March 26? 1927 r77 Price 15 Cents CAGOAN &19° ^^^^^^^''^ " A L W A V S ME" "BLUE ORCHID11 CORDAXPARir IMPORTED BY LIONEL , 320 FIFTH AVE, NEW YORK CORDAY LIPXTICKS>— SUPERLATIVE/ The Chicagoan— Martin J. Quigley, Publisher; published fortnightly by Oakdale Publishing Co., 407 South Dearborn St., Chicago, 111. New York Office: 565 Fifth Ave. Los Angeles Office: 5617 Hollywood Blvd. Subscription $3.00 annually, single copies 15c. Vol. Ill, No. 1— March 26, 1927. Entry as second class matter applied for at Post Office at Chicago, 111., under Act of March 3, 1879. 320 MICHIGAN AVENUE • NORTH Just South of the Bridge Sports WeaiP A beautilul collection ol Angoras and v^asnmeres <— also the new -fcaiglisn I weeds in two or three piece models. These are tne smartest new tilings in sports wear lor all occasions 2 TI4E CHICAGOAN CHICAGOAN NOW BEING PUBLI/HED BY MARTIN J. QUIGLEY Publisher Exhibitors Herald, Better Theatres, The Studio The Box Office Record and Equipment Index 407 So. Dearborn St. Chicago NEW YORK LOS ANGELES LONDON 565 Fifth Ave. 5617 Hollywood Blvd. 8-10 Charing Cross Road E.C.2 0 —. ¦ i» m TWQCUiCAGOAN 3 -? T*%ttitmMtlir<Mtoitftn^ CALENDAR OF EVENT/ THE THEATRE SWEET LADY— at the Illinois. Surprisingly good. Blessed with Alex Grey's voice, Gus Shy's antics, Marie Nordstrom's comedy, a good chorus. Delos Owen wrote catchy music for it. NEW YORK EXCHANGE— at the Olympic. Re viewed in this issue. KATJA— at the Garrick. Ditto. LUCKY SAMBO-at the La Salle. Kindly note above remark. THE DONOVAN AFFAIR— Selwyn. And the same. A NIGHT IN PARIS— Apollo. Excellent if you like revues. To be commended for Barnett Parker's comedy and Oyra's ballets. SHANGHAI GESTURE— Adelphi. Florence Reed demonstrating the rumor that a Chinese never forgets an injury. Aided by Mary Duncan's attacks of nymphomania. THE VAGABOND KING— Great Northern. Still the best musical and romantic show in town. You've got to hand it to Dennis King. NED McCOBB'S DAUGHTER— Princess. Don't let the dull title fool you. It's a whale of a show. OH, PLEASE— Erlanger. Beatrice Lillie. Charles Winninger. Helen Broderick. Repeat often and with enthusiasm. 12 MILES OUT— Cort. Expressing rather definite and more or less popular views on prohibition. THE CRADLE SNATCHERS— Harris. All about three ladies who did a little research work. THE NIGHT HAWK— Blackstone. How a fille de joie got that way. Medical overtones to Hearts and Flowers played on an accordion. THE GALLERIES ART INSTITUTE OF CHICAGO— Paintings from the Carnegie Institute International Show. Paint ings by Walt Kuhn. Exhibit of New Mexico Painters. Sculpture by Paul Manship. CHILDREN'S MUSEUM, ART INSTITUTE-Sil- houettes by Baroness Maydell, Maude L. G. Oliver and Engert. ARTS CLUB OF CHICAGO— Paintings by Albert Bloch. FIELD MUSEUM— Antique sculpture. Arts and Crafts from manv lands. CHESTER JOHNSON GALLERIES— Paintings by Salcia Bahnc. MARSHALL FIELD AND COMPANY— Paintings by English and Dutch Old Masters. NEWBERRY LIBRARY— S p e c i a 1 exhibition of books from the Kelmscott Press. ROULLIER GALLERIES— Etchings and Prints. MUSIC HAROLD BAUER and OSSIP GABRILOWITSCH, — two-piano recital March 27, at 3 :30, Studebaker Theatre. RUTH RADKEY— piano recital, March 27, at 3:30, The Playhouse. MARGARET WEILAND— piano recital, April 3, at 3:30, The Playhouse. GEORGE MULFINGER— piano recital, April 3, at 3 :30, Studebaker Theatre. NEW YORK STRING QUARTET— Goodman Thea tre, Sunday, March 27, at 3:30. GUIOMAR NOVAES— pianist, Goodman Theatre, Sunday, April 3, at 3 :30. ESTHER LUNDY-NEWCOMB— soprano, Goodman Theatre, Monday, April 4, at 3 :00. THE SCREEN "OLD IRONSIDES"— Auditorium, beginning March 29 — A James Cruze production of an 1812 story by the Laurence Stallings who wrote "What Price Glory" and "The Big Parade." (To be reviewed in the next issue.) "SORROWS OF SATAN"— McVickers, now— A D. W. Griffith production with Adolphe Menjou the sor rowing gentleman of the title and the city you choose to designate his habitat. (To be reviewed in the next issue.) "CASEY AT THE BAT"— Roosevelt, now— Wallace Beery, the doughboy of "Behind the Front" and the gob of "We're in the Navy Now," in a baseball com edy considered good enough to bring the Roosevelt back to top B. & K. prices and extended run policy. (To be reviewed if it's that good.) "WHEN A MAN LOVES"— Woods, until March 27 — The better Barrymore in a far cry from "Don Juan" with Vitaphone before and during. TWECI4ICAG0AN 1 o - " o£) Ik SPRING CALLS FOR THE ULTRA SMART Discriminating women find all the artistry of-" distinctive mode in each garment now on display at Mc AVOY 615 NORTH MICHIGAN AVENUE TELEPHONE SUPERIOR 8 7 20 GOWNS -WRAPS -SUITS -MILLINERY- ACCESSORIES- TI4-E TALK OF THE TOWN WE understand that some am bitious city official, probably a candidate for re-election, has sug gested that a hundred thousand dol lar Bravery Fund be established for the purpose of awarding prizes to courageous officers of the law. After reading the Chicago Police ads in the busses, the street cars, and the elevated trains, we wonder if the fund is solicited for the purpose of paying bands to play while the po licemen "shoot it out down a dark alley." Dead Apartments NOT infrequently we are dis posed to cheer Chicago's prog ress with an approving smile. Every so often we are constrained to smile widely, then kindly, and finally to refine our reaction into print. Let us first call attention to the Taj Mahal as a beautiful structure. Age and the newspapers have ac claimed it so. It is something "nif- tick" in the way of mausoleums. It's about time something was done to liven up our cemeteries. This Taj, as we shall call it, was built by a rajah for his favorite wife. Poets — most of them rather poor ones — have com posed verses about it. On the whole it might be said in the vernacular that the Taj is a swell place to be buried in. Only you're not buried, exactly ; the remains are labeled and stacked neatly on shelves. The Taj Mahal is coming to Chi cago. An exact duplicate of the fair est of all memorials in stone is to be constructed — with modern improve ments — as a resting place for Chi- cagoans who like to feel that royalty has nothing on them. We are of the opinion that it will be an accepted address for any respectable corpse. Besides, the new Taj will contain clubby family rooms, single shelv- ings, and as many vaults as one could want, all at a reasonable and convinc ing figure. The Chicagoan, always on hand to help out new enterprises, and par ticularly interested to liven up the old interment, suggests that to add the true Indian touch, a brace of B and K employees do duty on the front steps. A band could play The Song of India from a balcony. Someone really ought to chant the India Love Lyrics from a dark hall. And by all means let us have a snake charmer and a veil dancer on the lawn. Poor Newsboys IT can no longer be said that the city newsboy is a poor but honest, helpless waif who must be guarded by women's clubs and child welfare associations. Horatio Alger and the Rover Boys have had their day and their say, and one is not to assume that their influence was slight ; but conditions have changed amazingly since their time, and things are not as they were. The city newsboy might be poor and honest, but in spite of the cash boy to president authors and the American Magazine, it is not to be admitted that he is helpless, nor is he in need of supervision by pastors' wives, salvation army leaders, or boy scout masters. The other day on Michigan Boule vard we saw a small paper boy wait ing for the traffic to stop so that he could cross the street. In front of him was an Isotta Fraschini, which caused in the youngster a passing bit of interest. He