May 21, 1927 nrice 15 Cents ¦ ' .;^i'&:-v,^'§t'Sv'W "¦'¦";:¦ ¦;:¦ i W T£ Hfc «fei Is EVERY now and again there comes to this good town something new. Sometimes it is another steel mill. It might be more stock yards. And once it was the World's Fair. The point is that each year the city changes, sheds its bark of last season's prairie dust, and moves on. And that majestic advance has be come so sure and so steady that he who knew Chicago ten years ago does not know it to-day. Last season's neighborhood is now a commercial plant; the brownstone mansions of the early years of the century are now rooming houses; last year's slums a boulevard. Twenty years ago a citizen could feel quali fied to make definite statements as to just what Chicago was: he might have dubbed it a down right, unabashed commercial center; he might have passed it by casually but definitely as a typical prairie town, the biggest in Illinois, no more. And each of these assertions doubtless contained at least a moiety of saneness and truth. But that was twenty years ago. The gentleman with silk topper walking down Michigan Boulevard to-day is not Chicago. Nor is the old woman with a shawl who mumbles over a sandwich on a Grant Park bench. Nor the tug Happy Hours holding up $500,000 worth of traffic as it sedately chortles up the Chicago River with a twenty dollar cargo of hemp. And, despite all newspaper headlines, the beer-alcohol-crime crowd on the West Side is not Chicago. WHAT then is it? Smoke and cinders? Lincoln Park? . . . It is a smart man, in deed, who does know exactly what it is today. For it is all these things and a million more. The ordinary business man, putting in his time at the golf links and the office, finds, upon reflec tion, that he knows amazingly little about the unadvertised sections of the city, the things which do not appear in the newspapers, but which make Chicago the city it is, and set it off from every other place in the world. And so — That is where we come in. It is our business to know the unusual thing about Chicago. Our staff is constantly on the trail of the item of to-day and the item of twenty or thirty years ago — many of which have been these long years buried under the sediment of progress and industry. But that, you see, is our business — to dig them up. And through the pages of this maga zine we bring to your attention such material as our careful researches reveal. This, together with an accurate reflection of the galvanic twist- ings and developments of this good city as it exists to-day. All written, compiled and illustrated by a brisk group of Chicago writers and artists — sponsored by CUICAGOAN Thk Chicagoan— Martin J. Ouigi.ky, 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 III, No. 5— May 21, 1927. Entered as second-class matter at the Post Office at Chicago, 111., under the Act of March 3, 1879. recAfbu>e 320 MICHIGAN AVENUE * NORTH Just South of the Bridge Sports WeaiP A beautiful collection ol Angoras and Cashmeres — also the new ¦English J. weeds in two or three piece models. Ihese are the smartest new things in sports wear lor all occasions 2 TUECUICAGOAN SPONSORED BY HARGRAFT FROM England come Ben Wade pipes Wade patented process. The pores of the . . . different from all others. From the wood are opened and kept open for per- first day on they are sweet, mellow, "broken- feet absorption! Precious moments of per- in." Breaking-in an ordinary pipe means feet pipe smoking are slipping by . . . don't smoking out the varnish, the stain, the wait longer. Ask your best tobacconist metallic coating inside the bowl. The Ben for Ben Wade pipes. If he can't respond to Wade inside bowl is unstained . . . the briar your demand write for the catalog of all itself is pumiced and polished by the Ben shapes in actual sizes. This sign identifies all ISppa Har graft dealers TI4ECUICAG0AN 3 a 0 NrttiiXniuHmlhi »». nrnmiAnf TiftrrtTwflwimhniflhrffwibiiifi^^ ifnnfnt^ii CALENDAR, OF EVENT/ THE THEATRE Musical SUNNY— at the Illinois. By Dillingham out of Bar- num & Bailey. Marilyn Miller, Jack Donahue, Clif ton Webb and several other good reasons why you should see it. THE MADCAP— at the Olympic. Mitzi at her best in a farce with tunes made to her measurement. THE STUDENT PRINCE— at the Great Northern. Lee and Jake Shubert revisit Old Heidelberg. TWINKLE, TWINKLE— at the Erlanger. With Joe E. Brown doing most of the twinkling. Anyway, it's an evening. N oft-musical THE NOOSE— at the Selwyn. Willard Mack hits the bull's-eye (and reveals the bull's badge) in another melodrama. THE LITTLE SPITFIRE— Just about like it sounds. But they enjoy it at the Cort. THAT FRENCH LADY— at the Playhouse. Miss Clara Lipman, with one dialect, and Mister Louis Mann, with another, in one of those comedies that Mister Samuel Shipman likes to write. TENTH AVENUE— at the Adelphi. Top-hole crook drama, admirably acted by Edna Hibbard, William Boyd, Louis Calhern and others. THE BARKER— at the Blackstone. Richard Bennett doing most of the loud talking in a play concerned with high life and low language among the tent-show folks. FALSE FACES — at the Studebaker. And some of them are familiar. Vaudeville PALACE. Orpheum Circuit. MUSIC WOMAN'S SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA— During the Woman's World's Fair, May 19 to 27. Elena Moneak, leader. At the Coliseum. FANNIE LASKIN, pianiste, Sunday afternoon at 3 :30, May 22. At the Playhouse. RUTH KLAUBER, pianiste, soloist, Woman's Sym phony Orchestra. Tuesday evening at 7, May 24. At the Coliseum. UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO CHOIR, concert. Mack Evans, conductor. Tuesday evening, 8:30, May 31. At Kimball Hall. SOPHIE BRILLIANT-LIVEN, pianiste, and JAC QUES GORDON, violinist. Beethoven Sonata Recital, Friday evening, 8:15, June 3. At Kimball Hall. THE GALLERIES ART INSTITUTE OF CHICAGO— The International Water-color show, the annual exhibition of the Chi cago Camera club, and paintings by George H, Macrum. Etchings by Tiepolo, Bresdin and Meryon; color prints by Hiroshige, Koryusai and Hokusai. JOHNSON (CHESTER) GALLERIES— Exhibition of paintings by the French Impressionists ; paintings by Henri Matisse ; water colors by Vlaminck. ARTS CLUB GALLERY, ART INSTITUTE— Ex hibition of paintings by Martha Walter. ARTS CLUB OF CHICAGO- and Ganso. -Paintings by Kuniyoshi ROULLIER (ALBERT) GALLERIES— Etchings by Mary J. Coulter. TENNESSEE ANDERSON announces a showing of New York artists at the Celotex Cottage, North Michigan Avenue, May 8 to June 4. The exhibition will include Emil Ganso, J. B. Flannagan, Wanda Gag, Alex Brook, Kuniyoshi, Henry Mattson, Peggy Bacon and Charles Sheeler. CHICAGO GALLERIES ASSOCIATION— Annual spring exhibition of work by artist members. ANDERSON'S— Exhibiton of paintings by William M. Chase. Bronzes by Max Kalish. GOLDBLATT (EDWARD) GALLERIES— Exhibi tion of paintings by H. M. Kitchell. Chinese antiques. NEWBERRY LIBRARY— Books and prints illustra tive of costume in various times and countries ; prints and drawings of western countries ; prints and draw ings of western Indians in the Edward E. Ayer collec tion. FIELD MUSEUM — Antique sculpture; examples of ancient arts and crafts from many lands. The Edward E. Ayer collection of pewter. THE SCREEN THE ROUGH RIDERS— twice daily at the Audi torium and all about Roosevelt at San Juan Hill and elsewhere. (To be reviewed.) A NIGHT OF LOVE— at McVickers following Mc- Fadden's Flats. A splendid picture. CONVOY — at the Roosevelt for no good reason. (Re viewed April 23.) FREIBERG PASSION PLAY— at the Woods while it thrives and in substance a newsreel covering the event. ( Previously reviewed. ) 4 TUECWCAGOAN The "W. G. N." Staff discovers a pacifist. W. G. H. AFTER visiting the new Stevens Hotel, it was our immediate de cision to write an enthusiastic and flattering article about that institu tion; it is worthy of it, and much must be said in its praise. We might even have broken out in a control lable, if unwise, rash of mathemat ics ; the superlatives, we feel, yes, we feel quite sure, could have been sup pressed. But After reading the booklet pub lished by this new hotel, after taking out our pencil and checking up on the sweeping and blinding figures displayed therein, we were left in so confusing and completely l>ewil- dered a state of mind that we can do no more than to summarize their own compelling literature : I HE Stevens Hotel (we shall, * throughout this paragraph, limit our own remarks to parenthesis, giv ing at all times the floor to the author of the booklet) cost $27,000,- 000; it has 3,000 guest rooms, a 15,- 000 square foot ball room which seats 4,000 guests, and a check room ac commodating 3,200 individuals (at least 800 people, it seems, will have to keep their hats on during the eve ning). It contains 20,000,000 cubic feet (6666 2/3 cu. ft. for each guest), a circulating library containing 25,- 000 volumes, 60 carloads of mat tresses (1/50 carload per person — not counting twin beds) , three freight cars of silver (1/1000 of a freight car per person), and $600,000 worth of rugs and carpets ($200 worth for each man, women and child living