T Price 15 Cents <0> o The unexpected OTATES to the North of us. States to the East ^ of us. States to the South of us. All complain- ing that we were ruining Lake Michigan. Taking so much water out of the grand old lake that soon it would be nothing but knee-deep muddy waters. And then Lake Michigan did the — unexpected. Rose to a high level it has not reached in years. And that's — Tk CmCAGOAN Always the unexpected. Reflecting bits of the city's life and humor — not recorded in the daily press but close to the existence of the aware Chicagoan. All contributed by Chicago's ablest writers and artists. The Chicagoan 407 So. Dearborn St. Chicago, 111. Send "The Chicagoan" Name. one year $3.00- -two years $5.00. 1 Address i City.... If until this moment you didn't expect to sign the coupon — Do it now — the unexpected] riiK Chicagoan — Martin J. Quiglpy n Chicago, 111. New York Office: 565 FjA ,l ublisher and Editor; published fortnightly by The Chicaeoan Publishing Co 407 Snntli TVarhr.™ <5t No. 10— July 30, 1927. Entered as secede. L°S An*el? °ffice: *617 Hollywood iwl Subscript * $3 00 annuall iin e cS^S Vo III' 0f>rt-class matter at the Post Office at Chicago, 111., under the Act of March 3, 1879 TWCCI4ICAG0AN l w rras I PQRTRAYINGTHE MOST AUTHENTIC STYLETENDENCIES OF THE SEASON jiwiwiiiiita ilBlill ¦ilk !* .-• il§l§pil& WiiPiip ; >*&! 2 TUECWCAGOAN OCCASIONS RODEO — Second annual busting of bron- cos at Soldiers' Field, showing August 20-28. DEDICATION — Exercises marking official completion of Buckingham fountain in Grant Park, August 26. AUGUST WEATHER— Free open air ex hibition. A regular and zestful feature. Patrons of the Chicago climate will do well to provide themselves with tropical pith helmets, skiing regalia, waterproof clothing, and bathing suits. Daily changes of program with or without notice. THE STAGE* Song and Dance GAT PAREE— Four Cohans, 119 N. Clark, Central 4937. Sophie Tucker, blonde and blatant, skips through her skits to ear-splitting applause. Chic Sale's rustic wise-cracking pops off the vest buttons Mme. Tucker leaves peri lously loose. Scores of Shubert nymphs, to quote a Tribune ad, "69 aphrodisiac allures." Curtain 8:15. Mat. Wed., Sat. THE MADCAP— Olympic, 74 West Madi son, Central 8240. Mitzii the whole show and a bright, tuneful evening. 8:15. Mat. Sat. GEORGE WHITE'S SCANDALS — Er- langer, 127 N. Clark. State 2162. Ann Pennington, Tom Patricola, Willie and 'Gene Howard, Harry Richman, West and Wells, Rose Perfect, Frances Wil liams, 75 nymphs. Reviewed lovingly in this issue. Elocution THE WILD WESTCOTTS— Cort, 132 N. Dearborn, Central 0019. A comedy of matrimonial warfare designed to soften the sting of alimony payments and to give happily married customers a laugh any way. Worth seeing. THE BARKER— Blackstone, 60 E. Sev enth St., Harrison 6609. Tent show life with Richard Bennett in the leading part. A wholesome piece of drama with the ending reasonably happy after a repen tant father advises — and pretty success fully — a son who dotes on being a fancy young man. Okeh. 8:25. Mat. Wed., Sat. Nothing Sun. TENTH AVENUE— Adelphi, 1 1 N. Clark, Randolph 4466. A crook piece dealing with the hair-trigger armaments of bad men in a wicked city, in this case New York. Bigger and better Chicago machine guns are lacking for local atmosphere. Excellent spoken lines. Good melodrama. Beginning August third, CRIME, a play dealing with hard-boiled gents and lethal weapons. To be reviewed in our next. ^Theatrical attractions have been \nown to wither up and die when the August heat gets in its high pressure stuff. We do not list the weather. For Tickets* F. COUTHOUI, INC., 54 W. Randolph. Branches at Congress, Drake, Blackstone, La Salle, Sherman, Morrison, Stevens and Seneca Hotels, Hamilton, Chicago Ath letic, Illinois Athletic, Union League, University and Standard Clubs; Mandel Bros. State 7171. H. H. WATERFALL. Palmer House, Auditorium, Bismarck. Randolph 3486. J. HORWITZ, 141 N. Clark. Dearborn 3800. UHITED, 89 W. Randolph. Randolph 0262. TTSON, 72 W. Randolph. Randolph 0021. *A (legal) service charge of $.50 per tic\et may he made by agencies. CINEMA Downtown CHICAGO — State at Lake — The Unknown, Lon Chaney with aid from Joan Crawford and Norman Kerry, seven days beginning August 1. Service for Ladies, a charac- teristic Adolphe Menjou vehicle, August 8-14. And during one of these weeks Miss Chicago will be selected upon the stage of this theatre in plain view of all comers. McVICKERS— 25 W. Madison— The Big Parade, made available at prevailing pic ture prices, the best picture in town for those who haven't seen it and worth a second visit for those who have. No stage show here to interrupt the entertain ment. August 1 to 1 5 and possibly longer. ROOSEVELT— 110 N. State— Metropolis. a gaudy giant of some mechanical importance, until August 8, then Camille (previously scheduled for this screen and side-tracked for Metropolis) a Norma Talmadge vehicle which she calls her "picture for posterity." Good music with this, and a continuous showing. ORIENTAL— 