surveyed the ma chine, looked rather questioningly at the name plate on the radiator, and then gave the car one general sweep of approval. Understand there was no envy in his eyes ; it was more a case of an authority approving gent- 6 TUE CHICAGOAN ly, with neither praise nor condem nation. After all, an Isotta Fraschini meant very little to him, and when the green lights came on and the car did not move, he became visibly dis turbed. He switched his papers to the other arm and still the automo bile was directly in front of him. The boy appeared not at all disposed to walk around it; instead, he gave the motor one more glance — a very swift one which ended on the chauf feur — and said: "Do you own the road ? Come on, 'IF,' get a move on, get a move on." True Fame ONE of LaSalle Street's dashing bond salesmen entered a cab at Randolph and Madison and told the driver he wanted to go to 11 South LaSalle Street. We cannot say for sure that he was a bond salesman, but he had on his finger a Mexican diamond ring and he had about him the air of being very much in a hurry as well as a contradictory at mosphere of not caring much whether or not he arrived at his goal, so we decided he was a bond sales man. Anyway, as he entered the cab the driver questioned : "11 South LaSalle Street. That's the Rockne Building, isn't it?" "The Rockne Building? No," said the bond salesman who knew his football coaches. "It's the Roanoke Building." And then the driver became very interested. "Are you sure it's Roan oke and not Rockne?" Yes, he was very sure of it. "It's the Roanoke Building, I tell you; I work there." The driver was thoughtful, turn ing over in his mind the words, Rockne, Roanoke, Rockne, Roanoke. Then, with an air of having solved the irregularity, he admitted, "Oh, I didn't know the 'k' was silent." The Lady THAT the West Madison Street and South State Street theatres are no place for visiting or local prelates has long been a finger-point ing legend and warning. When one refers to such houses of Satan, the listener either raises his eyebrows or grins broadly, depending on whether or not he has seen one of their per formances. We refer particularly to the legit imate showings, one of which we had, recently, an occasion to attend. It is to be admitted that the offering was consummately — if inadvertently — entertaining. It was a play about royalty, cen tering upon one Lady Windermere, a blonde of forty, on whom was heaped quantities of poorly dis tributed jewelry. Of course she had a fan. And she wore a train. Her past century regalia consisted of a generous color scheme of green, yel low and orange. We try always to be tolerant in our criticism, but it could not be denied that Lady W. looked very much like a salad. Elsie Janis giving an imitation of Ethel Barrymore could not have walked across the stage so elegantly. And still it cannot be said that the actress looked comfortable in the role, for her face, in some curious contortional manner, was parallel to the floor. She was apparently taking seriously the hearsay that English ladies keep their chins up. She walked slowly and grandly, as is the custom of the English who have nothing to do but take their time. Out of this scene of grandeur came the voice of a house maid call ing to her, "Oh Lady Windermere, Lady Windermere, your 'jools' are miss- ing." The grand Lady Windermere stopped and fanned herself, her chin high and her eyes almost closed. "Your 'jools' are missing," the maid insisted. And the grand lady stopped tragic ally, dropped her fan and said, "My God, did someone swipe 'em?" Parades NOW and again on rainy Mon day afternoons and Lenten Fri days the spectacle of Chicago's politics dangles before us temptingly. On particularly bad days, a ghost of civic righteousness wails in our sub conscious like a Banshee, and will not down. We hesitate to dabble in politics, to set forth opinions regarding a choice for mayor, but with the city- tacked up like a Labor Day float, and with the air choked with politi cal accusations and denouncements, we cannot refrain from a casual and unbiased mention of the situation. The Hotel Sherman seems to be the disputed battlement. Mr. Dever has placed there an electric streamer stating his desire for re-election; directly above it the author of "America First" has tacked up his unlighted placard, so that the sheen of Mr. Dever's light will shine upon it. Mr. Robertson and his People's Ownership - Smash - Crime - Rings- Party appear not at all interested in the Hotel Sherman. They, for the most part, have contented themselves with flying kites — a recent and popu lar method of advertising. IN a reprint from the Tribune, we quote, herewith, three statements by men whose interest in the current election is more than passing. First comes Mr. Thompson's remark, "Boss Brennan says that I promised to open ten thousand red light dens. TUEO4ICAG0AN 7 i. rV" "Poet — why if you don't think he is a good ftoet you should see the beautiful house he lives in. I wouldn't refer to it now, except for the opportunity to call Boss Brennan a liar."' "Can't you see old George Bren nan lying in bed all night worrying about the decency of Chicago?" Mr. Dever's opponent in the primaries took down his back hair and admitted that "I was preaching like John the Baptist in a wilderness. And I came to the conclusion that Bill Thompson was the noblest Democrat of them all." And, if only for its qualities of sweetness and light, here is Attorney General Carlstrom's remark, "The Better Government Association, which has done more to abuse the fair name of Chicago than any other agency and which asked me not to come to this meeting, is backing Mr. Dill Pickle Robertson." All of which, of course, has cleanerl up the entire political un easiness. Unfortunately, the Tribune neglected to quote Mr. Dever. Cer tainly it is all very amusing. The only funnier situation of which we can conceive would be to tune in simultaneously on the three candidates, to have all that noise coming in at the same time, and then, out of the hubbub, see how of ten such words as "fair Chicago," "red light dens," "decency," "crime," "patriotism," and "graft" would ap pear. We are assuming that they would be used often enough to as sure at least two of the candidates uttering the same words at the same time. WE have heard of poets rhap sodizing over squalid alleys, baby slippers, old tin types, ham burger sandwiches, and dead loves; we have all seen artists express their souls by painting old shoes, faded pansies, or a herring with an apple in its mouth; but, to date, we have found no cause for soul expression so unique as the one that prompted the poet to write a ballad from the following untamed and unhouse- broken incident. It seems that a certain Austrian gipsy confessed to the murder of twelve persons; and, when ques tioned by the police as to the where abouts of the bodies, he replied shy ly and contritely : "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but we ate them." We quote herewith the first stanza of the ballad : "Oh Gipsy men wear bowie knives And kick their wives, forsooth; They flout fine napery and pick An unabashed tooth, And they are bad as men can be, Unshaven and uncouth." 