspends chief of police and detective associate, pend ing charge that they were driving cars stolen in Chicago." Wouldn't you know they'd do that in Peoria? "Governor Small's highway build ing program first step to third term." If we' remember correctly, Gov ernor Small's highway building ex ploit covered several first steps. "Chicago gunman in Indiana jail to await trial." Why don't they learn to stay in Chicago? "Prohibition unit chemists hunt ing for still deadlier poisons to denature alcohol used by bootleg gers." No comment; no comment at all. — The Editors Breadline in Vienna TUECUICAGOAN 17 BAPTISM AND AUTOMOBILES Quite a spell ago my man, Claude, who is, by the way, very Bricish, came running towards me. Now Claude has not done much running since his days on the playing fields of Eton, so I knew he had something of great importance to reveal to me. As I have said, Claude is seldom seen running. In fact, his walk is so slow and dignified, so measured and pragmatic, so distinctly his own, that many times I have thought I should coin the word, an adjective, of course, "claudean." A "claud- ean" walk. There could also be "claudish" and the adverb, "claud- ishly." To walk "claudishly." Claude did have an interesting disclosure to make to me. He sug gested that, for my next paper, I make an extensive study of the popularity of the automobile — not as a means of transportation, not as an amusement for those who would putter around on a Sunday morning, not as an implement for hunting down the wily pedestrian, but as a praenomen for the sons and daught ers of these states, they who will carry on things. In Fort Wayne, Indiana, Mr. and Mrs. Twiller M. Olincamp have two sons who are named Stevens-Duryea and Nash. At first Mrs. Olincamp insisted that the younger boy, Nash, had not been named after the motor car, but had been, instead (she used the word instead), for a well known magazine publisher. Claude and I waited for the return of Mr. Olincamp. He came home for dinner and tracked mud on the floor. Mr. Olincamp was a very fine, substantial gentleman of the old school and said at once that his wife was quite wrong; he said that Nash had been named after the Nash car. Little Nashie, when we questioned him, told us he had been named after his great-grandfather who had been the founder of Nashville, Tennessee. Be that as it may, I do not think Mr. Olincamp would lie intentional ly. Furthermore, it is well known that youths often exaggerate about their ancestors from whom they have derived their names. Nash also told us what he had learned in school that day. There are no Norwegian children named for automobiles. I suppose the reason is the lack of automobiles in Norway. As I understand it, in that fine country sleds are used entirely. It is, therefore, highly probable that Norwegian children (and for that matter, big folks) are, at times, named for sleds, that is, if sleds have names. I remember I used to have a sled named "Bliz zard" and Claude says he had an uncle who once owned a sled named "Salad." I think Claude probably missed the last part of the name. I would suggest that the name had been "Saladin." Claude deems my supposition very plausible. In fact To think I purchased this cigarette holder only one dollar. For Gawd's sake— for a buck and a hawf could have bought a clarinet. he goes on to say that on the day he saw his uncle's sled, November 3, 1884, there was quite a bit of snow on the stern of it and it is more than likely that the last syllable of the sled's name had been snowed under, so to speak. In Flagstaff, Arizona, there is the Michealjohn family which has a son christened Buick who will be nine years old come Tuesday. Mr. Michealjohn assured us with true Arizonean simplicity that little Buick had been named as he had because Mr. Michealjohn's only uncle, his Uncle Dewey, had owned a Buick car at the time of little Buick's birth, and, as Mr. Mich ealjohn's Uncle Dewey had started a bank account of thirty dollars toward the college fund for his new great nephew (or great-nephew), they, the parents of the child, had thought it no more than just that they name their young son after his great uncle's motor car. We (Claude and I) found in Fon du Lac, Wisconsin, a young man bearing the praenomen, Marmon, — Marmon Appledorf. He ad mitted readily enough that he had been called Marmon after the Marmon which is an automobile. He went on to say that it was quite le dernier eri (he was of French- Canadian extraction) in Fon du Lac to name children for motor cars. Again he went on to explain that his name had been, originally, Fred Appledorf, but he had chang ed it purposely because of the so called "naming-children after-automobiles-craze." . There are in Fon du Lac eleven delightful people named for automobiles, among whom are, according to age: Overland Duffle, Dort Jones, Cadillac Allup, jor Fiat Crumble, Dusenburg Trenty, Oakland Nuckll, ^ (Continued on page 29) 18 TWEGWIGAGOAN /MART RENDEZVOU; Walk From Town. For those who, though not addicted to picnics, like to eat out-of-doors on a warm evening, there is the courtyard at the Piccadilly where the combina tion of Old World a t - mosphe re and sophis tication is oddly rem iniscent of the larger court of the Hotel Con tinental in Paris. On the fourth floor of the Fine Arts Building, looked down upon by the windows of many studios, and open to the sky, this quiet retreat in the midst of the city rush is a surprise and a delight. French windows open onto the tiled floor of the court from four sides and the spaces be tween these windows are'relieved by Doric columns in high relief. A decorative balustrade on the floor above overlooks the court on all sides and lends an air of intimacy to the place. Set with painted green tables shaded by vividly striped umbrellas, the Piccadilly courtyard is especially popular at noon, for the high, close surroundings keep it cool and free from glare. The food is all that one could wish, the service is as good, and the patrons comprise one of the most inte re sting groups to be encount ered in the city. Should rain or a particularly cool breeze drive you in side, you will find the window tables, over looking the Avenue, the park, and the lake, almost as enchanting as the courtyard, though their fascina tion will be more of Chicago than of Paris. Taxi From Town. If you have not yet "discovered" the little three-steps-down at 1011 Rush Street where the sign "A Bit Of Sweden" swings, you may look forward to adding another to your list of Places To Eat In Chicago. "A Bit Of Sweden" combines those two things which we all seek and rarely find together: good food and "atmosphere." It is a quiet place; excellent for a tete-a-tete or merely restful after a busy day in the Loop. The small tables with the crude-looking benches under them and the old-fashioned built-in fireplace are reminiscent of a Ratt- vik cottage; the sober-colored bits of peasant weaving about the walls add to the illusion of rustic Sweden. U 5 - J Sweden (or is it Denmark?) is the home of what we know by the French name of hors-d'oeuvre, and on a table in the center of the room you will find fifteen or more vari eties, of which you will be invited to partake as bountifully as you may feel inclined. But don't overdo it because there is more to come; crisp Knickabrod, excellent with the Smorgasbrod (hors-d'oeuvre) and, if you are lucky, JagarschnitzeL which is veal flavored in an al together unique and delicious man ner; Swedish pastry, justly famous, and, of course, wonderful