74 W. Randolph— The Poor N"t, Charles Murray and Jack Mulhall in a picture from the play, August 1-7; Soft Cushions, another of those Douglas Mac- Lean comedies, August 8-14. Both pic tures exhibited during rest periods for Paul Ash and his troubadors. Seats are available at 5:15 and 8:15 Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. North UPTOWN— Broadway at Lawrence — TiHte the Toiler, Marion Davies as Tillie, Au gust 1-7; The Prince of Headwaiters, the excellent Lewis Stone as the prince, August 8-14. Stage show in connection. Continuous. SHERIDAN — Irving Park at Sheridan Road — Iz Zat So, George O'Brien and a good cast in the picture from the play, August 1-7; Closed Gates, something for the talents of Johnny Harron, August 8:14. Verne Buck's bandmen do stage things with both pictures. Performances continuous. MR. BIGGS' GLASSES PROVE NO MATCH FOR MEADOWBROOK DISTANCES— TWECWCAGOAN 3 *^**mi**™bmmZi****mtotm i^in^uMxnnwdwuu IN AND ABOUT THE CITY South TIVOLI— 6325 Cottage Grove— The Prince , of Headwaiters, Lewis Stone, August 1-7; The Poor N"t, Jack Mulhall, August 8-14. Stageshow. Continuous. CAPITOL— 7941 S. Halsted— Roo\ies, re viewed in this issue, August 1-7; Is Zat So, George O'Brien, August 8-14. Stage show and Vitaphone. Continuous. PICCADILLT— Hyde Park at Blackstone— Ten Modern Commandments, reviewed in this issue, July 31- August 3; Running Wild, see page 29, August 4-6; The Lady Bird, Betty Compson, August 7-10; The Prince of Headwaiters, Lewis Stone, Au gust 11-13. Stage entertainment in addi tion and continuous run. West SENATE — Madison at Kedsie — Lost at the Front, reviewed in this issue, August 1-7; The Un\nown, Lon Chaney, August 8-14. Continuous save for stage interruptions. HARDING— 2724 Milwaukee Ave.— Lost at the Front, mentioned on page 29, Au gust 1-7; Tillie the Toiler, Marion Davies, August 8-14. Stage show; continuous performance. TABLES Downtown LA SALLE ROOF— La Salle at Madison — with Jack Chapman's orchestra. Cou- vert $.50 until 9, then $1. STEVENS— 730 S. Michigan— main din ing room, Stevens Hotel Orchestra, Armin F. Hand directing, Roy Bargy at the piano. Dinner $3, luncheon couvert $.50. Open until 1:00. Dress well. CONGRESS — Michigan at Congress — Pompeian Room, 6:30 to 8:30; then 10:30 to 2:00. Balloon Room at $2 couvert; until 3:00 at $3 Saturdays. COLLEGE INN— Sherman Hotel, Clark at Randolph — Maurie Sherman and orches tra, until 9:00 except Saturday, then 1:00. RANDOLPH ROOM — Bismarck Hotel, 171 W. Randolph — Benson's Trouba dours. Couvert $.50 after 8:15 ($1 Saturday). Open until 1:00. Excellent eating. PALMER HOUSE— State at Monroe- Victorian Room, Victorian Room orches tra, dancing with dinner. No couvert. Empire Room, concert by Petite Sym phony orchestra, no couvert. Stately as its name. HENRICI'S— 71 W. Randolph— the place that advertises "no orchestral din." Out a Ways MARINE DINING ROOM — Edgewater Beach Hotel — Where one always feels cor rect. Fine entertainment and good dance music. Marble dance floor, outdoors, es pecially worthwhile. SALLTS— 4650 Sheridan Road— Where you can get a good breakfast just before you go to bed — no matter how late or how early. RAINBO GARDENS — Clark at Lawrence. The "Million Dollar play place." Open air room now available. "Spanish Rain- bo," floor show, colorful, musical. Plenty of room and plenty of people. Couvert, after 8:00, $.75. VANITT FAIR— Grace and Broadway. One of those "cozy" spots. Clever floor show. Rose lights, jazz music, prise dances. CHEZ PIERRE — "Around the corner from everywhere." 247 E. Ontario. Can't miss the red arrow. Pierre Nuyton an admirable host and artist. THE SAMOVAR— 624 S. Michigan- good food, dancing and a show, in good company. CIROS — 18 W. Walton — competent menu and nice people. COLOSIMO'S— 2126 S. Wabash— Italian and traditional, and not at all exciting. SUNSET — 35th at Calumet — the place to go if the party wants to "see one of those places" and you want to give the party a break. ALAMO — Wilson near Clarendon. Where the floor reflects the dancing feet and the boys choose ringside seats. Plenty of amusement. Always crowded. MIDNIGHT FROLICS— 22nd off Wabash — Where the Butter 'n Egg (no not yegg) men love to watch the dance revue — and there is plenty to see. An all night place. TOPICS Chicago Page 2 Surveys • ' Science 6 Education 7 Neighborhoods 8 Blues 9 Hospitality 10 Burlesque 1 1 Overtones 12 Paris 1 3 Gene Markey I4 Games 1 ' Transportation 1" Chicagoans 17 Backgrounds 18 Building 19 Dining 20 Journalism 21 Verse 22 Sports 23 Evanston 24 Audiences 25 Caricature 26 Stage 27 Leginska 28 Cinema 29 Music 30 Books 31 Detour 32 —BUT THE OUTCOME OF THE GAME GIVES HIM COMPLETE SATISFACTION 4 TUEO4ICAG0AN 320 MICHIGAN AVENUE « NORTH Just South of the Bridge Gowns and Wraps for the Discriminating Mis and Matron Ready to be worn or made to your measure JgJ^^^ff^.