8 THE CHICAGOAN "Thirty minutes — and I could have done the galleries in half the time if I had only worn my sftort shoes. ' Once a Year ALONG the Boulevard, in the i parks, and in the anemic city trees, spring sounds her resurrection trumpet. The lake is no longer dirty and yellow, no longer flashing an evil gleam of ice. At Oak Street the water sparkles in the sun. And a blue dusk is beginning to hang over the outlying cribs. An east wind brings fog over the Boulevard, even to remote alleyways west of the drive. In Newberry Square this fog is one of the first hints of spring. There is little grass yet — only a vivid green scum on the unkempt earth; three blocks west of the drive life does not burgeon forth so confidently nor so gracefully as by the lake in the sun. Nevertheless it moves. Small groups of men stand about in the damp, and argue. Later on the groups will be larger, but hardy philosophers who brave the early spring are con temptuous of spectators. I HEY question, gesticulate, * shout, cajole, denounce and con tend in a free-for-all of words. And woe to the slow-witted or halter- tongued who fumbles to meet them in argument. Here is many a curb stone Socrates, shrewd and merciless in his dialectics, impatient of ortho doxy, fiery of soul. Just now two philosophers are in loud disputation : "Once a year, gentlemen," bellows the inquisitor, squat and ruby as the great Athenian himself, "once a year I ask my friend our yearly question. I ask it now, gentlemen. . . ." The fog shows pale yellow about the street lights of North Clark Street. Indifferent to the talk, a few- early bums sprawl on the benches of the square. w omen IT was the extremely cultured Eng lish press agent who, worm-like, finally turned in lovely satire upon pestiferous womankind. The press agent in question was handling Com mander Byrd who made the polar flight. The occasion was one of those agonizing teas, and where lit tle fingers yet crook around cups that actually hold tea. Commander Byrd happens to be a handsome explorer, and with a way about him. Show him a crowd of women and he is once submerged under waves of females that eddy, recede and advance around him. A few ogling ladies who couldn't get near him in the jam rallied to the press agent and asked questions : "Isn't the Commander the hand somest man you ever saw ?" "Wasn't he awfully scared in the air?" "Is he married?" "Has he any children?"" "How old is Commander Byrd?" It was a fat and perspiring lady who asked in a saccharine voice po litely edged with an anticipatory thrill : "Oh, do tell us, did Commander Byrd really drop a flag on the North Pole?" The publicity man lifted tired eyes. "Hardly, Madame, hardly," he re plied gently. "Birds, I think, do not drop flags." TT7"/TH this issue The V V Chicagoan appears un der new ownership and new management. Various innova tions and developments here with are introduced, others will folloiv. In the meantime, readers may tell themselves and their friends that the splendid idea of The Chicagoan is now boldly on its way to fullest realization. — The Editors. THE CHICAGOAN 9 PER/ONAL PORTRAIT/ A GOOD many persons have the idea that a ballet-dancer is a lithe and willowy individual, with long pale hands, a languishing man ner and a passion for strawberry parfaits and cerise draperies. Some of them are like that, they tell me. Only they are almost never dancers, but, simply, State Street boys who are sorry they haven't missed their callmg. True, there is the memory of the sainted Nijinsky — The present historian, in his ca pacity (at that time) of grand opera reporter, first encountered Adolph Bolm back in 1919, when the latter came to Chicago to produce Oscar Wilde's "Birthday of the Infanta" to John Alden Carpenter's music. Os car Wilde seemed cerise enough, even for a man-milliner. But there was, the news-gatherer speedily dis covered, not the faintest trace of lav ender and old lace in M. Bolm. In deed, the predominant impression, gleaned from the manner in which he directed the funny antics of an untrained chorus, was, rather, that of a hard-boiled stage-manager for a road show, than which there is nothing harder or more thoroughly boiled. He exhibited the physique of a Carpentier and— no languish- ment here — something of the energy of a super-heated pile-driver. CINCE that time, the writer has ^ followed Mr. Bolm's local career with keen interest, sometimes from an orchestra seat, sometimes at closer range, in the intimacy of his study, where (and in Mr. Bolm's ever active brain) the ballets of the world's greatest living choreographer are evolved. "Adolph Bolm in Slippers." What a fine title for a Gallic biogra pher ! And in America, too, we love the domestic touch. Great actresses in the kitchen, the world's heavy weight champion giving baby its bot tle. But Mr. Bolm, strange as it may appear, really is domestic. An artist Dancing Fathers Adolph Bolm to the end of his Slavic fingertips, he would, one feels sure, abandon his career in an instant, if the welfare of his six-year-old son, Olaf, de manded the sacrifice. And that, in cidentally, is one sign that he is a true artist, unaffectedly and un ashamedly subject to all warm, simple, human and universal emo tions. No pose with him, not even the pose — a favorite one with our "vil lage" bric-a-brac set — of looking down on offspring. He does not take his fatherhood with too light a touch. Indeed, he has even been known to wheel his infant son down Michigan Boulevard in a baby-carriage ! Another popular conception of the ballerino is that, like the grand opera singer, the great actress, the motion picture star, etc., he must "live," as the near-north -side so aptly puts it. THAT he is an athlete goes with out saying. The ballet-dancer has to be. He must start with a perfect body and keep it perfect. The mo ment it ceases to be perfect, his days as a dancer are over. Witness the rather pathetic come-back of Mik hail Mordkin. But Adolph Bolm— and most dancers are the same — con fines his athletics to the studio floor. This, however, is quite enough — suf ficient to put an ordinary teamster or coal-heaver in bed for a week. If you don't believe it, you should try twirling the premiere danseuse around for a few hours. But when it comes to other exercise, — walking, for instance — that's a different story. A professional dancer can hardly be persuaded to walk two blocks. And if it's three, he's sure to hail the nearest Yellow. As a dancer, Mr. Bolm's career has been one that will go down in the history of the ballet. It was he who, with Pavlowa, first took the Russians on tour. It was he who served as Diaghilev's maitre de ballet and brains-behind-the-scene. It was he who — in Madrid and elsewhere- saved the day when the great Nijin sky fell flat. And it was "the Bolm," as the late James Gibbons Huneker loved to call him, who first brought the ballet russe to this country. It is worth while looking up the old files just to read Huneker's glowing account of that first "Coq d'Or" per formance at the Metropolitan. Later, it was Bolm who organized the ballet intime. Then Chicago got him, though she is far from deserving him. The opera did not appreciate him. The P. G. L. and C. C. prefers the feathered monstrosities of — but let's not be catty, It was fortunate things turned out as they did. As a result, we have the Chicago Allied Arts, which is appreciated in Paris, if it isn't here. For in Chicago, the ballet remains, unfortunately, a divertisement of the recondite few. As for the many — they prefer Mr. Mordkin's rather boring vaudeville. —SAMUEL PUTNAM. 10 THE CHICAGOAN ;•; >:T:^«^'-^=Ssft~ ^X>:^>«fc*Si^ '^-¦*z*5~&j?:&p?&*±v <¦-,«» "in., j^-g^^ff ,- .