there). It contains a switchboard accommodating 15,000 calls (thereby allowing each lodger of the hotel to put in five calls at the same time), 2,500 employees, a laundry that can handle the soiled clothing of 60,000 individuals, and a refrigerator plant producing 300 tons of ice daily (200 pounds for each and every person). Seriously, however, we were, upon our first and subsequent trips to the Stevens, very charmingly impressed with the hotel as a whole, with the appointments, its servants, its unos tentatious attitude, and, particularly, with the food. The hotel represents, and is to be admired for, restraint and beauty. And it is to be praised for its cleverness to keep to a super latively high standard a hotel which can accommodate over three thou sand guests. This is particularly admirable when one remembers the need in Chicago of a hotel like this. But A S stated before, since reading * * the mathematical booklet on the new hotel, since checking up on those bewildering and staggering figures, we found ourselves in a condition wherein breathing comes only with great difficulty. And we shall never again, never so long as we live, register at a hotel until we have asked the desk clerk all about the generators, how many cubic feet of air we are en titled to, how high a point the bag gage would reach if stacked in one pile, and what would happen if every one in the hotel decided to take a bath and a drink of water at the same time. Ghosts DESPITE our secret respect for the old fellow, it must be admit ted that he looked very much like an early Cenozoic fossil. A gleeful, toothless fossil, but, as we learned, a very gay one. We met him on the corner of Ran dolph and Dearborn Streets during the theatre hour, and, Heaven for give our perversity, we were not only surprised but pleased to learn that he was looking for a good show. "I ain't been to this town for thirty- five years," he told us. "Where's the Grand Opera House that used to be on Washington and Clark?" There was, we decided later, a certain lack of conviction in his request. "Gone," we told him. "You don't mean the Auditorium on Congress Street?" "No." He seemed not at all dis appointed about the unavailability of the Opera House. "Know the Audi torium. Seen it at the world's fair." "How about the Woods, right there. Or the Apollo, Selwyn, Har ris?" "Let me ask you a question," said he, disregarding our advice, "is Hoo- ley's Theatre still around? Used to be right here on Randolph." There was more sincerity intoned in this request. "Gone." And sensing that the old 6 TI4ECI4ICAGOAN fellow wanted one of the theatres with which he was acquainted, we suggested McVickers. "You must know McVickers." "Ain't gone movies, has it?" "Yes," we told him, "movies. Pretty good movies." "I don't want nothin' like that. Get that out of your heads right now." His concern was assuming massive and blackened proportions. Then a wicked glint came into his eyes. He came closer and said in a low, confidential voice — the tone men like to assume when in unmixed com pany — the naughty fawn attitude. "How about" — a sly wink — "the Haymarket? Don't tell me that's gone, too. That ain't gone movies, has it?" No, it had not gone movies, we assured him. And as we stood there watching him strolling toward a West Madison Street car, we couldn't help feeling that there was something absolutely indecent about keeping one's youth so long, something amaz ingly improper about an octogen arian seeking — and enjoying — a Hay- market Theatre exhibition. There was also, we might add, a large dan- delioned pasture of admiration and envy. Competition ALTHOUGH it is several years since he failed to appear at his usual stand, man)' of those who were accustomed to seeing the shabby old man are still wondering what became of the Fifty-third Street cabby. He used to stand in front of the Illi nois Central station, waging an un equal battle with the taxis. In ap pearance, he was complete realization of modern America's idea of a cabby — short, stocky, red of face, and as slow as the era of which he was a lonely survivor. His clothes, his cab, and even his horse's coat had weathered to a uniform dark green ish gray. Sometimes he would deliver his opinion of the mechanical age, par ticularly as represented by taxi driv ers ; but for the most part he just sat on his box, shoulders slack, chin down. Without looking up he in toned his spiel. "Keb or kerrige, keb or kerrige." Why he offered this choice no one ever knew. Obviously he had only one turnout and found it hard enough to keep that. ONCE a year or so, a crowd of college students, bent on adven ture extraordinary, would hire the cab for a joy ride; or when a sud den rain had dispersed all the taxis, a commuter would take the hack, sniff at its old-time mustiness and horsiness, and hold a handkerchief to a nose less sensitive to the reek of gasoline. The rest of the time, cab and cabby were engaged chiefly in being pictureseque, a highly unre- munerative and doubtless uncon scious business. Driver, cab and horse, grown old together, drooped at the curb. Though people liked to see them, few did anything to encourage their daily return ; and one day they found, to their regret, that the atmosphere of Fifty-third Street had disap peared, horse, keb and kerrige. The sans chariot, he was still battling the taxis. To commuters, caught with out protection, he was offering to rent an umbrella for twenty-five cents. Praise EACH day we find in our kind hearts a new valve dedicated to ingenuity and controlled by our boundless respect for those who get across whatever happens to be their whimsical aim. That Mr. Al Jolson's publicity man should write to his employer — so the story goes — a blackmail letter de manding $25,000 is, when we con sider his reasons, an incurious and highly explainable situation. That Mr. Jolson's revival of Big Boy might need a sliver or two of free publicity is also a detail not to be neglected. And that Al, an astute young man, should turn over to the authorities such blackmail letter is certainly a condition not to bother for long the scrutiny and skepticism of the plain voter. But that this press agent, doubtless a good one, should neglect to tell his employer about the scheme to boost the box office sales will be to us an endless labyrinth of praise, good wishes, and admiration. As we started out to say, we have an almost uncontrollable respect for those who get what they want. And sob sorority didn't get the story of the last of the cabbies, but it was discussed over many a dinner table in Hyde Park. That happened some time ago. No trace of the horse or cab has ap peared on Fifty-third Street, but the last rainy day saw the old cabby again in front of the I. C. station. A little rustier, a little more bent, TagD ay TI4EO4ICAG0AN 7 if that publicity man had not ne glected to inform Mr. Jolson of his jolly scheme, or if Al had not been instructed by the press agent that he (the publicity man) had neglected to inform Mr. Jolson of the plan, the information would probably never have reached the linotypes of the city newspapers. Reason Enough DERSONS who know all about * Chicago, New Yorkers, say, and lecture-touring novelists, talk enthus iastically about the many crimes committed in the windy and well- armed city; but few of those who merely live here have ever seen a hold-up or even a murder. It was therefore, with high expectations that we watched a curious perform ance the other night in the alley be tween Dearborn and Clark, Ran dolph and Lake. It was near the hour when ghosts haunt houses and sinners haunt cab arets. The theater crowds had dis persed and the alley was quite dark. Suddenly there was a clatter of hoof -beats and a flying of sparks struck from the cobblestones as a 'Come on, boys, let's give Little Mable a BIG hand." police officer galloped furiously from Dearborn to Clark Street. At Clark Street he dismounted and walked slowly back, peering into all the dark recesses. After a brief sally upon Lake Street, he swung himself back into the saddle and again galloped the length of the block. This piece of business he repeated a number of times. Finally he approached the lone spectator of the drama. "May I tie Buddy to your car for a minute while I go inside and look for that sonofagun?" Without waiting for an answer he tied the horse. The spectator watched breathless ly. "What — what's the trouble of ficer ?" "Enough!" said the policeman. "Here I've got a date for twelve o'clock and some sonofagun's stolen my dress shirt !" Harbinger OUT of >he recent deluge which had the entire city floating — a climatic irregularity which pro voked the doorman of our building to remark that the Mississippi River was certainly a devil for spite — came a harbinger of gleeful tidings to one of our financial houses. After the atmosphere had fun nelled its entire water supply on the city, a hundred and eighty proof moisture which carried with it all the roofing gravel and loose bricks in the loop, the sun broke through and — as is the way with storms which fly off the handle and then are eager to repent — was followed