coffee. But there is always a specialty, and it is this reliable variety in menu which is one of the charms of the place. Motor From Town. The word "roadhouse" has come to have a vulgar con notation as is only natural to those of us who optimistically seek entertainment outside of Chicago in the summer months. So when we use the word in connection with the Purple Grackle we use it only in the sense of its be ing a "house beside a road." For the Pur ple Grackle, as those who have yet to (Continued on page 26) TWQGUIGAGOAN 19 I REST AT THE MOVIES There's no further doubt about it; the movies have made our grand country safe — or un safe, depending on the point of view — for democracy! The old symbolic melting pot should be relegated to the antique shop, because the latest thing in caldrons is the moving picture theatre, gaudily ornate, miraculous ly combining all known styles of art and architecture within four walls, a floor, and a ceiling. Entrance is barred to no one. Maxwell Street, Thirty^fifth Street, the near north side, and Lake Forest ; giddy debutantes, prosper ous beer merchants, bond salesmen, and mattress stuffers. All making up one jolly family. I slip my silver coin through the window and receive a little scrap of cardboard. Then I wander down a colonnade that looks like a Roman bath. An usher appears and bows and says something I don't understand. I follow him and he points in the dark ness to a seat. Sudden dismay checks my sigh of satisfaction. Next to me, carrying with him a curious pungency, sits a native son of Italy. Quite satisfied with my knowledge of ancient Rome, I look around anxiously for another seat. An usher, of course, is un available. In the blackness, I see something that looks like an empty seat. But it isn't. There's a child sitting in it. Finally I find one of the patently- courteous ushers. Of course he is very polite. He stands me against the wall in a cataleptic posture for ten minutes while he searches in the blackness for a seat. Once more I am established. Really I didn't miss more than a reel, because I fall right into the swing of the picture. The heroine is sitting in the garden. It is twilight and apple blossoms are falling on her. She is waiting for her lover to whom her father objects. Suddenly a huge bulk rises before me. The heroine and the garden have disappeared. "C'mon Ernie, mama's goin' now. Put on yer hat." "Naw! I wanna stay." "Ernie! You hear me?" And while this example of parent al discipline is being broadcast, I am trying in vain to get a glimpse of what is happening on the screen. Where are the ushers who are supposed to quell such disturbances "for the benefit of those who wish to enjoy the performance?" Finally the bulk departs with Ernie in tow. "Ouch!" "Pardon me, please," mumbles a masculine voice as its owner walks all over my foot in a clumsy effort to get to a seat in my row. Only my feminine delicacy prevents my giving this male person a retributive kick. Again I get a glimpse of the silent drama flickering on the screen. A climax is imminent - "I was sitting in this seat," says a voice at my elbow." "I beg your pardon, madam," the sugar-coated voice of the usher is saying, "would you mind seeing if there is a brief case in your seat?" "I am sorry to disturb you," supplements the other voice. "Why, there's nothing here," I murmur a bit too sweetly. The usher persists, however. He turns his flashlight all around, making everyone lift his feet so that the concealed brief case will be discovered. No brief case! "I was sure that I sat in this seat." I glance at him to make sure that he is the absent-minded, bespect acled professor of dead languages of which I suspect him. After about ten minutes' inspec tion, the usher and the professor decide that the brief case is not in our row. By this time, too, I have decided that absent-minded pro fessors should be barred from the movies, or at least forced to check their brief cases at the door! Father and mother and all seven children file out two rows below. The never-failing chords of the organ reverberate their triumphant accompa ni- ment to the closing scene — usually a convincing clinch — of the feature picture. I know now why the organist makes such a tremendous effort at this point. Those who, like me, have been denied the privilege of seeing the end, can at least hear it! Soft, opalescent lights flood the theater, like drunken rainbows, There is a great stir. Crowds pour in and out, pushing, shoving, clam oring. The race for seats is on. It is a matter of the sharpest elbows. Someone climbing into the row behind me, tousles my shingle bob, while the slim youth who has been sitting in the next seat climbs out in front of me, knocking my purse to the floor. And before I can rescue it a stout individual, wheezing like a cross country man, tries to squirm to the seat next to me. The lights dim out. On the screen is flashed the announcement of the overture, with a courteous (Continued on page 31) 20 THE CHICAGOAN ARTGALL&RILT *\^7ith the end of the summer * * season, when things pictor ial are at their lowest ebb and one never believed that the dead could be so dead, one begins to pluck up a little in looking forward to joys to come. A number of thrills are promised in the local galleries for the early fall. One of them is the Survage show which the Chester Johnson galleries, in the Fine Arts Building, have an nounced. This ought to be some thing in the nature of a big-time event. Survage is one of the import ant younger men who are painting in Paris at the present time. His work, heralded by the late Guillaume Apollinaire, who wrote a foreword to the catalogue of the painter's first Parisian show, is titillatingly mod ern. Survage is a veritable Cubist — a Cubist in the best sense of the word. He is the only man I know who can give a metaphysical cross- section of an entire city in a flam- ingly sensuous and emotional can vas of comparatively limited dimen sions. In addition, he has, frequent ly, the strength — the same sheer, pure strength to be encountered in Pisarro — which is to be found in the work of Picasso's best period — about 1920-1922, or thereabouts. Sur- vage's fisherwomen are marvelous. And the suggestion of Picasso here does not detract from the essential and powerful originality of the ar tist's conception. This will not be Survage's first showing in Chicago, by any means. He was first exhibited at the Arts Club some years ago, and the John son galleries, for some time past, have been his intrepid entrepren eurs — a display of good practical foresight, as well as courage, on the part of a commercial dealer; for Survage is becoming more and more marketable. The Johnson galleries showed some wonderful Survages last year, and for the past summer, their Mr. Quest has been in Paris, looking around and seeing what he could pick up. Among other things, he picked up a number of new Sur vages. Apollinaire, in his catalogue to the first Survage show in Paris, has told us how he found the painter living — and painting — six flights up, under a roof that became a sieve every time it rained. And I remember Arthur Aldis telling me how he himself climbed those six flights to have the privilege of paying $600 (I believe it was) for one of Survage's canvases. And Survage, then, was practically an unknown. Try to get one of his pictures, a few years from now, for $600! Next to the Survage show at Johnson's, the most alluring event on the fall calendar thus far, for me, is the promised exhibition of negro art