^fi ^2/ ?r& CI4ICAG0AN M M osaic OSAIC has been used to enrich royal thrones, medieval pulpits, and the walls and floors of many famous churches; but it has remained for Chi cago, with her customary prodigality, to employ it in street paving. Al though it occurs on the city's most famous thoroughfare, this Chicago mosaic is very little known. To be sure it is as yet fragmentary and diffi cult to see. However the connoisseur who is willing to risk his life for art can obtain a fleeting glimpse of this latest example of an old form by cross ing Michigan Avenue between the Tribune Tower and the Wrigley Building. Set in the pliable base of asphalt are hub-caps, wrenches, links of non-skid chains, small coins, a lady's compact. Persons wishing to con tribute parts to this mosaic can do so merely by dropping them in the street. The passing automobiles will set and polish them. w, fdaftmahers ORKERS in the social re search laboratory of the University of Chicago have for some time been en gaged in mapping the city. The gen eral outline of Chicago's streets and boulevards, tangled like the fine lines of an etched shadow close against the washed out blue of the pendulous lake tip is well enough known. Every mo torist owns such a map. Upon this same geometrical tangle, enlarged, shaped like a beefy crescent, the so cial research gentlemen have indicated their findings. Forty charts, man-high and swung from a wall, symbolize Chicago as seen through a microscope. Dance halls, more than two hundred of them, figure gaily on one sheet, each hall represented by the figure of a shoe affixed to the background. Pool parlors, which seem to cluster along S U RVE YS Traffic The Town Grant Park The Journal Today's Daughters Gay Giving Our Barnum Mobile Pedagogy Chicago Today the main surface car lines, make whole areas dark with their symbols. The pool parlor industry thrives in Chi cago. M©vie palaces make a brave showing. Delicatessens are thick over large areas. But it is the soft-drink parlor which splatters the map like a whang of birdshot, legitimate soft-places vend ing at least soda and near-beer. How many traffic in slightly harder damp ness is a matter lamentably uncharted. Directly opposite the soft-drink data is a study of alcoholic deaths — one suspects a professor of a neatly ironic touch. Very near, as the tall charts swing, is the gaudiest map in the laboratory, the murder map of Chicago. It is a spangled and gorgeous business, this depicting murders. Each victim is classified as to nationality and his de scent shown by the color of a round sticker affixed to the locale of his de mise. The colors are, we trust, not symbolic. American coroners' cases are indicated by a gold circle. Green for the German. Yellow for the Brit ish. Lavender for Italian. Light blue is Scandinavian; dark blue is Jewish. Gold, we hastily add, outglitters every other hue. In murderers, American supremacy is unquestioned. Nationality maps divide the city in curious sprawling outlines, for the flood of immigration wells up like rain pools in low pastureland, each pond unaccountably tangent to other and different ponds. Between national groups a lively interchange by mar riage grows up, marriages which fig ure on another chart in a half-dozen weird variants of Abie's Irish Rose. "Hobohemia" is carefully outlined with its almost mythical provinces set against the familiar city outlines. The "Jungles" of Grant park are shown forth, the "Slave-market," the "Home- guard" area, and the twin recreation centers of the transient world: one on Madison street, and the second in Grant park. Hobo culture centers, Newberry square, and Washington Park, are raucous universities for the wanderer. Grant park is his summer home on the lake. Madison street, west, is his town lodging for the win ter season. Automobile fatalities are listed and placed at the spot marked "X." An amazing number of people manage to collide with motor vehicles. Others manage to become objects of scientific interest by being married, or jailed, or shot, or divorced — in fact by doing any number of things with a genuine zest for doing them. A sociologist engaged in spotting such hearty activi ties in Chicago presumably has a busy time of it. Of course, the city changes. Neigh borhoods rise, and fall, and rise again — depending on the viewpoint. It be comes the scientist's business to re cord such changes, an arduous and painstaking job. Thus an incredibly detailed view of Chicago is currently available. Moreover an investigation, 6 TUECI4ICAG0AN say, of motion picture corners, while it may be a dull enough labor and re moved from the nimble generalizing we call scholarship, is none the less a task which must be gone through regularly. We presume each time a revamped list is compiled, a new de gree is awarded the industrious tabu lator. Thus a supply of advanced de grees would seem to be assured indefi nitely. Perhaps this, too, is a praise worthy matter. Certainly the syn thesis of 40 Chicagos, every one of them accurately, and sometimes reveal- ingly, depicted is a tremendous task. T, Opportunity HERE have been circulated throughout this basin-shaped country many figments regarding the imperial intelligence of those unhurried lads who sleep on