by a rain bow. And from our office, looking toward Michigan Boulevard and the lake, we saw that the rainbow rested its noble base on the beehive of the Strauss Building. At least, so it looked from our window. At the end of the rainbow — the Strauss Building. What a lead sentence for the copy writer. And if there's anything at all, even a moiety of truth to the soothing but misleading tale about the location of the pot of gold, we're just mad as hell that we haven't a few hundred shares of stock from S. W. Strauss & Company. \ A /E learned the other day how * * to become a Wild Man. We do not mean a hellicat, or a rounder with hard edges, but a genuine circus wild man, the kind who roars from behind the bars at sideshows. Our informant, who was himself an ex-Wild Man, pointed out that the Profession is uncrowded and lucra tive. Certainly it does not appear to be stifled with pretensions of dig nity, nor is it devoid of humorous aspects. Every practicing Wild Man who hopes to attain standing in his pro- fession must look to his fangs. The longer and more sabrelike the teeth, the higher (or lower) is his feral rating. Truly awesome fangs are made from the bone handles of old style tooth-brushes. The detached bone is riveted to a segment of clock spring and thus fitted tightly against the gums of the artist. Usually an upper set is sufficient, but really con scientious Wild Men use both upper and lower fangs and thus insure their public its money's worth. ^w TEXT the neophyte gets the skin ^ of a large, black, shaggy dog (we shudder to think how he gets it, but let that pass). This skin is worn around the body, and even for a very wild man it is abysmally hir sute. A few chains are draped over exposed members. A wig may be worn, though true artists effect their own locks appropriately unkempt. Finally, if the professor is too obvi ously Nordic, a stained skin com pletes the ensemble. The voice must be cultivated. In three months, our authority assures us, almost anyone can develop a horrid bellow, though in this department, too, genius will out. Stage properties are simple, a cage, straw for the floor, a club, etc. All these add to the primitive suggestion. The most essential property is raw meat. Two great slabs of newly butchered flesh are impaled on long iron broiling forks. A barker stand ing without the tent calls attention to one fork and its attached proven der. Here, he assures the common people, is the sole food of the savage creature under lock and key within. The savage creature is heard in a chilling howl. Eventually when enough dimes have been charmed ? TWtCWICAGOAN away from their owners, the barker lugs the meat inside and fumbles it gingerly through the bars. You (as suming that you have become one of the profession) thrill your public with another vocal effort and nuzzle the raw beef. As your public grows less watchful you fling the slab aside so that an attendant may presently restore it to its fork. In the interval a duplicate slab is being extolled be fore the barker's platform as your next meal — in 10 minutes. That is practically all there is to being a Wild Man. It is, as we have said, a lucrative and uncrowded pro fession. The ex-Wild Man, after telling us all this, suggested that we buy him a beer. We did. He was a mild looking little creature who seemed a bit dazed and timorous among the gun-powdered structures of North Clark Street. THE EDITORS. "And 77/ have PLEN-TY butter." TKECUICAGOAN 9 Satanic Ground-hog Henry J. Cox I "HE popular conception of any- * body or anything is likely to be funnily inaccurate and popularly revelatory, but nothing is more inac curate or funnier than the picture which that mythic entity, the Public Mind, has formed of the well known, utterly unknown Weather Man. There are, rather, two pictures. One is of a little old man perched on the top of the Federal Building, with his eye glued to a telescope, trained on the haruspical heavens. This is all very faithful, save for the fact that an ultra-modern up-and-coming weather man has just about as much use for a telescope as our friend, Mr. Durkin, has for a monocle. The other portrait which flits across that great mental void above referred to is one of a vague and shadowy individual, of diabolic pro pensities, who is to be blamed for all unpleasant disturbances from slush under foot to a major flood or hurri cane. He is also the guilty party when you have thoughtlessly gone out without your rubbers, though you know very well that, at your age, etc., etc., or when you have, with equal thoughtlessness, left your wife's umbrella behind you in Jake's backroom, and Jake is closed for the night. IN short, the Weather Man is, at once, a phantom and a meteoro- logic goat, on whose unreal shoulders are to be piled all the annoyances that cannot reasonably be heaped on Mr. Volstead, the new Thompson admin istration or the laxity of a younger generation's morals. Any one, however, who attempts to attain an interview with this rain iest of revenants, this windiest of ghosts, has a rather impressive dis illusionment awaiting him. After you have ridden to the eighth floor of the Federal Building with the gentle men who are going up to see the sheriff and those who wish they were not going up to see the sheriff, after you have taken the amusing little elevator that creaks up to the roof, after you have threaded the maze of outer offices and glimpsed a small army in the way of a clerical staff, your approach is likely to alter, if not falter. That vision of the little old man with the telescope seems, some how, to fade, while if this is the lair of the climatic Satan, it is a very respectable-looking and business like sort of lair. But here is the Professor in per son. And that "Professor," by the way; is not employed in the usual patent-medicine sense. For this is none other than Henry J. Cox, A. B. (Harvard), A.M. (Harvard), Sc.D. (Norwich), professor of meteor ology of the United States Weather Bureau, Member of Many Learned Societies, etc., etc., etc. Incidental ly, Prof. Cox is the author of "The Weather and Climate of Chicago," containing as charming a set of storm-graphs as any I have seen. Its author, indeed, may be said to belong to the graphic school of literature. We have before us, then, a gray- haired man in scholastic spectacles, a rather youthful bow-tie and fash ionably tailored business sack. Only a slightly Mephistophelian mouth re veals his hidden cunning. It is that mouth, doubtless, that is responsible for flooded basements and things like that. But who wouldn't become a trifle diabolic, after forty-three years of endeavoring to dope out what the weather of Chicago is go ing to be tomorrow. When Zeus himself doesn't know what it's going to be an hour from now? Small wonder if Prof. Cox is prematurely gray at 64. He takes the weather with the proper degree of seriousness, and yet, not too seriously. On the one hand, she (the weather, we mean) is not to be treated too skittishly. The Professor is bent upon rescuing her from the hands of mountebanks and turning her over to the scientific forecasters. On the other hand, he is fully aware that she is a frivolous young lady, the perduring flapper of the eons, and must be permitted to have her moods, her whims and ca prices. INCIDENTALLY, Prof. Cox is * probably the most pestered man in the universe. The clerk at the in formation desk in the Union Station doesn't hear, in a week, one-tenth the silly questions that he is called upon to answer over the telephone in the course of a day. Anything from why baby's tonsils are worse this morning to why suburbans hens don't lay. And a good fraction of these bright queries come from bright young reporters of the town. Especially on Ground-hog's Day. From time immemorial, on that oc casion, every city editor in the town has assigned a member of his staff to call up the Professor and find out whether or not the ground hog has seen its shadow. And year after year, the Professor patiently explains that ground-hogs have no shadows, that they couldn't see 'em if they did have, and that if they did see 'em, it wouldn't mean a blankety-blank thing so far as the weather was con- 10 TI4ECNIGAGOAN cerned. Personally, I have never known him to wax more than justi fiably profane. When one o'clock comes, the Pro fessor shuts up shop for an hour or so, forsakes his alluringly compli cated charts, showing just what the barometric pressure is in Tucson and Medicine Hat, and drops over to the English-wainscoted grill of the Uni versity Club. Yes, that's a Phi Beta Kappa key he wears for a watch-charm. The weather? Oh, that's done by the staff. SAMUEL PUTNAM. Nothing New Under the Rooftree FOR years historians have been been withholding important facts. Modern biographers are always saying so, and now I know they are right. For example, we have been taught that the American colonists spent their days having tea parties in honor of Mayor Thompson's pet enemy, and creating national holi days. Yet all the time they were do ing nothing but making Early Ameri cana. This is my proof: If all thirteen colonies, employing child -labor