¦ rfy.; .iw-fr^ I. ¦.,'. . „< m#" THE CHICAGOAN n The Twenty-First State Secedes ON August 26, 1818, the Illinois territory became a sovereign portion of the then free and bustling republic. Forty-three years later, firmly wedged between the doubtful states of Kentucky and Missouri, Illinois gave Grant, Lincoln, and 250,000 men to the defense of the Union. And now, within the plain and bit ter memory of man, Illinois secedes. Since the Volstead act it might be said that this mighty state has not been a member of a dry, righteous, law-fearing one hundred per cent federation. She bears none of the prohibition stigmata. Instead of heaving the symbolic tea into the ocean, her citizens have heaped hops into the kettle. That kettle has been boiling merrily. At the outset let us not attribute the defalcation of this fair prairie commonwealth to the reflected naughtiness of Chicago. Each is a separate self-sufficient institution, neither of which must rely on the other for aid or supplies. Not that I am trying to defend this city. Save an occasional and optimistic Wes- leyan primate, few men of discern ment find Chicago an encouraging prohibition exhibit. Chicago gin is famous over the middle-west. Her beer wars attest to the stakes in beer monopolies and the exuberance of her citizens. But this is not a paper on the Chicago liquor question. That will appear in a later issue. At pres ent I shall concern myself with the back country. L AST summer I travelled widely the mud flats of Illinois. With my own eyes I have seen the libera tion writ large. I found Moline wet and surpris ingly literate. Springfield, the state capitol, was so damp that .a pair of obtuse federal agents located thirteen grog shops in a single day, and then called off the campaign. Peoria, tank town to the universe, and once the largest distillery in the world, has not altogether abandoned her old skill. Like the Huguenots her inhab itants have set a high example of in dustry and fortitude, even though they feel that their country has be trayed them. Decatur, Kankakee, and Bloomington are a bit nipped by the Klan mildew, but good cheer is commercially obtainable at a reason able figure. Joliet is free and loud; it has the stomach of Chicago, the manners of Detroit. Rockford con jured up divers Swedish potations, instant and compelling as Thor's mallet. Spring Valley — thirty speak easies detected by federal sniffers in a town of seven thousand. But why go on? Why mention Elgin, Aurora, Streator, and Marion? Of the commercial liquors now available down state, a rough hier archy may be arranged somewhat as follows : imported scotch, gin, rum, all of which aspire to be the McCoy ; medically sanctioned alcohols and an occasional pre-war treasure; wines; malts; the brandy series, pear, apri cot, and peach, including the deadly stone face, which stands on a firm footing of hard cider generously re inforced with alcohol; the impolite corn; and lower still the strange de coctions evolved out of the dry night mare and contributory to it — gin, mule, spiked beer, alkey drinks, and triple rotgut whiskies. This, I repeat, is a category of commercial liquors designed to be speedily accessible. It might be add ed that their consumption is a matter dominated by the ancient and com pelling formula of caveat emptor. OUT the ordinary Sucker on the U Illinois prairie has little to do with commercial liquors, good or bad. It is in the small towns and open country that the art of brewing for brewing's sake reaches a high and rare perfection. Even in the re- ' Where is Captain Beaufort?' "Drilling the soldiers." "And does he shoot well?" 12 THE CHICAGOAN *r atf- "Must I declare my new husband? motest places no honest man need go without his cup ; the smell of burning rubber hangs over the outskirts of many a snug village, so that pro hibition smellers may not scent the breath of hops. Not only corn, hops and the grape have been utilized as materials for wassail, but Illinoisians have culled industriously through fruit and flower, seed and berry until the country-side yeasts and bubbles with native indifference. Among the villagers a good brewer is accepted and honored and his or her recipes eagerly sought and emulated. Good beer in rural Illinois is good beer anywhere — even in blessed Bavaria. Nor does any means of enforcing the dry laws recommend itself, short, indeed, of impounding the entire population over nine years of age. Vinous, malted and spirituous bever ages find themselves welcome in places hitherto unvocal with the rol licking of intemperates. Roads are good and a wet district is available for miles. Drinking parties among the younger married sets are merry as saloon drinking ever was — and their participants more uniformly soused to the cowlick. The down- staters work on the assumption that a too zealous sheriff makes a poor politician, and over the whole social system rises the new brew-bearing aristocracy. A deplorable situation. So Illinois, surrounded by hostil ity, has seceded. Illinois and her largest offspring have declared them selves independent. To go from the back country to Chicago is to take a dignified passage from one free state to another. Illinois is free, wet, careless and growing freer and wet ter. The hops in her kettle are boil ing louder and louder. As yet the barbarians howl without. It will be time enough to gird up her loins for freedom when Ohio and Kansas militiamen peer warily across her border, rifles in hand. —FRANCIS C. COUGHLIN. Prospective subscribers are warned to pay no money to solicitors; pay only by check to the order of "The Chicagoan." THE CHICAGOAN 13 MU/ICAL NOTE/ THERE is a Percy Grainger legend. One matron told me in all solemnity that she had seen him ascend from the bowels of Orchestra Hall on an elevator, playing the Gumsucker's March of his native Australia. It is musical scandal that, at the end of one of his compositions, he rises and beats the hind-strings of the Steinway with a large mallet. This is hot stuff. In an era when concert pianists are supposed to have haircuts like General Dawes or be virtually bald, like Levitzki, his startlingly fuzzy aureole is a further and irritating challenge to the musi cal fundamentalists. I hardly think Grainger gives a whoop one way or another about this legend. But the fact remains that his concert at Orchestra Hall on Wednesday, March ninth, did much to destroy it, for it was a program of classic beauty and dignity. Those who came to witness an Australian bushman slapping at piano strings or gliding up and down on Otis eleva tors like a revue by Hazzard Short, must have been disappointed and chagrined. There was nothing of the side show about the evening's enter tainment. Only a representative as sortment of Bach, Brahms, Schu mann and Liszt, played with mature feeling, a goodly lot of virility, and a copious technical equipment. Eight years ago when I studied with Grainger he was an admitted original, but hardly the pianist he is now. Surrounded by an aura of sen sationalism (Huneker dubbed him the "young Siegfried of the Anti podes") he was given to violent en thusiasm for composers like Cyril Scott and a vigorous slap-dash man ner of playing hardly friendly to the best interpretation of Chopin or Bach. He was, even then, a com manding personality among men. He had set numerous fine old British ditties for piano, a gift as significant to musical literature as Grieg's kindred contributions from Scandi navia. He had stimulating theories about tone production and dynamics, Polynesian dialects and the folk musics of the Hebrides. He was al ready a composer of world note. But as a pianist he was still too youthful to be thoroughly satisfying. Fie is now, in my estimate, one of the five or six of the world's greatest masters of the keyboard. Essentially vital and capable of drawing the very pulse-beat from the music in his head, he has now become more sober, more restrained, more cogni zant of the least evident beauties of Bach and Brahms. He plays, in short, a chorale by the master of Leipzig as well as the hey-nonny-no stuff. CEVERAL Wednesday nights ago *J the Philadelphia orchestra made its annual brilliant invasion. Through a program of