newspapers in Grant Park. Now it cannot be said that we cher ish a surging intolerance for those un- working bucks. Not at all. We are willing to grant to them great stores of knowledge, a constant flow of eru dition. Our only point (a humble one) is that they discredit too completely the intelligence of those who happen not to be hoboes. A noble weakness. Not long ago we overheard a dusty bum telling an eager if obtuse listener that he knew personally, and had known . personally for many years, Francois Rabelais, M. D., Paris, who, according to our best legends, was born two years before Columbus discovered America. It occurred to us after hearing this admission that here was an unparal leled opportunity to unjungle the maze of contradictory assertions regarding Mr. Rabelais and the uncertain cen tury in which he lived. The J ourna IF you are aloof from politics and can enjoy political editorials solely for their theatrical worth, you are passing up a considerable diversion if you do not occasionally pay three cents for a «3^ copy of The Evening Journal and per use the editorial columns. Of course, if you take your politics seriously, you either read the Journal or ignore it. The Journal regards (or assumes to regard) Calvin Coolidge as the embod iment of nearly everything that is wrong with things as they are. The Republican party is classified as the perpetual foe of everything right. Thirty years ago, when the modern flapper was in her twenties and there were no automobiles, radios, aeroplanes or other frivolities to detract from torchlight parades and impassioned street corner orators, everyone took politics seriously and every newspaper boomed day after day at the orgies in the "other party." Now the editor of the so-called average newspaper is in the back room while advertising man ager and circulation supervisor grab off the bows and the bonuses. The little newspapers print editorials on the life of the caterpillar or the corn borer, while the big newspapers ruminate on Babe Ruth, Jack Dempsey and movie stars. Not so the Journal. That day is counted lost whose powder is not burned in an assault on the G. O. P. If you want to read irony, witticism and denunciation of the type which caused the past generation to "vote 'er straight," you need not go back into the musty files at the Public Library. Vitriol is on tap on every newsstand almost every night. A Incarnation LTHOUGH the orchestra, loyal to the musicians' union, blew forth its quota of moon and water songs, no one gave even a thought to dancing. It was altogether too warm. One could only sit and stare; to do more would provoke running off into lard. Two tables away sat the coolest ob' ject our eyes could find. She was a hauntingly familiar blonde. Familiar as a bond salesman. Round blue eyes that held no secrets — obvious as State Street. A long, thin neck and cigar- ette holder. Disturbing. We all knew her, had seen her many times, yet no one could place her. And it was not until she walked across the floor that we finally realized just who this subtle-as-a-traffic-cop young lady was. A clubby manner of hanging to the arm of her escort. Shoe half off. A skirt that permitted her to walk a block into Lake Michigan with out wetting the hem. Hose that wrinkled across her knees. And, a lethal give-away, a healthy bare strip between her garter and her gown. We took one deep dismissory sigh — the relief of a person who has satisfied his own curiosity — and had for our- selves a full mid-western laugh. It was the incarnation— a point for point prototype — of the girl Mr. John Held, Jr., uses to depict the collegiate, stenographic and social young lady of this racy era. T. Sci ence HE Field Museum sends its expe- ditions into remote corners of the planet. Some of the rummaging parties are large, some small; all are well' equipped. In one way or another they gather and classify an immense num- ber of specimens which sooner or later appear for Chicago citizens to peer at. Yet not all museum specimens are garnered in by orthodox expeditions. The Annual Report of the museum for 1926, published in January, 1927, gives thankful mention to volunteer scien tists who have contributed no less TUE CHICAGOAN 7 wholeheartedly than their professional associates who trek far afield. Mrs. John Alden Carpenter, for in stance, presented the museum with "1 carved wooden figure of a woman — West Africa (gift)." Stanley Field of Chicago gave "2 shrunken heads of Jivaro, 1 male and 1 female — Ecuador, South America (gift)." Shrunken heads are, after all, somewhat grisly objects to have around a living room. O. B. Jacobs of Chicago presented a left- handed flint drill. The more famed left-handed monkey wrench is missing, it seems. L. L. Pray tendered "1 re production of a mushroom." Owen Bryant of Banff, Alberta, contributed "3 toads (gift)." William Lyon of Waukeegan donated "2 bird lice, 1 louse fly"; he was somewhat outdone in munificence by Ashley Hine, who gave 10 bird lice, completely equipped with three birds. The Monteiros, Ro berta and