and running on an eighteen hour day, had engaged exclusively in the manu facture of housefurnishings, they could not have produced more an tiques than are now sprinkled only from Evanston to and including Lake Forest. And everybody knows that there are just as many Early American homes on the near north side, to say nothing of those in Hyde Park and Woodlawn. Of course the supply of pre-war antiques is not inexhaustible though "Dear me — an other day. But I dearly love a d sunrise. there is no lack of goods that have been cut, or of Grand Rapids primi tives, the latter sold openly by the carload at the Furniture Mart. For tunately, a slight extension of the rules permits the Early American householder to complete his equip ment with importations of undisput ed age and repute from England, articles, in other words, which the colonists might have brought with them, given sufficient money and shipping facilities. THESE are the little whatnots one picks up on his travels. (N. B. One may "buy" gowns in Paris or "bargain" for linens in Italy, but one never does any thing but "pick up" or "find" quaint shaving mugs in England.) Those persons who are too busy earning the money to pay for antiques to have time to pick them up, have two courses open to them. If they have a flair for that sort of thing they can do their pick ing up in the homes of their cooks and laundresses or the dustier sec ond hand stores. (Like a wine cel lar the store must prove its authen ticity by the number and extent of its cobwebs. I am told that spiders are now being bred especially for the antiquing of curio shops.) If one has no such flair the job must be in trusted to an interior decorator. In the excitement over contract bridge it should not be forgotten that interior decorating is equally as good a game. Indeed, it has a number of advantages over contract. For one thing, the stakes are much higher, but the loser generally believes he has actually got something for his money. Like the new bridge, the new decorating is simplified and made more risky. The decorator, in deed, is governed by one rule only: there shall be nothing new under the rooftree. THE result is that everybody's in terior — domestic, not personal — looks as much as possible like Mount Vernon and far more like everybody TI4EO4ICAG0AN n A "Can you beat it, Marge? Just filain stefiins. I've a notion to let my hair grow. else's. Most women differentiate between various Early American or otherwise interior decorated houses ; but truly it is a wise man who knows his own fireside. The old clock on the mantle was probably suggested by his neighbor's. Or else the neigh bor's was suggested by his. At any rate they are twins. The hooked rugs, the ships model, the wormy paneling are reminiscent of any one of a dozen familiar houses. Usually it doesn't really matter so much to the man how the living room is furnished so long as he can find among all the Windsor and lad der-back chairs one upholstered thing — there usually is one — on which to recline. It is only when he sits at his Gov ernor Winthrop desk and looks over his bills that he finds proof that he is really in his own home. When he runs across such items as Eng lish porcelain knife rests, $16.00 per pair; Duncan Fyfe table, $250.00; Eighteenth Century flower pot, $40.00, then he knows that either he or his house has been done. Maybe both. _E< V- park. Overtones N insurance statistician is au thority for the statement that 98 per cent of us are potential liars. The other 2 per cent consists of the statistician and the writer of this de partment. ? And then there is food for thought in the marriage of Margaret Coffee to Benjamin F. Beans, attended by Mr. and Mrs. W. P. Waffull, out in Manson, Iowa. ? Our esteemed city council has de cided that it is none of its business where Peaches Browning makes her public appearances. Now if the rest of the city will take the same atti tude, that'll be that. "Bite Yourself an Alphabet" reads a well known pretzel ad, an artful twist, doubtless, to become a man of letters. ? After deep study of the home lov ing proclivities of fruit flies which he allowed to multiply in kitchenette bottles, an eastern scientist announces that Chicago's population in 2000 will be only five and a half millions. It is expected our association of commerce will finance a similar ex periment, using the mosquito. ? Women wore full length skirts 25,000 years ago according to Pro fessor Fay Cooper Cole. Somehow, it seems more recent than that. ? One of the advantages Mr. Wrig- ley overlooked in proffering his Lake Geneva home as the summer White House is that it is so close to the Illinois line that the Wisconsin gas tax doesn't matter. ? Mayor Thompson wants a subway immediately. Because of the haze of the recent campaign, we don't know whether it's a transportation measure or a digging in process an ticipating another advance of King George. 12 TI4ECI4ICAGOAN Europe is kicking because its 20,- 000,000 unemployed are barred from the United States on account of our immigration laws. We could use some of them to watch the steam shovels at work and let our own citi zens get back on the job. ? Back polishing is the latest fad in London's smart set whereby ye art ful tradesman applies a thick coat of white enamel to milady's back, prior to donning her evening gown. That crackling sound you hear is the ver tebrae breaking through. ? The Chicago woman who inhaled gas because she scorched her hus band's trousers while pressing them, presents another crying argument in favor of the two-pants suit. ? Fining women for kissing their husbands in public (Mexico) will not be duplicated in Chicago says Chief of Police Hughes. We think there should be some restriction, however, and suggest that this out door amusement be permitted only at street intersections, the "stop and go" signs regulating the duration of the osculation. A *?* We haven't started our garden yet, either — _G If I May Say So THERE is a tale told of Chi cago's bravest lady. And this is the tale — and the ridiculous part of it is, it's true. Dr. Jacob Wen dell Clark is what we would call, in the vernacular, a big nose-and-throat man. But that is only half of his renown, for at odd moments he writes novels. They are not, how ever, the sort of novels one writes at odd moments : they are sound, well- wrought novels that draw glowing reviews everywhere but in Chicago. His latest one, White Wind, is par ticularly gusty and good. The other day Dr. Clark was about to' de-tonsil the lady of our tale, and she was already on the operating table. Being a local lady, the Doctor was giving her only a local anes thetic. As he raised a gleaming in strument she suddenly spoke. "Oh, Doctor," said she, "I've just read your new book." "Yes ?" The scientist - author paused, knife in air. "And did you like it?" "No," replied the lady, "I thought it was awful." JOHN DREW, at seventy-three, ^ is the youngest man I know. When the Trelawney of the Wells Oh, you cute thing. You must j>lay something hot for me. tour brought him here not long ago, a club of which John Drew has for many seasons been a member, gave a luncheon in his honor ; and by that barbaric custom of "introducing" a personage whom everybody knows, he was presented as "the first gentle man of the theatre." "Chronologically I may be the first," responded the gallant actor. Whereupon he was off in a graceful, witty speech. After luncheon he and I were sallying forth, and, in deference to his years (which he wears jauntily, as he has always worn his clothes) I suggested that we take a cab. But he would not hear of it : he insisted on walking. The next night after the play we were in the Blackstone for supper, and, the hour being past mid night, I expected him to select some gentle, easily digestible repast. To my amazement I heard him order a whole cold lobster, with mayonnaise ! And there were, if I may say so, other pleasant adjuncts to the sup per. But the high note of his extraordinai-y youth fulness was reached when he asked me what I planned to do Saturday night after the performance. I replied that I was going dancing at the Bal Taba- rin. He wanted to know what the Bal Tabarin might be. I told him it was a night club, where lights were brighter than conversation, where muted jazz beat the air, and the ladies were lovely to look upon. But I added that it was a devastating place — so late did it keep one up. John Drew's eyes were, I thought, wistful. Half in jest I asked him if he would care to go. "I would, indeed," said my young friend. "Please call for me at the theatre." A ND speaking of the Bal Tabarin, ** I have a communication from Ernest Byfield, that waggish fellow whose eyebrows are as piratical as Max Beerbohm's, and whose jokes, practical and impractical, are known wherever English or other languages are spoken. TMECWCAGOAN 13 Shindigs in the Awful Eighties "If you have heard this one," writes Mr. Byfield, "stop me." (But, of course, how could I stop him — for was he not miles away?) "An inebriate was clutching a lamp-post in a fervid embrace when a fire en gine came clanging by, scattering a