Bach, Handel, Debussy and Ravel, Stokowski exhibited virtuosity of a stunning variety. He tossed his golden locks, poised his little fingers, even strained his right arm in the intensity of the proceed ings. Flappers scattered through the first five rows swooned with joy! The close of the concert was marked by an ovation several minutes long. Yet, in spite of all these monkey- shines, he is a great conductor and he has a greater orchestra. His Bach transcriptions are musically tasteful and thrilling in their power and breadth. His musicians, collected with the siren call of the Curtis (and other) millions, represent the finest orchestral body in the world. And he himself has — why I believe it is nothing but youth and enthusiasm. "What will your mother say, Herb, when she sees me in the club revue so scantily clad?" "She will probably remark, my dear, that I married you for your money. ' 14 THE CHICAGOAN "It says there are 48 trees in this ^ark." "Well, lets not look at them all today, dear." But it is there in goodly quantity and it is enough. Stock's regular concert the follow ing Saturday night was a failure. That our own orchestra may have been discouraged by the invasion is, psychologically, quite plausible. The Brahms First 'Symphony, most of the initial half of the program, was spiritlessly read and played. And this is the more remarkable because Stock's Brahms is usually so top- notch, so far from the pedantic. The strings whined dejectedly, the brass sounded over fed. A very dull and unpleasant performance. Harold Samuels of London, pian- istic prophet of Bach, was the soloist in a Beethoven Concerto. Nor was he able to raise the goings-on from the slough. The leit-motif of languor persisted. Mr. Stock leaned soporiferously upon the stand, wav ing the stick like a palm leaf fan. Mr. Samuels played dispassionately, correctly, a bit supercilious and aloof. A concert without spine and one of the worst- I've ever heard in the Michigan Avenue emporium. This same Mr. Samuels, by the way, has magically acquired a repu tation as the greatest Bach player of his day. He gives periodic recitals in London which are jammed to the door, and, indeed, he has been taken up almost as enthusiastically by cog noscenti in America. That the gentleman is tremendously erudite, that he is technically proficient, no one questions. But his playing of Bach hints of midnight oil. That great master had fifteen children. He worked and sweated and was of the world. He should be played by a man with more heart, like Gieseking, for instance, whose Bach is some thing to write home about. Mr. 'Samuels, by rigorously attaching his modest gifts to one composer, has succeeded in convincing the Sunday afternoon ticket buyers that he is Bach's representative here on earth. I don't believe he thinks so himself. And, certainly, I don't think so. ON Saturday night, March twelfth, Stock gave the first reading in this city of the Miaskow- sky Sixth Symphony. The Fifth, that same Russian's, was heard here last year. It yielded much and promised more. And the promise was fulfilled, for the Sixth, often derivative as it is, is one of the symphonic Meisterwerke of the day. Miaskowsky, although forty-six years old, has not yet found himself. Burdened with a mammoth orchestral technique, he has absorbed the idiom of so many composers that they still play ducks and drakes with the voice of his own individuality. I heard Franck, Tschaikowsky, Wag ner, Glazounow, and Moussorgsky within the compass of his work. Yet side by side with these derivations are passages of striking originality and grandeur. The second move ment was marred by sickly, calf-love cadences, weakly scored, so charac teristic of the composer of the Pa thetic Symphony. The third employed the dominant seventh as monotonous ly as Wagner sometimes does. The fourth, based on the Dies Irae and a series of Russian folk-tunes was the greatest in scope and the most origi nal. ROBERT POLLAK. & Stevenson found it necessary to apologize for Francois Villon when he, Stevenson, wished to write about him. Such was the age. It is comforting to think that Francois is now equally entitled to an apology for the habits of his furtive admirer. Prospective subscribers are warned to pay no money to solicitors; pay only by check to the order of "The Chicagoan." THE CHICAGOAN 15 And So Does The Glass As Ernest Hemingway Would Write It. DICHARD LEVY had won his * *• numerals in track at Middle- bury. Not that I care anything about track. Or Middlebury. Levy finished college, wrote a novel and came to Paris. Instead of finishing college, coming to Paris and writ ing a novel. Now he was sick of Paris. He was sick of the Quar ter. "Joe," Levy said as he entered my office, "I'm sick of Paris. I'm sick of the Quarter." "Fine," I said. "Let's go down and have a drink, Richard." I al ways say that. We went down and had a couple of whiskeys and sodas. "Richard," I said, "do you know Mencken? The Great God Mencken?" "Yes. He's a preacher." "Great." Lady Blake Bingley came in the bar with a crowd of wavy haired art students, — Cinderella men from the Quarter. "Here comes Lady Blake Bing ley," said Levy. "Hello, you lads," said Blake. "Give a lad a drink. Hello, Joe. How's your old side trouble?" "Blake," I said, "do you know Mencken?" "What? That Baltimoron?" We all had a lot more whiskeys and sodas and brandies and sodas. "I'll meet you at the Crillon at five, Joe," said Blake. "You'll be late," I said. "I'll be tight," Blake said. "I'll be Mencken," Richard said. I DON'T think I saw Blake again * till she and Colin Cameron met us in Venice. We were in Venice for fishing and the Gondola Races. Jim Guthery from the States had come from Berlin and met me in Paris. We had planned for the fishing for a year and for the regatta. Richard Levy had met us in Marseilles and we had got tight and travelled from there to Venice by the bus. Levy hadn't come with us till later when he was coming with Blake and Col. "Jim," I said while we were drink ing, "do you know Mencken?" "Yes. He's a professional smart aleck." "I went to Amherst with Mencken." "I went to Ohio Wesleyan with Mencken." "No. I did." "Shall we have another drink, Joe," said Jim holding up a half empty quart. "Or shall we kill this?" "Let's do both." "Flow's your old side trouble, Joe?" "Let's not talk about that. I went to Sweet Briar with Cool- idge." "I went to Bryn Mawr with Babe Ruth." "Joe," said Jim, "these drinks make me feel dumb." "It's dat ole davil sea. I went to Oaksmere with Emma Goldman." "I went to bed with an awful headache last night, but it's all right this morning." "It's the air here, old man, it's the air." "Where am I, Joe?" "I just want a short one to match my little blue jumper dress. 