at the Arts Club. This ought to be one of the outstanding events of the coming season. Negro art now adays is in the ascendency. Every magazine, every book one picks up, almost, seems to have something to say about it. Besides Alain Locke's "The New Negro," we have, as Carl Van Vechten's latest, "Nigger Heav en," and I have just seen, in Ben Abrams' Congress street book shop, a new volume of "blues." More, they are now having an exposition of negro art in Paris. There can be no doubt that mod ern art, painting, sculpture, music and literature, owes much to the Africans — and the Afro- American. If we go back, for example, to those early-Cubist days, when Picasso, Bracque, Derain and the others were holding their first get-togethers in Pablo's Montmarte studio, we shall find the negroes, along with the Egyptians, the Persians and, though not so much, the Japanese, giving modernity its initial shove forward. In both Clive Bell's "Since Cezanne" (I think it is, though it may be his "Art") and Roger Fry's "Vision and Design," you will find excellent if, as yet, somewhat timid commen taries on the first negro-art show in London some years ago. In picking up a copy of the German Quer- schnitt, I recently came across an article by Darius Milhaud, done into German, on Negermusik. There is no doubt the negro, through Paul Whiteman and the art of jazz, has conquered us. To say nothing of his spirituals. And if you want to see what he has done and is doing, in paint, stone and wood, see the Arts Club show. — Samuel Putnam MEANDERINGS OF A SOPHOMORON {To Herself in Spring) I've almost half a semi-urge To go and be a demi-virg. I've nothing very much ag'inst her; I'd toil not — neither would I spinst er. But — doing things by halves is vain: I'd rather not be a dummy-mon- daine! Done! I'll eschew the demi-tasse; Either nothing at all — or a great big glass. Dream on, sweet maid, all una- Freud .... But the worm that turns gets the early boid. — Hill Starr TI4EGI4IGAGOAN 21 WRITE YOUR CONGRESSMAN I have always thought run ning was pulse-quickening and spirit-blighting; and as I much prefer to have my pulse go along smoothly and my spirit as high as possible, I dislike terribly to find it necessary to run. Therefore the other day, when I found it pretty important that I run in order to board a bus, (and I did so want to board that particular bus) I was very fast in pulse-beating and very low in spirit. When I am fast of pulse and low of spirit because of having run I always have a great desire (and I usually gratify that desire) to be nasty to some one, especially to the person who was the cause of my running. Well, I had to run for that bus because, (a) as I've said, I wanted to board that especial vehicle and (b) it didn't stop where I was stand ing, though I signalled the driver with promptness and, I think, abil ity. The driver saw my signal, I'm sure, for he finally did stop some half square away. I feared greatly that he would start before I could reach his coach if I were to stroll toward it, so I ran, thus quickening my pulse and blighting my spirit and con sequently irritating me con siderably. I boarded the bus on the fly for the driver had started it and, because the driver wasn't within reach, I was determined to be as nasty as possible to the conductor who was hext best anyway. "Well," I said to the con ductor when I had landed on the platform, "I certainly think I ought to be awarded a letter or at least numerals for that last half-mile sprint." "Aw, write to your con gressman," snarled the con ductor, resolved, I suppose, to be nasty too. "By gad, I shall!" I cried and turned on my heel and stepped into the bus. Fancy my surprise when, after sitting down, I found myself next to none other than Fred Jurgenson, my congressman. Conceive too, if you can, how delighted I was to find myself in such a situation. There I was, sitting right next to Fred, my old friend Fred, and my congress man to boot. Fred and I hadn't met for ever so long, so we had many things to talk about. When we had chatted for quite a while I told him of my recent experience with the sharp-tongued bus conductor who had suggested rudely that I write to my congress man. "There, Fred," I said, "is my story. Now what shall I do?" "Well," answered Fred after some moments of deliberation, "well, I think if I were in your place, I should write to my congressman." "All right, Fred," I shall, "I shall write to you tonight. What is your address?" "My address?" asked Fred. "Write to your congress- Jerry- Johnn Jerry- ¦ Sorry Johnnie to have kept you waiting- been setting a trap for the wife. ie— Good Heavens! what do you expect f - A mouse in the pantry. "Yess, yess, my dear fellow," I replied a bit nettled, "but tell me, please, how shall I write to him, to you, that is, when I don't know his, your, address?" "How?" said Fred. "Well, write to your congressman." By that time I was pretty sure Fred was well in his cups, so I decided to humour him. "By the Lord Harry, Fred," I said, "that is indeed an excellent idea. What is the name of my congressman?" "His name?" asked Fred, "Write to your congressman for his name.' "Oh, certainly, Fred, old fellow,' I said, "I intend to do that this very evening." I realized that the bus was nearing my street, so I arose and bade Fred good evening and retired to the rear platform. "Conductor," I said, "is the next stop Duffleby Avenue?" "I don't know," answered the conductor, "you'd better write to your congressman." I reached home without diffi culty, having had a great deal of experience in home reach ing, and as I found no one in, I called the maid. "Margarite," I said, "where is Mrs. Purple?" "Oh, Professor," replied the girl dropping a curtsy, "I think you'd better write to your congressman." "Margarite," I said, "you've been drinking that cooking sherry again, haven't you?" "I really can't say, sir," she responded, "but perhaps if you write to your con gressman, you may get some specific information." I couldn't be rude, be cause when she is in a state of sobriety Margarite is as (Continued on page 30) 22 TWEGI4IGAG0AN MU/ICAL NOTE/ LA Vida Breve, freely translat ed, "A Short Life and a Merry One," a one act opera by Manuel De Falla was made known to Chicago audiences on the night of July 31 at Ravinia. The book, by Carlos Fernandez-Shaw, con cerns a warm Spanish gypsy gal who dies of a broken heart — a convenient stage malady — after making a ter rible scene at a party given by her seducer for his real and wealthy intended. The fiesta furnished a grand opportunity for Ruth Page, Mark Turbyfill and an excellent corps de ballet to hop about to the Jota and the Malaguena. The tor rid plot and pleasingly conventional music allowed Bori and Mojica to indulge in gracious warblings and picturesque stage attitudes. For a whole scene a pretty backdrop per mitted a view of Granada from the Sacro Monte, a scenic bonus ac companied by Latinly languorous off stage choirsters. Otherwise nothing of particular significance marked this mid-western premiere. De Falla wrote the score thirteen years ago and he has changed his musical clothes several times since. Therefore those who want to hear an original among moderns came away mildly disappointed. It was an evening marked by an invigorat ing pictorial charm and certain very fine singing. But it was not an occasion breathlessly to contemplate genius. The conducting of Hasselmans exerts a more definite hold upon this particular listener each time he is heard. Both the opera and a short program