shower of sparks. Instantly he gave chase, shouting, and after six blocks halted and turned back, muttering: T didn't want any peanuts, anyway.' After breaking the peace in this fashion," continues my correspond ent, "there's nothing left for me to do but erase the laundry-marks from my collar and leave for Europe. Which I am doing Wednesday night. Don't send any tangerines to the boat. They roll in my eye, mornings on the Paris." ? There is in our town a celebrated host, a local Harry Thaw, if I may say so, whose parties are flamboyant to a degree. (In fact to several de grees, fahrenheit.) He is known to cast an acquisitive eye upon all comely young women. The other evening at one of our host's clamor ous musicales an indignant damsel rushed up to Ashton Stevens, who was seeking his hat and cuffs prepar atory to departure, and complained vexedly : "That loathsome man" (pointing to our host) " — do you know what he just did? He — he pinched me!" "Ah," said Mr. Stevens, "he can always be depended on in a pinch. You know, he's the inventor of that new dance, the black-and-blue bot tom." —GENE MARKEY. Anticipation It's, funny what a difference A little e can make, And how when Shop turns into Shoppe Its bread turns into cake, And how when Inn is renamed Inne Its charges scrape the sky, How when a pipe is labelled bruyere Its price is boosted high. Since elevation is the sure Result of suffix e, Why not let's call a skirt a skirte And see what we shall see? — PAUL ERNST. THE Chicago literatus, when he occurs, has always been a devil of a fellow. It may be the air of these porcine prairies, or it may be merely the nature of the critter. Whatever the explanation, the fact remains that the ambitious young north-sider, who spends his nights in a blind pig and his days with Dow- son and Millay, has ample precedent — for his nights. In those days, the literatus usually found employment on a newspaper — that is about the only difference. And Chicago didn't have to wait for Oscar Wilde and the Naughty Nineties. True, when the Nineties came along, she proceeded to out-yell the Yellow Book, but she had started having her fin-de-siecle measles some while previously. It was along in the latter part of the Eighties that she had begun to break out, a period associated in the minds of most of us with the late Prince Consort and the garment named after him, as well as with the best-tailored president America ever had, Chester A. Arthur. No wonder the boys broke loose. WHY, for that matter, Chicago even had a night-club of its own as far back as 1876. Yessiree, the Owl Club, composed of loop night-hawks, such as actors, news paper men, musicians, painters, etc., was founded, in the year mentioned, by old Jimmy (James H.) Mc- Vicker, Billy Eaton and Will E. Chapman. Everything went along nicely till LaSalle Street and the board of trade butted in and began flashing real money around the joint. Now, as everybody knows, nothing so insults an actor, painter, musician or newspaper man as the sight of certified coin of the realm. .As a re sult, a great secession occurred and the Press Club was organized — in November, 1879. All the Press Clubs it has ever been our fortune to know have been recruited very largely from the ranks of butchers, bakers and dentists, and there are two organizations claiming to be the 14 TWECWICAGQAN U. X' V i\ Safari*: £±81 Fou see, I take Junior here because it's so primitive — to teach him the spirit of out-doors." Press Club of Chicago at the present time, but that is neither here nor there. A revolt had been staged, and Chicago is always strong for revolt. The Press Club, as may be sur mised, was about as tame as a meet ing of the Woman's Foreign Mis sionary Society. The real devils were the boys who belonged to the old and now world-famous White- chapel Club. They were the lads who introduced the cornbelt to de cadence. They succeeded, without particularly trying, in painting the loop a brilliant topaz, which the night-lifer of today well might give his upholstered hip-flask to enjoy. And they were not, by any means, journalistic nobodies. Many of them have since died in Who's Who, and some of them with sufficiently im pressive bank-accounts to justify the appointment of a testamentary exe cutor. Among them, one might men tion George Ade, Finley Peter Dunn ("Mr. Dooley"), Alfred Henry Lewis, the late Dr. G. Frank Lyds- ton (who anticipated Dr. Voronoff in the little matter of glands), Opie Reed, the late Ben King— why, come to think of it, a number of them are still living, at least in the Saturday Evening Post. \A/E have said that the White- y * chapelers were decadent. That is hardly the word for it. The organization possessed a room up an alley back of the Daily News office, a room which had the distinction of possessing no janitor and no key. The members gathered about a cheerful little center-table, which consisted of a gigantic coffin. The wall decorations were relics of mur derers, bits of hangman's rope, lethal tools, etc. The archives consisted of a fascinating collection of skulls, the eye-holes of which had been fitted with colored prisms. The effect, when these skulls were placed over the gas-jets, was, to say the least, startling. But there was one skull which was not put to any such vulgar use as this. It was one which formerly had belonged to a well known lady about town, commonly known as Water- ford Jack, the Queen of the Sands. The "Queen" ruled over a district roughly bounded by the lake, Chi cago Avenue, State Street and what is now Division Street — in other words the present near-northside or Little Bohemia, Towertown or "the Village". And so, the Queen's skull was given the place of honor in the center of the table — the casket lid. The club held no regular meet ings, but on one occasion it nomi nated a city ticket upon the taking platform of "No water, no gas, no police." Hobart Chatfield-Taylor was named as the candidate for mayor, and "Tombstone" Thomp son, the chaplain of the club, became his campaign-manager. It was some campaign. The Whitechapelers at least got as much publicity out of it as any other ticket in the field. Their ticket polled something like 1,000 votes, while the committee raised $900 in clinking cash. Mr. Taylor was not elected. Oh, yes, no woman was ever per mitted to enter the club's doors. In this respect, it was like its dignified rival, the Chicago Club. The insti tution died in the arms of the Press Club. This is to be regretted. But at any rate, Chicago beat Aubrey Beardsley to it! — MARTIN ST. JOHN. TWtCWICAGOAN 15 Burlesque As We Should Like to Think the Experts Play Bridge I HE following game, very ex- * clusively reported for this scrup ulous and authoritative organ, was played recently between Mr. Work and Mr. Whitehead and Mrs. Work and Mrs. Whitehead. Perhaps it's only a curious coincidence of names, but we detect a larger significance beneath the play itself. The hold ings are as follows : Mr. Work (north) : A pretty fair layout with some spades. Mr. Whitehead (east) : Bum; de clares hand ; good support. . Mrs. Work (south) : Perfectly vile. Mrs. Whitehead (west) : Good enough, with a little diamond help. The Bidding: Dealer (Mr. Work) opens with a cautious spade bid. Mr. Whitehead (east) objects softly and bids a no trump. Mrs. Work (south) bids three clubs, thinking to dissuade her husband, Mr. Work (north), from saying anything more about those spades of which she holds the deuce and trey. Mrs. Whitehead (west) bids another no trump just to let her husband know she has a strong hand. Mr. Work, anticipat ing club support and doubting his wife's signal, bids three spades. Mr. Whitehead (east) doesn't dare let his wife down — Emma has a tem per — so he hazards four hearts, in which suit he has five to the jack. Mrs. Work (south) giggles and wants to know if she can now ask a question that's been troubling her all evening. She cannot, rules Mr. Work. She passes in a pique. Mrs. Whitehead bids four no trump and sets herself to play the hand. Mr. Work craftily bids five spades. Mr. Whitehead rallies right back with a resounding five no trump. Mrs. Work (south) asked if she should now double anybody on any thing. She draws a vicious look from Mr. Whitehead (east). Mrs. Whitehead arranges her stocking and starts to make a five no trump, doubled of course, by the alert Mr. Work (north). THE Play: Mr. Work (north) * leads a club, thinking that Ethel Work (south) has clubs. Mr. Whitehead (east) plays the ten of clubs. Ethel tops it with a jack. Emma Whitehead arranges the other stocking and takes the trick with her queen of clubs. Mr. Work (north) has difficulty with his breathing. Emma leads off the ace of clubs. It goes around handsomely. She leads the king of clubs with the same mys terious result. Mrs. Whitehead (west) says, "Well, I never — " The nine and seven of clubs are discovered to be high; they go around. At this point Mr. Work calls Ethel Work an idiot. Mrs. Whitehead next ponders long enough to lead her king of spades for no conscionable reason. Mr. Work falls on it with his ace. Then he takes several spade tricks — more than enough to set the Whiteheads. Mr. Whitehead, a dull maroon, calls Emma Whitehead a ninny. Emma just looks at him. Mrs. Work (still south) wants to know what was wrong with her play, since her husband has already set the White heads. In the interval she takes a diamond trick when Mr. Work leads a low diamond. Naturally Mrs. Work (south) leads a heart because it's the only heart she has. Mr. Work (north) mutters to himself. Mrs. Whitehead wins with the king of hearts. She has more hearts and Mrs. Work reniges on them as Mr. Whitehead strangles. Mrs. Work asks if the rumors about that young Willet girl can pos sibly be true. Mrs. Whitehead is afraid so. Mrs. Work reniges with a trey of clubs — much to the gentlemen's sur prise. Mrs. Whitehead wonders what our young people are coming to. Mrs. Work reniges again, this time with the high spade. She attributes all this devilment to poor home cook ing. Mr. Work turns a rabid ma genta. Mrs. Whitehead discovers she's being playing with the joker in her hand all the time. Mrs. Work has 14 cards. Mrs. Work arranges her stockings and the gentlemen consider their next article on expert bridge. — GONFAL. "What! — Not an anchovy in the house?" 