16 THE CHICAGOAN Chicago: En Partant "Behind the times." "No. Behind the table." "Under the table." "Joe, when will Blake and Col and Levy arrive?" "To hell with Blake and Col and Levy." IN the morning, Sunday, the 4th of July, the Regatta opened with a bang. That is the only way you can describe it. Blake was enjoy ing the sights. Col was tight and nasty. Levy was sober and sullen. Jim and I had been on a big binge the night before and were still merked. First there was a religious festival and then there was drink ing. We took part in the second first and in the second second. "The English started this racing idea," said Jim who was tight or maybe merked. "They are trying to perfect it here. The English race horses. Here they race boats. Abraham Lincoln raced a raft. Maybe it was a rail. Everybody comes to the Regatta. The banks are crowded. So are the trains." "I wish they'd have an earth quake so I could shake off this drunk," said Col. "Joe, do you know Mencken?" asked Levy. "Who? Mencken?" "I'm a taxidermist," said Jim. "I stuff sausages." Col and Blake walked off. "This ought to be a great row," said Levy as the gondolas lined up at the rope. "I hope so," said Jim removing his coat and rolling up his sleeves. "There's nothing I like better than a good row." Col Cameron returned alone. "Blake's run off with the stroke of one of the crews," he said. "What a lucky stroke," I said. Eight days later I got a collect wire from Blake from Genoa. My old side trouble was coming on again, but I opened the telegram anyway. It read : "Come get me. Passed out. Plotel Mencken, Genoa. Love to the lads, Blake." —DONALD PLANT. ou Levons Vancre fiour le fiays de Biere-et-Vin, un Peu de Chose a la maniere de — VOUS etes gris ce soir, dit Clar- isse. II faut vous en feliciter. C'est un accomplissement en l'Amer- ique. Mais oui. Un devoir a Chicago. J'ai toujours ete un beau copain dans les vignes du Seigneur. Dans les vignes des chevaliers du clair de lune et des jambes-bottees, vous voudriez dire, pas vrai? Vous avez l'air d'etre tres tier, parce que vous avez rempli votre devoir. Pourquoi pas ? Je crois que vous etes un moral- iste. Peut-etre. Qui sait? Je suis un fils de Chicago mais ne le serai plus — Vous allez partir? Bientot. Vers la belle France. Vous parlez comme un professeur ou un etudiant en voyage de vacan- ces. Vous etes cruel! Disons done, au pays de — ? Biere-et-Vin ? Embrassez-moi, cherie ! Vous devriez acheter — Avec plaisir, mon chouchou. Je te permetts meme de me tutoyer. Garcon ! Tu as oublie. Ou penses tu etre ? Chez le bistro? Je te permetts de m'emmener au cochon aveugle le plus proche, mon ami. Moi aussi, j'ai un trou sous le nez. Bientot, ah ! bientot, je serai assis sur une terrasse parisienne, buvant de l'absinthe : 77 a bn, ce soir, un absinthe verte. T'en souvient-il? Voila un anachronisme. Que penses tu? Que nous sommes encore au temps de Baudelaire, de Verlaine ou de ton cher Rimbaud? Le Paris d'aujourd'hui, comme tu le trouveras est plein de taxis jaunes et de CHI- CAGOANS plus jaunes encore. J'en suis desole. Mais il n'y a pas de KEITH PRESTONS? Penses que non? Certainement, il n'y a pas de FREDERICK DONAGHEYS? Tu n'a pas lu les "lundis," mon vieux ? Mais les R. H. L.'s et les COL UMN POETS ? Nous avons a Paris tant de gens qui se croient quelques-uns — Mais Les BOOKFELLOWS, les POETRY LOVERS OF AMER ICA et les FRIENDS OF OUR NA TIVE LANDSCAPE— ? Nous avons meme nos UNCLE EZRAS et nos AUNT MATHIL DAS — Qu'est que c'est que cet billet que tu vas dechirer ? Mon aller et retour. Mais reste un moment! Dis-moi, je t'en prie. II n'y a pas de PRAIRIE CLUBS ? Oh, dis que non ! Pas encore, mais — Quelle hate? Ou— ? Prendre le CENTURY avant que ce soit trop tard. A bientot. Je t'enverrai des cartes postales ! —SAMUEL PUTNAM. THE CHICAGOAN 17 "Why England?" "So my husband can continue to avoid work and still be con sidered a gentleman!' <7he artgallerie; CPRING in the galleries is likely ^ to be a fag-end season, but at the present writing, there is an un usual number of interesting, if not always good, exhibits in Chicago. Jutting out most is the Interna tional Show at the Art Institute, made up of paintings brought from the Carnegie Institute exhibition. Don't let anybody tell you this isn't a worth-while affair. It doesn't knock one's eye out or anything like that; if it did, it probably wouldn't be at the Institute; it omits entirely many of the important young paint ers of the world today — for example, the young French group ; but it does contain numerous bits, and the effect as a whole is not uninstructive. Suppose we take the individuals first. There is an old-master of a Picasso, a mother and child. There is Laurencin at her best on the same theme. There is a Matisse some where in the shuffle. There is Caso- rati, who, in one reviewer's humble opinion, is one of the world figures in contemporary painting. But above all, there is a Segonzac that will rudely remove both your eyes and put them in again; it is the feature of the show. A melee of tortuous flesh, these "Bathers," which only a Huysmans could describe. There is, of course, a trick to the drawing but it is a legitimate trick, and one which only a real painter could turn. But the public undoubtedly will pass it by. Come to think of it, this is, probably, after all, a painter's pic ture. Among other canvasses that speak for themselves is a Dod Proctor "Back Bedroom" and a Vlaminck "Snow Scene" that is the best all- around Vlaminck I know. Among the Frenchmen present are : Friez, Marchand, Jacques-Emile Blanche, Marquet, Guillaumin — "The Grange Country," characteristic, unmistak able — Buisseret, with a fine portrait of his wife, Forain, Vallotton, with a splendid "Young Woman," Flan- drin with an interesting "Dauphine Landscape," Vuillard, Andre, Le Sidonier, etc. Pioneers of modern ity, most of them. The British list includes Brangwyn, Johns, McEvoy, Leon Underwood, with a "Venus in Kensington Gardens" that takes your breath by its subject, and Charles Sims, whose "Portrait of the Right Honorable Charles Blanes- burgh" is an example of British painting at its awfullest. Well, the French are still the painters of the world today; there is nobody else even pressing them. The Italians, recovering nicely from the futurist measles, appear to be com ing forward with something of a bound. I offer you Virgilio Guidi's "Women in Conversation" and Al berto Salietti's "Country Woman," to go with Casorati. The Russians are coming, too, though not quite so surely always. Too much of the Bakst-Anisfeldt influence. But they can paint. See Ruzna Vodkine's "Family Group," Zinaida, Dmitry Steletzky's "The Hunter." For the Bakst-Chauve-Souris motif excel lently done, see the still-life, "Russian Toys," by Alexander Hausch. There is a Grigorieff "Ma donna" that is immense. At the Institute, though not technically within its sacred portals, being harbored by that enfant ter rible, the Arts Club, is Walt Kuhn. Mr. Kuhn is one of the important members of the new American group in New York. There is a good deal of Degas and a good deal of Lautrec in his Kunstanschauung. There is, likewise, some argument as to whether or not he is melodramatic — see his "The City," "Amalgam" and "The Battle of New Orleans." "The City" is, I think, a good-sized thing. The "Amalgam" reminds me too much of the Pavlev-Oukrainsky bal let, but Mr. Kuhn says that's just what it was intended to do. There is one marvelously musical picture, "The Singing Tree." Mr. Kuhn's catalogue has a musical preface by LaSalle Spier that will irritate many. Oh, yes, there is Paul Manship's sculpture. One forgets that. View ing it, one wonders how he even made "Vanity Fair." —MR. RABELAIS. 