of pot-boilers before it, he managed with an admirable combin ation of forthright virility and subtlety. We have it on the authority of so eminent an old soldier of the concert stage as Fannie B-Z that these are dark days financially for the musi cian on tour. What with the radio, the gramaphone and various grades of automatic pianos, the inducement becomes less and less great to leave the family hearth for the draughty and ugly concert hall. If the truth were known we should probably be quite surprised at the meagre in comes of some quite reputable and well-advertised concert artists. Of course the Kreislers, the Rachman inoff's and the Chaliapins go on forever; but only a few steps lower in the categories of musical achieve ment there is, we imagine, much hard sledding. This probably accounts for one Adela Verne, a short sturdy little pianiste occupying a prominent place on the bill at the Palace Music Hall two or three weeks ago. For if Adela was a second-rater she was a very good one. Possessed of a great technical equipment and a masculine power and ease for legato passage-work and octaves, she breathed a momen tary significance into some of the worst piano pieces ever written. You know what they were. The Wind by Alkan, which needed for its blowing various terrible colored lights occasioned by the gentleman at the top of the gallery ; the second and most hackneyed of the Liszt rhapsodies; and the inevitable C sharp minor prelude of Blue Serge. But in spite of the musical side show it was necessary to admire Adela. And why not? With little effort she could tie up with a manager, play Couperin, Chopin and Debussy at Aeolian hall and sally west to bring light and dignity to the cog noscenti. The result might be starvation. Instead she condescends to the two-a-day with pianistic platitudes, draws down her fat salary, and retires to a cozy apart ment for a morning of solitude with Bach. — Robert Pollak The Fog The fog billowed softly Like a great sheet In a feeble wind. Tips of tall trees Poked their heads through the grey, Twisting their neck sideways, Struggling for easy breathing, Like a swimmer in cold water. And through the mist Thin streamers hung from all the stars And the moon was a child In a communion veil. —J. McGrath TUEGWIGAGOAN 23 EVAPORATION An Inadvertent Comedy Scene: Schlogel's Cafe. Time: An evening in earnest. Stage setting: Tables, ghosts, pictures of the imagists. Enter H. M. shedding tears over cigar ashes from one of Amy Lowell's cigars. She reads a chapter from "Evaporation," and ponders over paragraph entitled "The Obstetric of the Idea." Sam P., sitting on table, chants: "A tear is an intellectual thing And a sigh is the sword of an Angel King." —1. Enter S. Anderson, carrying mask of Gorky. He drops it, shattering it to a thousand pieces. Screams from the rear. S. A., singing: The river sings. A long, lean, lanky highbrown sings a song about her lover. The river sings as it goes over the prairies. S. A. faints. Sam P., sighing heavily, passes smelling salts, startling S. A. into recovery. S. A. automatically, "An old man's footfall Leaves printless imprints In the dust of reality." — 2. Carl S: God, oh God, the prairies. Big hunks of prairies on my eyes. L. Jones, dressed as waiter, rushes in from left wings. L. J.: Did you call sir? Carl S. : Was the noise of the great one Curse of the hurt one. T. Lynn: Let us leave these damn grey towers. L. Jones: But grey is such a lovely color. He begins to weep. R. H. L.: Don't cry, L. J., don't cry. I'll send you a telegram. L. Jones: (leaving stage in quan dary). That was my first impression, R. H. L.; that was my first impres sion. Curtain. References : Evaporation : A symposium. — 1 page 30; — 2, page 32, same volume. — W. D. McKinzie. ANi™^^»ril^TO^^5w»WlW»5^^7K7«S"'WZ K | » — ifxte TO D»T£ /VVAP- IMPRESSIONS State Street Flamboyancy on high-heeled shoes. "At this Theater— Pathe News." Michigan Boulevard Breath of waves across one's face, Glittering shops, fleet cars, and space. South Clark Street Bent people patter. Grimy lights. A muttered chatter. Men in fights. Rush Street Gas plate and a sky-light view. Youth makes gestures vague and blue. Maxwell Street Gabble of wives at vegetable marts. Beads and skull-caps and high piled carts. — Harriett Schleiter TO THE NEAR WEST SIDE First in war, First in peace, First in the hearts Of the Chicago police. OH, WELL . . . What difference, really, would it make If tomorrow I should wake To find you'd gone away. And your dear room all astrew A brassiere, a satin shoe Upon the bed where once you lay. I do not think that I should grieve Or wear a heart upon my sleeve Like some men whom I see . . . Because if you should go away I know we'd both be just as gay As when you were with me. 24 TWECUICAGOAN /PORT/ R&VI EW Golf "Aw, you'll fall — just like the rest of 'em," scoffed Mr. P o t s b e e, head of the fiscal de partment, chatting with one Mr. Thorn- apple of the United Citizens and Trust Company in the marble corridor of the massive new 42-story white-tile skyscraper. "I've heard 'em reel off that old stuff time and again, but sooner or later the old game gets 'em, and they all fall just alike." "But it's really so very silly," replied Thornapple stiffly, twirling his fingers at his gray, waxed must ache. "There's nothing at all to the game. I fancy with the proper preparation I could master the thing in a few weeks. The power of mind over matter, you know. It should be learned just as you would learn banking or a new language, thoroughly mastering every little detail." "Golf is purely a game of the imagination." "Quite the contrary. It is simple mechanics." "Well," yawned Potsbee. "It looks that way from the outside. You cold-blooded capitalists are always reducing everything to form ulae. I'd like to lay you 5,000 Cal cimine preferred you can't get into the game enough in three months to even qualify for the club champion ship in September." "Well," hemmed Thornapple, "I've been investigating Calcimine, and the management is none too efficient, and anyway I'm not a gambling man. I never believe in taking chances." The minute hand of the big round electric clock on the gray wall clicked upon the Roman numeral one, and Mr. Potsbee and Mr. Thornapple, snapping into positions of rigid alert ness, bowed stiffly, before slipping softly into their padded chairs be hind glass-topped desks. In the imagination of one was a rolling greensward glistening beneath a golden summer sun; in the imagina tion of the other — well, who knows what a man like Thornapple thinks about on duty? In the fore of the second tee at Glen Flora is a pond, like an opal upon a galloping meadow of green velvet. The other day, a dignified old gentleman teed up a ball there, and whack — it sailed into the pond. He teed up another one. Whack! Straight into the water. Again he drove. Whack! Into the pond. "Hey, boy!" he addressed his cad dy. "How many does this pond hold?" Ted Lloyd, one of the committee in charge of the city amateur golf championship at Jackson park, pull ed one that belongs in the books. A gallery of 4,000 was causing the finalists, Sheldon Lee Scott of Wich ita, Kas. and T. R. Montgomery of Chicago, difficulty in locating the greens, so Lloyd recruited a young woman wearing a bright red dress to stand by the flag. Scott, who failed to qualify in the national public links tournament in Buffalo, stopped over here just long enough to capture the city title from Mont gomery, 4 and 3. It was the first time the crown ever left the