16 TWECUICAGOAN Richard Bennett barking for and at the Hawaiian dancer, Marjorie Wood; and Helen Flint looks at Purity, Owen Davis, Junior, who turns out to be not so bashful as innocence usually suggests. Playing in The Barker — at the Blackstone. TUECWICAGOAN 17 me TWEATRE ^)NCE again the theatre season, ^"^ as we call it, is getting ready to roll its hoop. With the arrival of soft, sweet evenings made for parks, bus-tops and what-not, the citizenry seems less and less inclined to dally indoors. (How the Messrs. Shubert and the rest of the recrea- tion-and-real-estate barons must hate daylight-savings time!) Though the* luminous signs on Randolph Street are still bright, it will be only a few weeks before the playhouses along that incandescent alley are left to darkness and the movies. A summer without musical shows would be as unfamiliar as a summer without straw hats, and from where we sit the prospect of eye-and-ear entertainment is not too glittering. However, if our fantastic weather does not abruptly open a blast-fur nace door upon Chicago there is safe betting that one or two of the operas now on view ought to stay into the electric fan months. O'UNNY, the big Dillingham cir- *~* cus, will probably haul down its canvas early in June. It's a perfect summer show, but it has just about run its course for this frontier set tlement — at five-fifty. Perhaps after a slight operation on the box-office it can linger a while longer. Never theless we shall be reluctant to watch its departure. Much soot will have drifted over Chicago before an other carnival comes along offering so much entertainment as Sunny. Mitzi's Madcap should make a brave showing, but it is doubtful if it can go the distance. Mitzi is a grand gal, and the tuneful charade that she's appearing in at the Olym pic deserves attention. Twinkle, Twinkle might be pulmotored along for a few weeks. Who can tell? And what of it? As to the good old Student Prince, that musical Abie's Irish Rose, there are not three good reasons why it should ever close ! Moreover, it has never been so well presented as it is now at the Great Northern by De- Wolf Hopper and his cohorts. But what we might lightly term a typical Chicago summer show, if ever there was one (which we doubt) will set up its music-racks and its sidewalk frames picturing the cuticu- lar ensembles of several dozen Amer ican girls at the Garrick on Sunday evening, the 22nd. It will be noth ing less than another Shubert Gay Paree, one of those catch-as-catch- can-can revues that Chicago accepts so clamorously. And a large reason for the success it is bound to find here is that the electric lights over the portals will spell the name of Miss Sophie Tucker. — G. M. The New Shows ""Tenth avenue is at the * Adelphi. It is hardly a play at all. It is, instead, a series of start- lingly good characterizations, both as to writing and as to acting. The plot is one of these sweetly absurd things, about a noble young woman who runs a boarding house for crooks, and who tries to reform them all. What with this, and with that, and with her boy friend turning out to be the possessor of a first class homicidal mania, and with her lov ing the tall, handsome, suave gentle man, she is in rather a bad way. Edna Hibbard works easily and naturally as always she does; Louis Calhern and William Boyd give ex cellent entertainment. It is really a very fine show. IN That French Lady at the Play- * house one finds it difficult to take seriously the role Mr. Mann plays — namely, that of a middle-aged Ger man gentleman who has risen to be president of a bank, who flies into vile and moronish tempers, spitting in everybody's face and acting like a Grade-A candidate for the psycho pathic hospital. Of course one is in formed that Karl Kraft has a heart of gold but, in spite of Mr. Mann's interpretation, it is very difficult to take the role to heart. There is much waving of the French, German, Irish and Amer ican flags, with screamings of eagles, roosters and pigs. The humor is racial trivialities and wisecracks. —MARIE ARMSTRONG HECHT. Sttcka chingom." "What kind? Spearmint — Beechnut — Juicy Fruit. . . ." "Say, what kinduva clerka ya. Don't ya know my brand yet?" 18 TUECWICAGOAN UNrtANOTHATGALN The Screen Lon Chaney Wears the Manda rin — The Censors Get Out Their Scissors — And Here's Your Chance to Flash Across the Screen "r\ON'T step on that spider," was *-* a popular jest a while back, "it might be Lon Chaney," but don't let recollection of that, or of Mr. Chaney's unsightly, if artistic, crea tions in The Hunchback of Notre Dame and The Phantom of the Opera, deter you from seeing his Mr. Wu if it comes to a theatre with in reasonable commuting distance. It is in many respects his finest work, both as to the Chaney performance and the picture otherwise. It is, in deed, so good that you will be wise to see it at the first opportunity, for the really good pictures have a way of disappearing quickly from the screens of our just-a-little misunder stood community. Mr. Wu is a tragedy. Mr. Chaney is Mr. Wu, mandarin and man, vir tuously vengeful when dishonor is visited upon a daughter charmingly portrayed by Renee Adoree. The manner of his vengeance is such as to have occasioned insertion of two captional revisions of story by our ridiculous censor board, but these are so crudely lettered as to constitute their own detour signs and, safely around them, you are given in the latter sequences as fine a demonstra tion of sustained suspense as has come out of Hollywood these many years. Despite betrayal of the plot by the fortunately dull writers of criticism for the local dailies, the latter stretches of the picture had its early audiences tugging at chair arms as do few fabrications of screen or stage in this plotwise generation. Go to see Mr. Wy,. None save Barrymore could do what Chaney does with him, and Barrymore could do no more. In a better day there will be more such pictures to look upon. For the present it behooves the discriminating picturegoer to let no precious one of the few pass un observed. Hard Going IN expansion of the somewhat ill * humored paragraph above, cur rent screenings provide rather hard going for showshoppers who like to leave the theatre with a feeling of having been entertained. Exhibi tions of the moment stack up some thing like this : The Rough Riders, of which more will be written later, is a painstaking record of Roosevelt's San Juan Hill episode that departs freely from tradition and contains comedy. Con voy, at the Roosevelt, in the wake of various baseball comedies, is a long, lean and listless love story built "How about a black-and-tan f>lace, Dorothy?" "What! And me in a grey dress?" into some of the naval events occur ring in the late war within range of the Signal Corps' cameras. A Night of Love, at the McVicker's after Mc- Fadden's Flats, is running under in junction restraining censorial scis sors (as did A Woman of Paris) and it's the Colman-Banky combina tion at its very good best. Evening Clothes, in the neighborhoods, is good but not perfect Menjou French. And Senorita, also in the outlying houses, is the bounding Bebe as a boy, as a girl and as the Fairbanks of Don Q. Nothing else on view or definitely pending is worthy of detail. Save the newsreels. These, taking you by plane over the flooded area, to Marined Shanghai, to welcome the homecoming fleet and to the more interesting local fires, building disas ters and mayoral gestures, are un failing oases in the desert of desul tory divertisement. Were it not for these and the delightfully droll brevities by Mr. Aesop and The Lit erary Digest, the evenings would be longer. Don't Crowd S.TILL with reference to the scarc ity of good pictures, it may be recklessly chronicled that producers now are of a mind to entertain sug gestions pertaining to the selection of subjects for picturization. They call them "production ideas" and they emphatically do