Luiz, of Itacurussa, Brazil, captured and delivered "4 beetles, 5 bees and wasps." Ford Clem of La Grange, 111., proffered one dog, and H. G. Gore of Chicago one spider. J. Friesser gave a cat skull. And Mr. E. Hammond of Romeoville, 111., achieved for his hamlet what is probably its first notice in a learned journal by the gift of one click-beetle. Space requirements curtail a further listing of scientific contributions — there are many more of them, and other equally deserving workers. Yet so far as we can we would be willing to pre serve the records of such philanthropy for posterity. We await further dis coveries with a beamish smile and clasped, approving hands. Sotto Voce c %J PEAKING of discoveries, discov erers, museum specimens and whatnot brings us by an easy and natural transition to Paul Ash. Paul is a fellow of no mean talents for the museum. In addition he is an ardent collector. He is forever disclos ing to his public a new and rare speci men usually culled from the audience where it has been planted beforehand. The other evening he announced that he had unsuspectingly run on to a trio of ladies. It was at a party, Paul said, a very nice party, and his eye was taken by these exceptionally talented girls who charmed the guests. Ash, thinking only of his public, signed the ladies then and there. "And so," Paul wound up with a flourish, "I per suaded them to come here and enter tain you. They're wonderful, really they are. I know you'll like them. They're — well, they're just great, I think. Here they are now. Let 'er go, gang!" The Ash band bore down re soundingly. Three ladies frolicked in from the wings. But all was not well with the paying public. Preliminary handclapping flut tered away. Cash customers looked, listened, and stopped. Even when Paul took down his back hair there was no applause. A doleful silence re warded the trio's caperings, a silence that came and stayed glumly over the whole showhouse. "Party?" murmured the critical blonde three seats over and four rows down, "Party, did he say? That wasn't a party. It was a masquerade!" Education 1 F busy students can't go to the uni versity, the university will go to them. Northwestern did it handsomely. The University of Chicago has long given college work down town. Now De Paul has announced a loop debut it), a sixteen story building to be erected at Lake Street and Garland Court. To be sure, De Paul is no stranger to the loop, since its Law and Commerce Schools are now located on Randolph Street. Still, the new venture makes one think that if Mohammed had sum moned a university he would have found it more responsive than the mountain. We visited the McKinlock Campus recently in search of the copy of Blackstone's "Commentaries" which we had been told was to be seen in the law library. Or perhaps we were really looking for a fabulous case in which we had heard the "Commen taries" was lodged, a case which, at the touch of a button, became illuminated and did everything but turn the pages of the book for the reader. Unfortu nately the library was locked at the time of our visit, but we found many other things of interest. After seeing the Levy Mayer Building, we were tempted to take up the study of law if only for the sake of sitting in the impressive Lincoln Hall and in Hoyne Hall with its comfortable seats and its fine view of the lake. In the com merce building, Wiebolt Hall, we found the walls lined with a fascinat ing collection of pictures of old Chi cago. A swallow doesn't make a summer, nor three buildings a campus, but both are steps in the right direction. Heltful I ART fellows who urge that city life destroys the fine neighborliness which — before Spoon River — was al leged to be the chiefest jewel of rustic life are offered the following episode from a Chicago area in which the more common folkways are vociferously dis- esteemed. The McKenzie's, who operate a book shop on Rush near Oak, were about to move their household chattels. The Mister, having experienced housemov- ings, disappeared at the strategic mo ment, whereupon the Mrs. set about to move anyway, she being learned in the ways of her astute spouse. She did, however, leave a brief note affixed to the book store, which read somewhat as follows: "Will Bill (the missing Mister) or any other helpful male come to Goethe st. and help me move to North Michigan?" The plea, of course, was designed to soften the hearts and harden the biceps of any family friends 8 TUE CHICAGOAN who might wish to labor with the kitchen chairs. And help was forthcoming. Indeed it was. In a trice a small cluster of affable fellows gathered about the sign. Finally two of them, bolder than the rest, set off at a dog trot for Goethe st. By the time they arrived a mutual acquaintance had come to the moving with his car, and eventually the absent husband arrived for dinner. As it happened the volunteers were not needed. But theirs, we feel, was a fine zeal, a refreshing spiritual exam ple. Such brawny and willing lads are sadly needed on or about May 1 next. Neighborhoods