local dis trict. Yachting Like flecks of paper scattered up on a marine landscape, 66 yachts carved little curving ruffles upon the turpid waters of Lake Michigan in the Lake Michigan Yachts Associa tion regatta off Grant park harbor at Randolph street under the auspices of the Columbia Yacht club. Bill Faurot's Fantome flapped through to victory in the R class and won the Universal time prize. Fantome's time for the ten-mile drive, in a choppy sea, was 1:13:14. A few days later, Fantome added a victory in the Chicago Yacht club's R class regatta over the 12 nautical mile course off Belmont Harbor, capturing the Richardson cup by taking all three legs of the event. Polo Chicago is host to one of the most distinguished polo players of the .day — Mr. Tom Buchanan, the spring-steel, muscled son of the rich, who so easily caused so much trouble for our romantic friend, Mr. Gatsby. Mr. Buchanan's great string of polo. ponies never saw action outside the pages of "The Great Gatsby," but, possibly, will be a living person? ge sometime after a number of the other polo wonders have fallen off their ponies upon the creeping bent. (Continued on page 27) TWEGUIGAGOAN 25 { { rpo the debutantes God I help them!" I heard a gentleman, slightly in his cups, propose that toast a few years ago, and strangely the words have lingered in my mind. And whenever I read in the daily prints that another sweet young thing is to be launched on the social seas, unconsciously I raise my imaginary goblet and drink her health, and repeat the words of my discerning but bibulous friend. Unthinking though the deb is said to be, even she will admit that both the toast and the prayer she will perhaps need before she has weathered a season that will be filled with either heart aches and disappointments or thrills and joys. Sounds silly, doesn't it? And yet I've heard of several of the poor foolish virgins who slipped away early from dances because no one had found their conversation or their dancing sufficiently good to cut in on them, with the result that their first partners had been "stuck" with them, labelling them wall flowers before they'd even budded. Other little worries — ridiculous and snobbish, too, if you will — are the gnawing doubts that one is not going to be asked to the "nicest" parties; that one will not be invited to assist at the smartest teas; that the Junior League will not open its arms and beckon; that beaux will not clamor to dance attendance at the charity parties; that, in fact, one may not be a success! And it is important to be a success the first season out, for say what you will, the debut re ception line is the auction block of the social marriage mart. One is dressed prettily, the little accom plishments of education and travel — never vulgarly aired — do, however, hang about one as an aura of gen tility; one is introduced, and one is expected to make a good match, and one must decidedly always have an eye on the main chance, artless though the dawn pink gown and background of flowers may make one appear. " Money sometimes does make the deb trot a bit more blithely, simply because it supplies a brilliant ball — and a thousand and one other luxuries, but, strange to say, several of the girls who have made the most notable success in the past few years were not the ones whose parents were even well to do. The charming unaffected daughter of a well placed widow, with a medium income but an irreproachable family tree, had only two ball gowns for her whole season — but she wore them to every good party and was a real belle. The pretty daughter of a university professor didn't even have the customary ball, she paid back her Miss Scytha Mark's engagement to Alvin M. Ehret Jr. of Philadelphia tvas recently announced. Miss Mark is the daughter of Clayton Mark of Lake Forest. Miss Mark's sister, Mrs. Avery Rockefeller, has returned to Lake Forest for the wed ding, which is to take place early this fall. obligations at various small dinners, had a limited wardrobe and a meagre allowance, but she did have brains and always as many beaux as she needed. Another deb had thousands spent on her, and her mid-winter ball was considered the grandest of the season, but while most of the oldsters appreciated the fact that the young lady, who will inherit millions, was bigger than even those millions and what they could give her, many of the youngsters dubbed her a high brow and a blue stocking, and she went through the winter without having made more than one or two friends. And this year it will be the same old thing. However, even this far in advance it would be easy to pick some of the "winners." No one would need the gift of prophecy to foretell that Grace McGann, Ellen Borden, and Glee Viles will be the three girlish "graces" of the winter. They come into the limelight from families that are in every sense the very pillars of Chicago society, and though each of them has been beautifully educated in the East and abroad, none of them has about her the blatant sophistication that edi torial writers and preachers have had such righteous joy denouncing when they took for the subject the modern girl. Grace McGann might well be badly spoiled. The only daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Robert G. McGann, a niece of that queenly lady, the late Mrs. Hobart Chatfield- Taylor and of Mrs. Reginald De- Koven, and a granddaughter oc the Farwells around whom the early so ciety of Chicago eddied, this tall and pretty youngster has been reared in an atmosphere of culture and luxury, and is destined to make a brilliant marriage. She seems to the casual observer very much her self, and although she has been given a sense of the importance of her family in the community it doesn't seem to have, in anyway, made her snobbish. Perhaps because her mother, reserved though she is, has always insisted on simplicity for her child. (Continued page 28) 26 <The BOULEVARD I ER J ust one day of stead - ily and soft ly falling rain with the sum m e r dresses hud dled in the doorways clinging with the wet, and nude chiffon stockings mud spat tered. Making brilliant splashes of color through the mist, plaid, yel low, purple, red, green — the newest raincoats with umbrellas that match. Most good looking, mighty service able and not at all expensive. Barnetts are showing in one of their boulevard windows, several lovely oval diamonds. One, a pointed oval, is set upon a narrow emerald studded band. A yellow twin to this ring gleams sourly upon the cushion beside it. The really smart shops have, as yet, very little to show in the dress line. It's early and the buyers are just coming home from their treasure hunts. McAvoy, upper Michigan, is to have a new fur department in the Fall with very beautiful fur nov elties created by them. They are chowing a dinner dress of black vel vet — the softest chiffoniest of vel vet I ever did touch. It has that lovely long V-line in the front which is .so kind to fig ures both stylish stout and flapper slim. To fill in these narrow long openings, by the way, a sort of che mise — to just below the hips, of double flesh crepe or georgette is used. New summer ties at Kaskels are soft, pale, Jacquard foulards, yel low, rose and blue, which tie easily in the soft, small knot which the men like. And have you seen the simply luxurious two piece Italian and Habitai silk undies for men which they are showing? My dear! Sister's chemise, I'll swear, for the upper half and called frox. Over this is worn a pair of silk trunks equipped with