18 THE CHICAGOAN Chicago busman — on holiday THE CHICAGOAN 19 TU EAT R E "NJED McCobb's Daughter," af- * ^ ter announcing its last few days, has been given three more weeks among us heathen. Helen Hayes is opening at the 4 Cohans in "What Every Woman Knows." Kenneth McKenna is playing opposite her. The comedy is one of Monsieur Barrie's sweet little whimsies. The volcano and the hero have ceased erupting over at the Minturn-Central, which will be dark for two weeks until a new shriller arrives from the factory. Mew York Exchange COR rather definite reasons, cer- * tain persons are more or less excited over this show at the Olympic. As a matter of fact, it is not nearly so black as it has been painted, although a good deal more lavender. At times it is entertain ing, although it has more than its share of noble speeches and tawdry melodrama. But just in case there are people left who crave entertain ment, and nothing else mixed with it, then the New York Exchange might be recommended. It would be rather difficult to defend its ideas and ideals: the former are seventh grade adaptations of the lat est degeneracy reports from the Committee of Fifteen; its ideals are insincere and smug. But it certainly moves along with a fast and frantic gait, beginning with the moment Bobbie, the tailored girl with a monocle, and Sammie, the blonde young man with a royal nickname, come on the stage. If anybody takes it seriously it con tains enough moralizing to smooth it over. The theory of a shocker is that anything topped off with a lovely moral, and in which vice is trodden underfoot, is well. The nice old lady behind me remarked going out that she didn't see but what Ella May did perfectly right to make that lazy young man sign I. O. U.'s, after she had gone to all the trouble of educating him and had taken him away from that naughty actress, with whom he surely must have been. Lucky Sambo All-colored show at the Selwyn. Chiefly remarkable for practically continuous dancing. Julia Moody is a peppy bit of milk-chocolate. The jail scene is the best comedy in it. Summing it up, the audience seemed to like "Lucky Sambo" far better than I did. I crawled under the seat at the "Big Parade" num ber and almost staved there. 3 The Donovan Affair Mystery comidrama. The sort of thing that if you like you adore and if you don't you are decently warned by the title to stay away. It is the sort of play in which someone says, "Let us now turn out the lights and we shall see if the ring really glows in the dark" ! Woof! "The Donovan Affair" is one of the best of its kind. Katja A showing at the LaSalle in which a prince is nearly mis understood and a princess sings frequently and somewhat loudly about the state of the heart. If you like a romantic operetta you'll find many reasons for liking this. A young man named Sheehan whose comedy is practically per fect is worth watching. Teddy Webb fulfills a certain comic ideal. Leonard Ceeley has a good voice but, unfortunately, he strains it. —MARIE ARMSTRONG HECHT. Beatrice Lillie and Charles Winninger sing a few songs and chase each other about the stage of "Oh, Please." Miss Lillie is at the left. 20 THE CHICAGOAN The Screen IT is rather fitting that McVick- ers in 1927 should bear to the screen play a relationship analo gous to that it bore the stage play fifty years ago. As it was McVick- ers that gave Chicagoans the best of Booth and Barrett, so is it Mc- Vickers that gives us the best of their celluloid successors. If these be Greta Garbo and John Gilbert, as in the week just past, at least the play is Sudermann's "Flesh and the Devil." If you are among those who did not see the picture at McVickers, perhaps not knowing that the house has been de-jazzed, de- Vitaphoned and made the city's largest and best straight picture theatre, know that among other things revealed by Miss Garbo is an unsuspected willingness (even ability) to act and to characterize. That the same is true also of Mr. Gilbert is news of moment, but the really good reason for seeing the photoplay is the manner of its nar ration. A quite American director named nothing more threatening than Clarence Brown has matched the best of Europe's craftsmen, and has added for good measure a sub ordination of effect to story quite uncommonly encountered in either domestic or imported film. The picture will come to the neighbor hoods and is worth seeing even if that implies sitting through the stage didoes McVickers does so well without. Mention of which didoes recalls that a popularity contest recently conducted by the Englewood Slow Club to determine the most popu lar picture star was won by Paul Ash. Mae Tinee was runner-up. DON'T worry if you missed that picture you wanted to see. There'll always be another copy of it along, if it was good. If it wasn't, you saved time. And sometimes the copy is better. For instance, "The Lady in Er mine" is an unofficial reproduction of "Hotel Imperial" and in many respects a better picture. The elder Bushman is a better invading- general in the new picture than George Siegmann in the old, Co- rinne Griffith a more logical reason than Pola Negri for delaying the invasion, the optional ending a more satisfactory one on all points. Even with the falsetto subtitles set in by the censors, whose inter cessions have had such important part in keeping Chicago morally spotless, the picture is the better of the two. By this time you know, of course, how to spot the interpo lated subtitle and hurdle it. Motion picture circles are gos sipy about the decisions of Famous Players- Lasky and Metro-Gold- wyn-Mayer to produce short comedies in addition to their long- pictures. Meanwhile, perhaps, be cause ammunition is being stored for battle, it is practically impos sible to locate a really funny short comedy in this or any city. Mack Sennett's name is seen almost as rarely as Chaplin's (on the screen, that is). Hal Roach's "Our Gang'; is to be found no more in the land. If it wrasn't for the song lyrics or- THE CHICAGOAN ganists flash on the screen we'd be in a bad way for comedy. "Old Ironsides" is to follow "Beau Geste" at the Auditorium and James Cruze made it. Other Cruze productions are "The Cov ered Wagon" and "Beggar on Horseback." James Cruze becomes the attraction at the Auditorium March 29. Payson & Clarke have brought out a book by Iris Barry called | 'HE Chicago Riding Club Polo * team galloped through to a victory in the finals of the Mid- West Indoor Polo Tournament in the Riding Club arena last Satur day night. Thrill-seeking specta tors who came to the final contest, which was played between the Rid ing Club team and the North Shore Polo Club of Chicago, went away in full satisfaction that they got what they were looking for. The decisive contest was a hard-riding affair with victory teetering from one side to the other throughout the four periods which ended in a tie. Excitement reached its high point during the playing off of an extra goal to decide the Mid-West championship. The Riding Club team, led by Captain Maxwell M. Corpening, provided a brilliant display of in door polo. Of almost equal accom plishment was the performance of the North Shore team under the captaincy of Herbert Lorber. With Corpening and Lorber battling for a chance in the national finals to be played next week in New York, the prospect for a good game was bright; but the fortunes of the game produced a contest exceeding all expectations. The Riding Club team, through the first and second chukkars, succeeded in rolling up what appeared to be a safe lead. Confident that the game was a set tled matter, Corpening entered the "Let's Go to the Movies." It de votes 278 pages to reasons for not doing so. Frederick Stock enjoys the unique distinction of not having re corded his Chicago Symphony Or chestra for Vitaphone. Ushers at the Oriental arc not baldheaded. Neither is Paul Ash. — W. R. WEAVER. arena for the beginning of the third period on one of his second string ponies — a signal, apparently, for North Shore to cut loose and al most cinch a victory. In the fourth period the Riding Club sailed in desperately and two sensational goals by Kenneth Fitz- patrick tied the score. Through out three minutes of intense ex citement the contending cavaliers battled for the decisive goal. A cleverly coaxed-in near-goal shot by Frank Bering concluded the contest with the Riding Club vic tors at 14-13. Herbert Lorber, North Shore captain, reasserted his rights to membership in that small group of really great indoor polo players. He is a splendid horseman and one of the most powerful strikers in the game. Due to injury of Howard Shultz in the North Shore-Cincinnati Rid ing Club game on the preceding night, Walter Barger substituted at No. 3. Although not having been in the saddle since last sum mer, he proved of immense value to the North Shore riders. A. Mil- liken, a former Cleveland poloist, played a consistent and effective game at No. 1. Fitzpatrick at No. 1 for the Rid ing Club— now only in his second season — performed as a veteran, his stick work being particularly notable, Bering, the Riding' Club Polo Riding Club Wins Mid- West Tournament 22 The Opera Club may be obtained, with or without cuisine service, on afternoons or evenings, for Private Dances, Teas and Banquets, with the exception of Wednesday and Saturday Nights. By reason of its ten years of service to many of Chi cago's Smartest Social Func tions the Opera Club is the accepted place for affairs necessitating excellence of service and appointments. 