IlIGHLAND PARK and Hyde Park are only about forty miles apart as the car speeds; but the spiritual mileage is much greater. Highland Park boasts the height of its delphini um, Hyde Park, the acreage of its ho tels. One night this week a High land Parker and his wife took dinner with friends who live on the south side. The former own a new house and one of the loveliest gardens on the north side; the latter rent a small apartment and eighteen dollars a month's worth of space in a public garage. The guests brought enough flowers from their garden to fill the Hyde Park apartment. The hosts were delighted but unrepentant of liv ing in the city. Presently they es corted their visitors to the back yard where they, too, had a flower garden. It was a strip between the clothes poles and the back fence, no larger than a very minor border in a High land Park garden, but it made up in compactness what it lacked in extent. Zinnias elbowed pansies,. petunias crowded close upon calendula and cosmos formed a miniature jungle. In front of the cosmos the lady and gen tleman from Highland Park paused for a long moment. By all the rules of gardening the plants were much too crowded, the arrangement of the gar den highly inept, — but the cosmos cer tainly were thriving. They were healthier, in fact, than those in the Highland Park garden. When the visitors went home that night they took with them a bundle of plants for transplanting. Coals to Newcastle? Not at all; that is where they came from. Industry 1 ATRONS of a Hyde Park restau rant were greeted recently by a curious and obviously unofficial doorman, a short, rotund old fellow in a slicker and a large cap. He held an umbrella for those diners who arrived in auto mobiles and escorted them from the curb to the restaurant door, gravely ig noring the fact that a canopy afforded adequate protection from the rain. When the shower was over the little man crossed the street and solemnly guarded the parked cars for the occa sional reward of a dime charmed out of a motorist's pocket, perhaps by a vagrant memory. For the little man is not unknown to Hyde Parkers. He is, in fact, the old cabby who used to stand at the entrance to the Fifty- third Street Illinois Central station, hoping against almost certain knowl edge that somebody would hire his hack in preference to one of the officious taxis. Some weeks ago we told in these columns that the old cab had disap peared, but that the driver still re turned to his old stand on rainy days offering for hire the aforementioned umbrella. What we neglected to tell is how he retrieves his property after it has been used. The method is sim ple: Being scornful of the human frailties which demand protection from the elements and being also the owner of a water-tight coat, he trudges through the rain behind his quasi ten ant until that person reaches his desti nation. There the old man takes back his umbrella and returns to the station and his — shall we say, umbrella stand? — the richer by twenty-five cents. When the rush hour is over on the Illinois Central, he takes up his self- appointed position as doorman and when the rain stops he watches auto mobiles. Service 1 HOSE persons who dread grow ing old and who hope some day to get into a motion picture theatre without waiting in line should bear in mind that the one circumstance is more or less inevitable and the other not en tirely improbable. In fact, one is con tingent upon the other, for if there is any place where age has its com pensations it is in the movie theatre. The door man, seeing an old lady about to go to the end of the line on the sidewalk, offers her his arm and acting as personal bodyguard, escorts her to the ticket taker, no matter how many younger persons are waiting. In the lobby there may be a solid pha lanx shuffling in front of the brass and velvet barrier. The ticket taker is oblivious. He passes the old lady on into the custody of an usher. The latter, in turn, slips her through a secret door; and she is in the passage which gives access directly to the audi torium. Here another usher waves her to one of the thrones that are used in lieu of chairs. As soon as one per son leaves the auditorium the usher beckons for the old lady to follow him and, voila! she has arrived. The usher bends over her. "Would you like a seat further forward? Nearer the center? I'll come back for you as soon as I can get one." Yes, indeed, it pays to be old when you go to the movies, but lacking the necessary years, one may cheat Father Time, ticking off the moments so slowly for those who wait outside, by accompanying an old person. His or her attendant, though accorded less homage, is seated just as promptly. Next time you want to see a show but feel too tired to wait in line, pick up an old lady and take her with you. But don't do it too often; even in the motion picture world there may be a limit to the effectiveness of the mother theme. TI4E04ICAGOAN M Bait ,R. P. T. BARNUM got off his disparaging allegation about the birth rate of human dunderheads some years