sets of buttons along the back belt line, which allows adjustment according to the stalwart's tummy. size. Helen Haffenberg has a lovely lot of costume jewelry and a selection of the luscious new dress flowers in ashes of roses, mauve, purplish red and dark red. At Pearlie Powell's we were shown a rose moire evening dress that made us drip tears of longing. A flat high plain front, a slim, surplice-closing back and there a huge bow in one with the back draperies. Simply lovely and remind ing one of the beau tiful thing in white which Elsie Fer guson wore at the Blackstone lately. The Vogue, also Nelle Diamond, is showing coats of leather, lined with a flat fur, usually seal, and stitched heavily. They may be had in all col ors, are reversible and very nice for the football games and such. That is, if your pocket book happens to be well padded. — Orrea. TWEGWIGAGOAN SMART RENDEZVOUS (Continued from Page 18) come upon it will discover, is a charmingly appointed place on the Lake Street Road about four miles this side of Elgin. The building itself is unusual in design, being elliptical in shape. The dance floor of the interior follows this figure, and the tables circle the edge under a low-ceilinged sort of colonnade, the walls of which are gay with vividly dressed Spanish dancers and troubadours. The space for dancing is lighted indirectly from the coping by a soft, illusory light which changes to misty blue and glimmering red when a dance is in progress. The music, supplied by the generous collegiate orchestra, is excellent and the food as well as the service is a delightful surprise. Perhaps its odd resemblance to our childhood dream of the fairy land place where only grown-ups might spend their evenings has in fluenced us unduly in praise of the Purple Grackle. Or perhaps the lights, which are exceedingly flatter ing, are responsible for our almost lyrical mood after an evening there. But be that as it may, we assure you that you will not meet with dis appointment if you motor a bit off the beaten track for "roadhouses" and drop in to dance under the purple, blue and red lights of our pet rendezvous. — Paula. T TOW would you like the ¦*¦ ¦*¦ convenience and luxury of a most soothing and effective facial given right in your own home? Miss Engstrand is offer ing this service to women exclu sively. The very finest of pre parations are used together with the most scientific skill. For appointment call Graceland 2216 TI4EGI4IGAGOAN 2 7 DO I KNOW DETROIT! (Continued from page 11) But Detroit really isn't a bad town; they have free lunches, etc.; besides, next to the colored people, the whites are the most numerous. The colored evangelists there have some pretty snappy hymns; they have one number called I'm Goin to Call up Brother Jesus on the Royal Telephone, which has converted plenty of the sunburned brothers. Another thing about Detroit — it's an easy place to get around. For instance, if your address is 1310 Jefferson, that means that your next door neighbor's address is 9897 North Woodward or No. 2 Grand Circus Park. Me, I'm all for Detroit, and even if the women do wear bustles and boyish bobs at the same time, I'm all in favor of admitting the free state to the union. I asked my friend from Windsor if Saturday night was very gay in Detroit. "What difference does it make?" he said. "No one knows what day it is in Detroit, anyway." — Jack McGrath UNDEFINED Just a little prickling Not quite a regret Only itching conscience Undefined as yet. And last night's little moments Come poking through the rain — I wonder will tomorrow Make things right again? SPORTS (Continued from page 24) Polo, in this town, is synonymous with Onwentsia. The Lake Forest boys shipped their gallopers to Fort Snelling, recently and put on the finish exhibition of the best game ever seen at the post. Tennis Tennis proved that it is becoming a serious rival of golf when the national junior tennis championship and the western junior golf tourna ment were in progress here recently. Brilliant work at the net enabled John Doeg of Santa Monica, son of Violet Sutton of the famous Sutton sisters, to win the national junior diadem, formerly held by such famous performers as Vincent Richards, George Lott and Cranston Holman, by defeating Julius Selig- son of New York, 6-4, 1-6, 8-6, 6-3 on the turf courts of the South Side Tennis club. Berekley Bell of Austin, Texas and James Quick of Dallas, defeated Emmet Pare of Chicago and Robert Sells of San Francisco, 6-3, 5-7, 6-4, 3-6, 6-1 in the doubles finals. George Lott, who has made Bill Tilden step on occasion, but who for some reason or other has failed to convince the Davis cup committee of his excellence, rang up his fourth straight Chicago city tennis champ ionship by defeating Art Shaw in the annual tournament at the South Side Tennis club. — Cannon BOOKS (Continued from page 15) stage-manager, consciously direct ing himself and admiring the fine attitudes he makes. Whether or not Mr. Maurois' thesis is tenable need not much concern us — tho from one point of view, since it led him to write "Mape," it is very good. Goethe is the subject of the first story — Goethe in the idyllic days of his handsome youth, when he had his little loves for Frederique and Charlotte Buff and Madame Bren- tano, Substantially, weget an ac count of the genesis of "The Sorrows of the Young Werther," Goethe's first novel. But what an account! Mr. Maurois does some creating of his own, and shows us Goethe as he was — or as he makes us believe Goethe was — and Charlotte and Albert as they were before Goethe so unforgivably, in their opinion, altered them for his literary pur poses. It's one of the most romantic episodes in literary history, this "passionate friendship" of Goethe and Charlotte. Mr. Maurois ap plies to it an etcher's method, and produces a sharp, clear picture, which attains a biting climax in the last few paragraphs where Goethe and Charlotte meet again many years later and read disillusion in each other's eyes. The second section of "Mape" is entitled "It Was M. de Balzac's Fault," and tells of a young man who tries to model his life on that of one of Balzac's heroes. A curious bit of fiction, and being fiction not what one expects of Mr. Maurois. Not that he fails to do the unexpect ed well. But situated as it is be tween Goethe and Mrs. Siddons, the tale rather loses interest. In his "Portrait of an Actress'. Mr. Maurois does not give Mrs, Siddons the divine and enraptured air that she wears in Reynolds' famous painting, but he treats her more gently than he does Goethe, perhaps because he is a Frenchman and remembers her sex. Of her beauty he speaks in terms the more (Continued on page 31) 28 TI4EGWIGAG0AN SOCIETY (Continued from page 25) Ellen Borden, the daughter of Mrs. Ellen Waller Borden, and of John Borden, one of the richest men in Chicago, will make her bow under a slight handicap, as all young girls whose parents have been divorced must do. Drawing the line between the friends of both sides of the house is always a difficult task, and I hear that it is really to be drawn most definitely in this case. Mr. Borden will more than likely give a party of some elaborate kind for his debu tante daughter, following the tea and the ball that her mother will give for her. Glee Louise Viles, the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence M. Viles, is really inaugurating the debut season next week when her parents present her at a garden party tea at the lovely old estate of her grand mother Mrs. James Viles