18 West Walton Place Tel. Superior 6907 Where Fine Cigars Are Smoked Tom Palmer Predominates Wengler & Mandell, Inc. Chicago - Tampa No. 3, played his usual effective game, backing up his forwards in a manner that saved a series of threatened goals. Corpening, Bering and Fitzpat- rick will now move on to New York where they will cross mallets with others of America's best for the national championship. THE earlier games in the Mid- West Tournament produced a variety of surprises, particularly the failure of the vaunted Cincin nati Riding Club team to work through to the finals. They were eliminated Friday evening by North Shore in a dizzily exciting game, marred by a bad fall suffered by Shultz. Although having been rolled on by his pony and struck by another, Shultz insisted on re entering the game. The brilliant play of Lorber was too much for the Cincinnati contingent and North Shore emerged victorious. On the same evening the Riding Club defeated a team of officers from Fort Thomas in a lively game in which the hard-riding soldiers went down to defeat before a team which simply knew more polo and played it. On Saturday night the Fort Thomas officers rode to a tight victory over the Cincinnati players, led by O. DeGray Vanderbilt. — HY GOAL. The Puritan maintained that all sex was bad; he was an idiot. Can we use a less harsh term on the jack ass who prattles that all sex is good ? As a matter of fact the man who maintains anything about sex is a self-confessed bumpkin. The English are so very tolerant of free speech one becomes sus picious. After all, may it not be that this tolerance is based on the invin cible stupidity of a people whom no reason could move to action? Prospective subscribers are warned to pay no money to solicitors; pay only by check to the order of "The Chicagoan." THE CHICAGOAN 23 Peanuts And Pants. A STAGE hand saunters across ** the scene with a tea table, nearly upsets the prima donna with a leg of the table, sets it down and sets himself down at it to enjoy a cigar ette. The musicians make noises at one end of the stage, with their coats hanging up on the wall behind them. Sometimes the vests join the coats. The prima donna finishes her song, and dies dead, very dead, upon the floor. And then gets up and walks off. A young lady with purple trousers appears at a door in the rear of the stage, gives a signal to the musicians, who go on making much the same music they have been mak ing, and comes on by another door. She stands in the middle of the stage and sings, stops abruptly, and sits down in the chair the stage hand has just vacated. He leans against a backdrop and cracks peanuts. The audience is also cracking peanuts. And reading, and talking, and walk ing in and walking out. And the musicians stroll on and off in most casual fashion. All of which is not a dress rehearsal, nor an undress re hearsal, but a formal performance of Chinese Opera in Chinese, by Chinese, for Chinese, at 31st Street and Indiana Avenue. The costumes are vivid in color — cyclamen and purple, kingfisher blue and soft peach, and the materials are rare and gorgeous — no stage tin sel here — and rigidly prescribed and formalized; blue brocade for an elder brother, red for a bandit villain, coral for a princess, purple cotton for a woman servant, and Hart, Schaffner and Marx for the stage hand. The bandit wears a for mal but ferocious mask, so every one will know he's a bandit and a villain as soon as he comes on — every one, that is, except the honest person whom he is going to villainize. The scenery is meagre but enough to give an impression: a tree denotes a for est, a tea table with a stool means an inn, and a tea table with an ebony chair is a palace room. Tea is drunk by the gallon in Chinese Opera ; they live at the tea table and die under neath it. THREE soap boxes make a mountain; a mountain complete with dangerous precipices, dashing cataracts, and steep trails. From one of the two rear doors (there are no wings) the princess and the elder brother appear with riding whip in their hands. But they are not walk ing — they are hopping rhythmically, raising high the knees, bending out the foot, going round and round in circles. And now their pace quick ens, and they gallop over the first rock. They stumble — rather their horses stumble, for these clever actors (trained in a school of tradi tional art, ancient even in ancient China) are making a perilous ascent of a mountain on horseback, and by convincing pantomime are jumping streams, stumbling over rocks, guid ing their horses over dizzy chasms, finally reaching the mountain top with no obvious forms of locomotion nearer than the street car clanging outside the theatre. The Chinese Opera lasts four or five hours, but one does not stay through the entire thing; he listens until his lap is full of peanut shells then rises, letting the shucks plop on the floor, and wanders out for a bit of air. If anything, it might be said that the performance, from the standpoint of those on the stage and those in the audience, is paganly in formal. The white-haired tong leader, who can be seen in the aisle seat of the second row every night, starts the applause with gentle persuasion, which is really darn nice of him, for it is one of the traditions of this tradi tion-bound art, that for every real burst of applause inspired by singing or acting, the inspiration for such applause gets an extra twenty-five cents. WThat price Chinese Opera. —RUTH frank. If we will be honest with our selves, we must confess that our ac tions seldom puzzle us. The puzzle comes when we try to explain them laudably. 24 THE CHICAGOAN 999 Lake Shore Drive A permanent home in one of the finest steel frame, fireproof buildings on the Gold Coast at a cost of about one'half of the present rental value is assured the far-sighted individual who co-operates in purchasing this won derful ten-story building on the 100% co-operative plan. Only two of the apartments are available for purchase — one for immedi ate occupancy and one subject to a lease which expires September 30th, 1927. The location is the most desirable site in Chicago, being at the outer bend of Lake Shore Drive and commanding a beautiful view of the lake and shore line, which will be a constant pleasure to you and will provoke the admiration of all your friends. The value of this location is bound to increase from year to year. Under the 100% co-operative plan, you are afforded an opportunity to share in this unearned increment as well as experience the monthly saving over what you would pay as rent for a similar apartment. As only two apartments are for sale, prompt action is advised. H.H. DECKER £r COMPANY 714 Wrigley Building Superior 5178 The New Orthophonic Victrola Electrola and Radiola Combinations Exclusively STEGER &. 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