since, an aphorism which was put down as coming from a seasoned and cynical charlatan, and in consequence not more than half true. All this was before the days of the "Men Only" cinema. Let us glance a moment at the latest offering designed to edify us all as ¦"The Naked Truth," for short, "T. N. T." The film is some seven years old. It was made when the sex reel was a bright discovery, and after soldier camps had offered an entering wedge for some pretty scrofulous ma terial designed to scare the boys into righteousness. Even then "T. N. T." didn't do so well. Finally, much later, the film was censored by Boston au thorities, and so advertised as some thing more than usually naughty. A few preachers were persuaded to ap prove the moral sentiments of the ex hibit, probably on the grounds that it claimed the same viewpoint of one of the Ten Commandments. The com mandment, however, lacks interesting detail. A few hundred feet of some forgot ten soldier-scarer were added to the original garbage, and the whole pre sented as a high-minded and revealing business. The good old bait "For Men Only" and "For Women Only" was dangled temptingly before curious and solvent customers. The ensemble, while not exactly packing them in, is fairly successful. With the godsend of ad ditional censorship, it may continue to do a profitable business for some little time. On contemplating the whole affair, including Boston, the health depart ments, various preachers, and some un doubtedly able press agents, we humbly return to Barnum. We wonder just what the correct statistics are. In won dering, we are forced to conclude that P. T. B. was an optimistic gentleman who didn't own a stop-watch and had no adequate idea of the length of a minute. T. B1 ues HE crash of the cymbal marked the conclusion of the group of dance numbers. Simultaneously the three saxophonists, the trap drummer and the violinist-leader resumed their inter est in life. The piano player thumbed a note that had been handed him by the head waiter and with apparently little regret hastily left his work bench. Schedules are schedules and some what akin to boxing bouts; the rounds or "groups of dance numbers" are timed to fit in on the program of a broadcasting station. The leader gently tapped the music stand, but he of the piano had not returned. Leading a jazz orchestra is a serious business and, without the piano, a dubious one. Be fore consternation had registered, how ever, the missing one hastily dodged his way through the maze of tables and diners. He paused alongside one of the saxophonists. His conversation was muffled: "What do you think . . they've quarantined the joint . . . locked the place up . . . doc tor said plenty of fresh air . . . that's hot!" Another impatient tap of the violin bow on the music stand : "C'mon, fel lahs, let's go." Again resuming that orchestral look, the piano player snapped into St. Louis Blues. A Will FRIEND who recently returned from Yellowstone Park relates a tale which, true or otherwise, prompts a retelling. There was a scarcity of ice at Old Faithful Inn. The jingling of silver in the ears of bell-hops brought forth no results. They were sorry, but . . . Even bribes were unfruitful. Man agers were sought and implored, wheedled and slapped on the back. In a gayer moment the ice-seekers might have resorted to cudgel-play. But in spite of all allurement, no ice was pro duced, and the customers threatened physical violence. One bright buck from Chicago, who, ice or no ice, intended not to see his party slip into a state of coma, felt zooming near him a great gush of genius. He sent each guest to his room, promising to call him within a half hour. And, true to his promise, within twenty minutes the entire party was again assembled in the room, where there was clinking of glasses, squeezing of lemons, and much damning of hotel service in general. "How did I get the ice?" the wise buck asked, "Oh, it was easy enough." So saying, he pulled out an ice pack. "You see, I got appendicitis immedi ately after you left the room, so the nurse gave me this little present, this little ice pack, until the doctor arrived. I'll have ginger ale." As We See It— IT has been our gratifying privilege to witness a young lady who operates one of the Orange Drink Places in the Loop break down and tell all. She admitted that the drinks pur veyed by that ambitious organization are not made from real oranges. One suspects right along that she is telling the truth. A lN observing person walking down Van Buren Street, between the Boule vard and Wabash Avenue, is apt to feel a surge of blushful indecency at the sight of the bathing beach exposure of the Chicago Club, caused by the recent razing of the building which ad joined the club on the west. A grace less exposure for Chicago's wealthiest club. One expects to see a railroad presi dent shake a dust cloth or a rug out one of the back windows. — THE EDITORS. 