in Lake Forest "Willowbend." Although I have not seen Glee since she went to Italy to school last year — and she seemed then a mere school girl much too young to be preparing for a debut — they do say she is quite grown-up and as piquant and pretty as her quaint given name would suggest. She is one of Grace Mc Gann 's closest friends, and Grace will be one of the several young women who will give animation to the scene when Glee, in a pretty Paris made gown, makes her bow to the very smartest element of Chicago society, of which her par ents are a lively and attractive part For the first time in a good many. years the clan of McCormick, im posing and numerous in its various ramifications, will have a debutante to fete when the niece of Chauncey McCormick, pretty Noel Stone, comes back from Baltimore to the city of her father to have an intro duction and a whirl. Her mother Mrs. Herbert Stone, is a frequent visitor here, and her young brother, Ned Stone, was the joy of the debs of last season when he came here and got a job, and dined out every night in the week. He was fre quently seen in the galaxy of young moths who fluttered around the flame that is Alicia Patterson. Katharine Thorne, another third generation Chicagoan, will be an important addition to the debutante group. She is one of the five daugh ters of the Robert Thornes, two of whom married very young. Her debut will take place in the garden where both her sisters were married. Dorothy Rend will perhaps be more popular than the majority of the debutantes, for Dorothy is a thorough modernist, and she has a "line" if I may use the slang that Dorothy herself can "throw" so neatly. She dances, she sings, she plays and she writes her own music, and her gentle lady-mother must sometimes wonder how she ever brought into the world such a fire brand as the vivacious Dorothy can be. Watch the beaux crowd around Dot, if she doesn't scare them away by pretending to be too sophisti cated. — La Comtesse THE SMART GIFT A DRAKE CAVtPA PORTRAIT Cht • DmIu • Sludkr DRAKE HOTEL SOCIETY'S OFFICIAL PWOTOGPAPUER LCUICAGQAN An Entree to the Unusual THE CHICAGOAN— the one medium in this metropolitan area quali fied to grace the unusual. Previous to the intro duction of The Chicagoan, advertisers attempting to cover quality Chicago have been forced to direct their message to the stand ards of a mass intellect — the only available circu lation of any significance being newspapers. The purchase of such space involved a tremendous waste. The desire to realize the utmost value from a me dium of this character, re sulted in a consequent loss of distinction and origin ality. Thus the message failed to command the at tention of those select groups constituting the key-purchaser element, whose discrimination de mands the unusual. Insure that critical con sumer acceptance by di recting the key-note of your selling effort to that dominating class intellect embraced by the readers of THE CHICAGOAN. It is your privilege, at this time, to effect both prestige and direct sales at a very minimum cost by taking advantage of this "entree to the un usual." Investigate the Special Rates available until Oc tober 1. Address Inquiry to JOHN K. KETTLEWELL Advertising Manager TI4E04ICAGOAN 29 BAPTISM AND AUTOMOBILES (Continued from page 17) and Hershell Purdy. The last mentioned, Mr. Purdy, (Middle- bury '07), states that there is a motor bearing the name, Hershell (or Hershel). There may be. Claude says there is not» but I have made note of Mr. Purdy's name to avoid any possible mistakes. It is well known that there are several famous personages who have a praenomen influenced by auto mobiles. There is Lady Diana Manners,— an excellent example. There is Mr. Kahn, too, but he is named after the machine itself, rather than any individual car. Miss Mercedes Brockle who lives across the street from me is rather famous, in our block, at least. Ford Madox Ford is, perhaps, a double example of the idea. Hey- wood Broun has told Claude that, at the time of his christening, his father had owned an interest in a new company that was to put out a "Heywood 4-44." The company never reached the stage of produc ing the finished product but the spirit of the christening was there anyway. That night in Pittsburg, Mr. Sher wood Anderson told me there ought to be a car named "Sherwood." Then he could say he had been named for it. For the Sherwood. There should be two Sherwoods. A male Sherwood. And a female Sherwood. If there were he'd drive one. Drive one? Would he drive them both at once? As Claude says, if there had been a Sherwood, Mr. Anderson would, indubitably, have been named after it. Yes, the use of the automobile as a praenomen is — what shall I say? — growing. Claude predicts that the craze may soon come to an end, however, and that parents, then, will name their offspring for presi dents. But Claude is British, you see, and you know that an English man is as susceptible to titles as an Ethiopian is to chicken. — Donald Plant QUOTATIONS FIRST EDITIONS Drake's timely and aristocratic catalogue of rare first editions gives the following quotations : "Almayer's Folly" by Conrad, $150; "Unprofessional Tales" by Norman Douglas, $100; "Jocelyn" by John Galsworthy, $100; "A Shropshire Lad" by Housman, $300; "The Virginians" by Thackeray, $100. The Biblio reports from its statis tics that the demand for first editions for the two months ending May fifteenth was as follows: Stephen Crane leads with 22, Dreiser, 17; Poe, 14; Cabell, 14; Whitman, 12; Mencken, 12; Kipling, 11; Melville, 1 1 , Morley , 10 ; Cooper, 9 ; Sandburg, Hearn, Saltus, Twain, Harte, and Roosevelt each 8; Irving, Sherwood Anderson, Huneker each 7 ; McFee, Hawthorne, Chambers, Cather, and Dickens each 6. LIQUOR Per Case Scotch — Johnny Walker (Black Label) $110 Johnny Walker (Red Label) 100 Sandy Mac (Old Particular) 100 Teacher's Highland Cream 100 Catto's Gold Label 100 Bourbon — American reg $150 Canadian Old Judge 115 Old Crow 115 Corbey's Rye 100 American Export Hill & Hill 130 Green River 130 Gin — ¦ Booth's Old Tom $ 95 Booth's High & Dry 95 Rum- Bacardi $110 Charleston 110 Jamaica 110 Miscellaneous — *** Hennessy $115 Benedictine 125 Martini & Rossi vermouth 95 Noilly Prat vermouth 95 Apricot Brandy 126 Creme de Coca 125 Curacoa . . . 125 Champagne (Pomeroy '14) 125 Champagne (Piper Heidsick '14) 125 Absinthe 185 —The Green Grocer— r= Smart * Sophisticated Satirical Discriminating Readers Prefer It 04ICAGOAN For Your Convenience THE CHICAGOAN 154 E. Erie St., Chicago, 111. Please enter my subscription to the CHICAGOAN. ?13 Issues, $1.50 E26 Issues, $3.00 D52 Issues, $5.00 Name. Address 30 TI4ECI4ICAGOAN Write Your Congressman (Continued from page 21) efficient a maid as you can find in a month of Sundays, so I dismissed her without another word of re proach. I took up my mail from the table and looked through it. And, by gad, on every letter the postmark read "Write to your congressman." I thought that perhaps I should curse soon, but then Eloise came in with Junior in tow. "Well, good evening, my dear," I greeted her, "I had begun to won der where you- were." "Oh, really, had you, Otis?" she replied. "Why didn't you write to your congressman, dear?" I turned toward Junior and patted his head. "Did you write to your congress man today, Father?" he asked. I always have patience with children, so I remained quite calm, sat down in a great chair and drew Junior to my knee. "Now, Junior," I said, "Father wants you to tell him just what you mean by