not mean sce narios. One of last year's outstanding successes came into the studio on a postcard, another grew out of a taxi driver's remark about a fare named McTavish, and this year Hollywood is opening its mail. So bright is the promise in the circumstance that this ardent agita tor for palatable pictures risks an excellent stenographer in his offer to supply the first phalanx of applicants with addresses where production ideas (not scenarios) may be dis patched with assurance of intelligent reading. Know in advance that about one production idea in 500 is worth the postcard it's written on — that one being worth a small for tune. — w. R. WEAVER. TI4EG4ICAGOAN 19 Chicago Guide II: After Baedeker The Loo-f> DEFORE the Chicago Plan Com- *~^ mission was organized the local river had already divided the city into three sides. The island now formed by a meander of the elevated is known as the loop. The loop has provision for almost every form of human activity except agriculture, cattle raising and parking. Here men live and die, work and play and at tend the movies. The loop is fed by a large number of railroads, the elevated and sur face lines and motor coaches. The elevated is easily recognizable by the peculiar shrieking sound it makes going around a bend. The street cars are numbered. The numbers are of no assistance to prospective passengers, but aid the motormen in determining their routes. The desti nation of the busses is indicated by their color. Blue busses run to the north side, the south and west; green, to the south, west and north ; and brown to the west, north and south. State Street has two sides, the west, where many persons imagine they can get bargains, and the east where no one has any illusions. The buildings are all of a uniform slate gray due to the operation of the anti- smoke ordinances. Persons who think State Street is a purely com mercial thoroughfare are asked to note the vendors of balloons and mechanical toys who stand around for their health. The traveller who finds himself on State Street at noon can pass a pleasant lunch hour at one of the five and ten cent stores. There he may carry his hot dog and ice cream sandwich to the music de partment and learn all the latest songs while eating his lunch. Dearborn Street is the site of the post office. The traveller need not look at that as it is soon to be de molished. On Clark Street is one of the en- Tom over to de financial ftage, mister. ? ? ? trances to the seat of what is called local government. Here many legal cases are tried. Other comedies are played on Clark Street at the Adel phi, Erlanger and Four Cohans. Clark Street was formerly the haunt of gamblers. In recent years, how ever, the gambling interests have moved one block west to LaSalle Street. At first glance LaSalle Street looks perfectly dry, but it is here that most big loans are floated and even the casual observer can see that the street is lined by high banks. LaSalle Street is the first stop after college. Here one may find an assortment of football, basketball, baseball and track men rivaled only by the entries for the Olympic games. Persons interested in architecture will find in the loop a number of in teresting examples of cinema renais sance. — RUTH G. BERGMAN. Feathered Friends Our big, wicked city is callous and cold, Neglectful of codes and religions: It welcomes a visiting Queen or a Prince, And doesn't look after its pigeons. In winter they freeze and in summer they fry, They've no place to hide from the weather Save library ledges or under the "L", Where both sexes mingle to gether — The poor lady pigeons and gentleman birds — A life that must injure their morals. No wonder the eaves are as high as they get In winging toward heavenly laurels ! PAUL ERNST. 20 TI4ECUICAGOAN MU/ICAL NOTE/ The Doldrums Have Set in — Promise for the Summer — Ravinia Looms High I HE musical doldrums have set * in. The symphonic season ended with a grand climax; only a final trickling of concert artists, mostly of small consequence, winds its way through the local auditori ums; La Chorale Francaise has had its final concert, and the Gordon quartet, under the sponsorship of Mrs. Elizabeth Sprague Coolidge, concludes its recital series at the Simpson Theatre. The lull, though quite a dead calm, is only temporary, however, for at least an average series of concerts looms ahead at Mr. Patten's commodious gymnasium in Evanston, and more than usual of interest seems to have been provided for the Ravinia season. Chief item at the Northwestern festival will be the first hearing of Vaughan Williams' Sea Symphony. Williams, in spite of his imposing array of musical degrees, has much to say. His London Symphony, well conceived and executed, parades a fascinating coterie of Soho beggars, embankment revolutionaries, and dancing street-girls. The Sea Sym phony, we understand, employs chorus and orchestra. It should be vital enough music, whether success ful or not. There will be the usual constella tion of soloists. Among them, Mis- cha Levitzki, growing greater as a pianist as fast as his forehead as cends; Sophie Braslau (if she will only sing Moussorgsky again) , John son, Tibbett and Florence Austral. AT Ravinia Bori is scheduled to sing Pelleas and Melisande late in the season. And that Highland Park paradise will be a grand place to hear Debussy's wistful parallels. If we recall rightly, the opera has not been heard here since Garden did it with Alfred Maguenat. Melis ande is an unforgettable portrait in her gallery of shining ladies, but Bori, too, should do much with the role. It also appears likely that the King's Henchman will have its Chi cago premiere at Ravinia. Mr. Eck stein has already dropped some very broad hints and the opera is included in the tentative repertoire. Johnson and Florence Easton, both members of the original cast, will be in the Ravinia company. We wait watch fully. —ROBERT POLLAK. The Labyrinth PLINY mentions four famous labyrinths of antiquity, the Egyp tian, the Cretan, the Lemnian, and the Italian. Later examples are the famous labyrinths at Versailles and the maze at Hampton Court. The most modern labyrinth fol lows the ancient form in that it is subterranean. Unlike the earlier labyrinths it is lighted by electricity, but obviating that advantage are numberless concrete columns which add greatly to the confusion of all who enter there. The alleys are made still more hazardous by the presence of many motor trucks whose drivers alone know the key to the maze. Despite the danger of being in jured or perhaps lost for days, many persons visit this labyrinth. The wise visitor carries not a silken cord to help him find his way out but rather a steel chain or cable. This labyrinth is known as the lower level of Wacker Drive. Part of the bewilderment into which it throws visitors is caused by the dif ficulty of finding not only the way to get out but the way to get into it. — R. G. B. Household Hint WITH the advent of summer we are again faced with the problem of curbing the activities of the house fly. A simple method of extermination has lately come to our attention, and we pass it on for what it may be worth. Take the fly determinedly between the thumb and little- finger, allowing the other three fingers to curl over it in a threatening, clawlike gesture. Light a common, ordinary cigarette, the commoner and more ordinary the better. Place the cigarette between the lips and blow in reverse. Sur round the fly with the resultant mouth full of smoke, repeating the process several times. At first the fly will appear to en joy the experiment. It will waggle its limbs, roll its eyes, exhibit all the Jolsonian gestures. After a time, however, the nicotine will start to function. The fly now suffers, spots before the eyes, pains in the small of the back, dandruff, eczema, come dones, everything. Then it gets vio lently ill and either expires or signs pledges. Save writh a few very dissolute flies, such as attend Boards of Di rectors' meetings, this method is in fallible. — p. E. TUECMICAGOAN 21 The Night-Blooming Riding Academy When Richard III offered to swap his kingdom for a saddle horse, there evidently were no institutions where this useful quadruped could be procured for one to three dollars per hour. Now there are twenty listed in the Chicago telephone book, and they all do a rush business in season. This re-development of the ancient livery profession is rather recent. Up to about 1910, the old Cavalry on Clark Street was practically the only Riding Academy on the North Side. A few minor ones, which rented horses at lower rates, eked out a transitory and precarious existence. Their few customers were men and women who rode for the love of the sport, each other, or exercise. I well remember when a fellow, walking the Chicago streets in riding clothes on his way to or from the stable, was subject to the college humor of grocery boys, ice-wagon drivers, and other he-men. "Oh, Bertie, does your mother know you're out!" delivered in a high falsetto, was the favorite bon mot. That's all changed. The in fluence of motion pictures. Since Red and Shorty