saying as you've just said to me, 'Did you write to your con gressman?"' "Oh, haven't you heard, Otis?" broke in Eloise, "But of course you wouldn't have. It's the harvest you get from not ever reading the newspapers and keeping up with events." "All right, Eloise," I said, "then will you please answer the question I've just asked Junior?" "Certainly, Otis," Eloise replied. "It's like this: in the morning paper there was a long article on the front page that announced a new drive and asked every good citizen to take his part in this drive and make it an overwhelming success. Well, he has asked the news papers of his district to give him a story and suggest to the people that if they really think well of their congressman, Fred, you know, they ought to write to him oftener." "Yes," I said simply, "I see. And I think I shall write to him now." D. P. CMIIMM IHHIHHHIIIHMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHIWIIIIIIIHI MMMWMimWMMMIIMI uimJunds Careful Preparation — is one reason why food served at Julia King's Restaurant is of such unusual excellence. A la Carte Service until Midnight Blue Plate Luncheon, 11 to 3, 60c Dinner, 5 to 8 P. M., $1 Sunday Dinner, Noon to 9 P.M. $1.25 JULIA KING'S Tea Room 1 18-22 No. Dearborn Street ill II *"""" .««»>•*! MiliMI UM. TI4ECI4ICAGOAN I REST AT THE MOVIES (Continued from page 19) request for silence. Silence in this theater seething with democracy? The baron of the baton appears in a flood of light. The rapid tap-tap- tap of the baton is lost in the con fusion of sound. Faintly hopeful, however, I wait for the music of Bizet's "Carmen." Crunch! Crunch! Crunch! "Ma," crunch, "look at the funny man" crunch "blowin' the horn." All this within five inches of my left ear. Plop, crunch, plop, crunch. And one by one the peanut shells are broken and thrown to the floor. And one peanut after another tells its hungry tale. Just about this time I decide that Bizet must have slipped a cog now and then when he wrote the score of "Carmen." Ah! — My favorite selection from "Carmen!" Leaning forward in my seat, I forget the peanut boy and Bizet's shortcomings. "There's a seat, there's a seat ! Hurry, before someone else gets it!" A whiff of the stock yards! An other whiff of stale perfume! "There now. Gee! I'm glad we kin sit together." "Yea. S'aml. Have some gum?" "Say, who was that girl I saw you talking to this morning?" "Aw, jist one of the stenogs. Don't get nervous. You know there ain't anyone but you fer me." "Ya mean that?" —The shivering, exultant finale! Only for this brief moment does "Carmen" drown the duet behind me. The fat man next to me is doing his best to occupy as much of my seat as he can. What's the use? Crushed with a sense of utter de feat — and not a little bruised and battered — I decide that I have had enough of the "high-class" enter tainment, so carefully planned by the "oh-so-careful" management. But — never again! Never? Well — hardly never. In either case democracy wins! — Edna I. Asmus. BOOKS (Continued from page 27) compelling because they are not glowing. Mrs. Siddons was one of those rare and fortunate women who are born with a beauty that nothing can efface. She had, moreover, a talent for acting, fostered by her parents and developed by Garrick. Mr. Maurois begins his story at the beginning, when the lovely Sarah is born just after her mother had fin ished playing in "Henry VIII," and carries it thru, not quite to the end, but to a point where Mrs. Siddons feels that at last she has surpassed herself in her art. The story moves rather slowly. Mrs. Siddons, off the stage, was a rather stolid and austere lady, interested only in her two daughters and in gastronomic de lectation. Her husband she dismiss ed with a gesture. It was only when she queened it tragically behind the footlights that she seemed to live. But Mrs. Siddons is by no means the only figure in the picture. There are sketches of the famous of her day — Garrick and Dr. Johnson and Reynolds and Thomas Lawrence, the fashionable painter of portraits. Lawrence indeed is the man on whom the whole story hinges. Both Mrs. Siddons' daughters fell in love with him. He would not choose be tween them, and they, foolish creat ures, died of a combination of heart break and pulmonary consumption. When Mrs. Siddons received the news of her second daughter's death she was stricken dumb. Then she went to the theatre to play Con stance in "King John." "Those who saw her," says Mr. Maurois, "carried away an impression of ineffaceable beauty." As for the lady herself, after the play was over, in the depth of her actress soul she murmured again and again: "I have never acted half so well." — Cecelia Gaul 31 Chicago has already paused - noticed ¦- and cordially ap proved of the Boreas Book store, even in its adolescent awkwardness. NOW we in vite you to inspect a stock quite worthy of your taste Open with surprising regu larity. * BOREAS BOOKSTO R E 109 EAST CHICAGO AVE, DINATO TAILORS 337 West Monroe Street j f* \ mmfS H I B •jam r ¦ W I c ORRECTNESS in every detail has ] ong character- ized the artistry of DINATO 32 TI4ECI4ICAGOAN THEATRE (Continued from page 12) La M aire's Affairs There are certainly not many new ideas in Mr. Rufus La Maire's new "Affairs," but surely no one can accuse said Mr. La Maire of having treated meanly those that came to him. For its kind of show the "Affairs" is excellent. After a half hour or so of it, you're apt, in an unguarded moment, to state that this sort of thing is the apogee of theatrical achievement in America. Prodigal ity, certainly, can be carried no further. At times La Maire sur passes in extravagance his Broad way contemporaries, Ziegfeld and White. The dancing-'-both eccentric and drill—is excellent. The girls, in deed, are adequate, and the costum ing, display, etc. are above the average. Ted Lewis, Sophie Tucker, and Lester Allen do their share to make the show outstanding. — Fred M. Saigh, Jr. HAIR, HYSTERICS, AND A BAND (Continued from pi i3) suavities of the dance music and the sweet mama Charleston exponents. In conclusion let it be whispered that he has lots of appeal. His careful marcelle is famous. Indeed he is under contract not to arrange his locks in any other style. He dresses in the popular version of what elegance consists of. His homeliness is genial and to every woman in the audience he com municates something of the beau's camaraderie. His figure is neat and his actions quick and virile. Even when he stands aside for a White City diva tossing a song about how her daddy loves on a parlor sofa, the sense of slumbering vitality is never lost and he ceases not to be the presiding and kindly satyr. 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Available in vour choice of six charm- Body by Pierce-Arrow ing color combinations, exquisitely ap pointed, richly carpeted, and upholstered with soft finish wool, it is mounted on the economical, wear-resisting Series 80 chas sis which means 14 to 17 miles per gallon of gasoline, 15,000 to 18,000 miles from tires, and years of dependable service. A demonstration should be of interest to every person with a love for the really fine thin<r in a motor car. A moderate payment now, balance to be distributed evenly over a period of months, will secure immediate delivery. PIERCE-ARROW 2420-22 S. MICHIGAN AVENUE SALES CORPORATION Telephone Calumet 5960 CHICAGO Series gO Cjfive-cPassenger « -. Two-Door (pustom -built COACH $2995 Other coach models with four doors, $3250 to $3450 All prices at Buffalo— Pita tax