have watched the cinema hero spur his pinto through the flames just in time to snatch the gal from worse than death, and later ride with the prize into a very round moon, they came to realize that, for the right guy, horsebacking has opportunities. So they tucked their pants into a pair of leggins and went to it. A number of little academies quickly sprang up to meet this new demand, some along the Park, but most of them handy to the country. "Country," to the rider, is any un- paved or dirt road. The most popular of these stables was on Foster Avenue. It was the parent and model of all the others and, owing to the uniqueness of its proprietor, has never since been equalled. No, not even approached. Since he has transferred his activi ties to the California polo fields, rid ing in Chicago has never been quite the same. Twice a week in season a caval cade of sixty or seventy ladies and gentlemen would go on a party night ride. (Cost of horse seventy-five cents, later raised to one dollar.) The objective point was one of the many nearby roadhouses. There was dancing, eating, drinking. A grand time was had by all. There is a something about equine exhalations. Many marriages resulted. What the crowd lacked in riding habits, it made up in picturesqueness. Plumed hats and white high heeled slippers were part of the regular equipment. The dependability of stirrups and girths was always a fascinating gamble. Yet no one somehow ever was seriously hurt on these rides. "We never sat on a horse before," said the spokeswoman of a group of girls one evening. "Here, get on these, they've never been ridden before. You might as well start together," was the proprie tor's reassuring reply. And then there is the story of Echobelle, the best known horse in Chicago during that gleeful period. Whenever anyone appeared at the stables and asked for Echobelle he was never disappointed. For, de spite the horse's popularity, it was, curiously enough, always available. No sooner had one customer left for the park on the back of Echo belle before other people appeared requesting the same horse. And the manager would cup his hands to his mouth and bellow, "Echobelle." A shout that would resound throughout the entire stable. And Echobelle would appear — slightly changed in color, possibly, and perhaps with ankles somewhat thicker than the last horse answering to that name, but nevertheless Echobelle. Certainly this was no ordinary animal, nor can it be said that the manager was a man of meager powers of improvi sation. Such salesmanship cannot go unrecognized, and, needless to say, the manager made a lot of money. Anecdotes could be told by the hundreds. And scandals, ripe, me dium and green. A front page filling embezzlement case, which was framed on a poor fat girl, trying to get along, and two murders are too recent not to be remembered. The first was exceedingly funny, the lat ter tragic indeed, but certainly they should not be charged against the riding business. Wherever there is sport, there are sports. I made no mention of the beauti fully appointed riding clubs, whose members, elegantly dressed and splendidly mounted, add so much color to our bridle paths. They de serve a separate article, but their type can be found in any metropolis. But to my knowledge, the Night Blooming Riding Academy is, let us say, a unique Chicago Product. — K. M. STEIN. 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 22 tt-Jt CHICAGOAN lOQKf- Boil It Down to Two Volumes — Don't Forget the War — Cover the Globe — And Fool Them With the Title IN the past, Mr. Brett Young has written novels of South Africa and elsewhere that were as full of action as anyone might wish. Some of these have been reprinted this spring, in response to the demand created by his visits to Chicago and other American cities : Wood Smoke, The Crescent Moon, and The Dark Tower. But his recent two-volume novel, Love is Enough, is an at tempt to start a new fashion in novel writing. Plenty happens, but it is told without dynamics. The trick is to listen for the overtones. This is not the only two-volume novel that Alfred A. Knopf is bring- SPECIAL Spring Exhibition of Paintings by HENRI MATISSE and Water Colors by Vlaminck Chester H. Johnson Galleries SECOND FLOOR FINE ARTS BUILDING 410 South Michigan Ave. CHICAGO ing out this spring. Another is The Magic Mountain, by Thomas Mann, translated from the German. Where Brett Young is quiet, Mann is quite literally hectic. The scene is a tuber culosis sanitarium, where everyday interests and everyday values become strangely and significantly trans posed. For example, in parting from Hans, who loves her, Clavdia gives him her x-ray photograph. But not all of Mr. Knopf's new novels run to two volumes. James Stevens — the American James Stev ens, spelled with a "v" — keeps his story Mattock down to one. First introduced to us by his creative re telling of the tall tales of the lumber camps, in Paul Bunyan, Mr. Stevens went on to give us in Brawnyman the tall tales of the team gangs who dug and dynamited the western states to railroads and water-power. In Mattock, the yarn of a private who travels the road from k. p. to cor poral and back again on French soil, but never sees the front, Mr. Stevens again shows us a gang doing a big job and doing it, as before, to the tune of ham frying and coffee boiling and hot cakes sizzling on the griddle. WHAT is the latest thing in the Broadway translations? is a question that you will sometimes hear if you have a habit of loitering in book-stores. There are now two more Broadway series, besides the original Dutton one, each with a dif ferent American publisher. Harper and Brothers have The Broadway For Your Convenience THE CHICAGOAN, 407 So. Dearborn St., Chicago, 111. Please enter my subscription to THE CHICAGOAN. ? 13 Issues— $1.50 ? 26 Issues— $3.00 Name. Address. ?»iMWMWt/»ir/»'r^^^ Travellers, of which I have just been reading The Travels and Adventures of Pero Tafur, reminiscences of a 15th century Spanish nobleman who travelled all over continental Europe, penetrated to Egypt and the Holy Land, and visited Constantinople not so very long before it fell. Tafur had an idea that he was related to the eastern emperor, and was disap pointed that the emperor couldn't find time to talk it over with him. Still newer is the Broadway Library of Eighteenth Century Lit erature (Brentano's), of which the first three volumes are just out : Let ters of Voltaire and Frederick the Great, Dialogues, by Denis Diderot, and The Sofa, a Moral Tale, by Crebillon fils. Three more are prom ised for the fall. The unwary reader will need to be warned this spring against sundry volumes of essays masquerading un der deceptive titles. Fire Under the Andes is what Elizabeth Shepley Sergeant has called her collection of assorted American portraits; while the Jeffrey Farnol title, The Road mm The Resort of Fashion and the Epicure 18 W.Walton Place Opera Club Building For Reservations Phone Delaware 2592 Luncheon Dinner rWEO-UCAGOAN 23 Where Fine Cigars Are Smoked Tom Palmer Predominates Wengler & Mandell, Inc. Chicago - Tampa to Xanadu, hides eight years of re search by John Livingston Lowes into the sources of Kubla Khan and the Ancient Mariner. Messages, by Ramon Fernandez, which might so well be a detective story of some sort, turns out to be a volume of philosophic literary criticism. —SUSAN WILBUR. Monologue: So You're Getting Married < * \ A /ELL- well-well ! * ? "Next month! Ha-ha! "No, no, I won't come to the wed ding. Weddings always depress me. After all, life's too short — what did you say the woman's name was? "Elsie Zirkendahly? Do I know her ? Ha-ha ! Fellows all used to call her 'Hippo' out at Senn. Think of you — ha-ha! "Sure, sure, I know. Somebody told me she'd thinned down consid erably in the last few years. She won't begin taking on weight again 'till she's well into thirty. "Yeah? Sure, I haven't seen her for years. Somebody else told me she wasn't so bad — say, it was old Jake Hamimerstein. 'Member Jake? Used to be out in Rogers Park. Got sent up for forgery last month. Ha-ha ! "What did he know about Elsie? Ha-ha ! Went around with her him self for three years. But Jake wasn't the marrying sort. Always said the rubber check game was too danger ous for a family man. Not that Elsie would have been a family, but you never can tell — ha-ha ! "Sure, sure, don't blame you a bit. Jake used to say that she was filthy with dough, and if he'd been ready to settle down himself "What? Well, well, got to be chasing along myself. Sure, sure, this has been a treat, old fellow. Solicitations — and my regards to Elsie— ha-ha!" — ISABELLA TAVES. 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An immortal aria or a popular song, registering the mood of the moment. Snatches of vaudeville headliners or a crack military band. And every kind of music re produced exactly! Come in — let us demonstrate the Orthophonic Victrola — soon! Hear the new Automatic Orthophonic Victrol a The Instrument That Is Almost Human r STEGER & SONS Piano Manufacturing Company STEGER Building Northwest Corner Wabash and Jackson