10 TWE CHICAGOAN Where They Used to Stop A Century of Chicago Hospitality IN 1800 John Kinzie, Chicago's lead ing (and only) regular Republican voter, established a lodging house for "voyageurs" and Indians. It was the only way, explained John, to keep them out of his home. It is a far yell down the decades from that inn to the new Stevens, with its three thousand rooms and more baths than Bathhouse John ever dared initiate in the city council. Most of us might pause long in nam ing the famous hotels of fifty years ago. They would trail back, in pleas ant memory, to Lake street, before the holocaust that leveled the proud House of Palmer, the first Sherman and the Bigelow House. Then Lake street was a street. Did the thousands of stu dents at Northwestern's downtown building at Dearborn and Lake know they trod the wide halls which, in the sixties, were none other than Couch's folly, the famous Tremont? In those misty, brave days our ho tels, rising five stories in air (you walked up), were almost as ornate as Balaban and Katz's 1927 usher shel ters. The food was good, if western; but the bars, with their shining mahog any surfaces, were superlative. In 1929 Chicago might well cele brate its hotel centennial. It was in 1829 that Wolfe's Tavern was estab lished, the event being one of those natural cause and effect affairs. Mine Host Wolfe had a bar, and so many travelers from St. Louis, Detroit or Vincennes were wont to slumber after his liquid offerings that Wolfe decided he might as well charge them room rent, too. Opposition, the lazy man's curse, followed. In 1830 the Green Tree Tavern opened for business and the Sauganash house was next. Chicago's population of 150 was augmented con siderably in 1833 by the advent of Mark Beaubien with his Indian wife and twenty-three half-breed children. He had to have a hotel to house them, and chose Lake and Clark streets for his site, calling his twenty-room struc ture the Mansion House. The first Sherman House soon followed and there has always been a Sherman Ho tel on the same spot since. The Lake House, costing $100,000, now stepped in as the World's Great est, startling everyone by offering a printed bill of fare. When Ira Couch put up the six- story fireproof Tremont, though, he got the grand raspberry from the whole country. But Ira was wise. He installed solid brass spittoons, star-scat tered on the barroom floor, oiled the legislature to pave the streets leading to his hotel (with planks), and bought up all the red plush available for his settees in the lobby. He installed col ored boys with feather dusters to flick the dust from cowhide boots. About this time Old Long John Wentworth, our first mayor, was pre dicting that Chicago would have 100,- 000 population some day. How De troit laughed. Yet, when Honest Abe came here to be nominated in 1860, 40,000 visitors flocked into the city and they all slept somewhere. And from the Tremont's roof was fired a volley of a hundred guns that would have done credit to modern Taylor street. Another prophet, Elijah Pinney, picked the corner of State and Madi son for his St. Denis in 1852. Elijah burned out with the rest of the boys in '71 and, fearing that the ravens might not do their stuff, put up a hasty one- arm lunch stand on the site. Thither hurried young Potter Palmer for a ham sandwich. This Potter Palmer, in the strug gling fifties, was a dry goods merchant who introduced the take-it-home-on- trial idea and got rich on it. He sold his business to two fellows named Field and Leiter in 1862, and went td Europe. Most of the time on the con tinent he spent admiring hotels and came back home fired with the idea of building one to suit his fancy. First of all he calmly bought up a mile of State street (in the Loop!) and got out a bigger oil can than Couch had used, so that the legislature made State street a state road, widened it twenty-seven feet and put down a lot of planks. Guests of that day were wont to sink out of sight in the rich, black loam at, say, State and Wash ington, even as they disappear in pub lic utility excavations on Wabash ave nue today. "Every visitor lost is another cus tomer sunk," reasoned the astute Pal' mer. So the planks were laid. The first Palmer House didn't suit Potter for more than a few years. He then started to build something truly elaborate. The pillars were in place at Monroe and State when the O'Leary cow swung a hind leg. After the terror had passed the pillars were still in place. "That proves they are fireproof, " submitted the optimist, and forthwith came great bustle. Night and day, un der the flare of lights, the workmen pushed ahead. As soon as one floor was ready, guests moved in, glad to have any place to sleep. In November, 1873, the Palmer House was officially opened for the traveling public and the fire extinguisher salesman from Buffalo called on the eager Chicago trade. Palmer had given Chicago and the mid-west something to gasp about. With precious marble in the rotunda, Parisian windows, round corners at the street intersection, checkerboard in laid floors and candelabra to outshine Versailles he had our grandfathers awed. What a night it was, when solemn bearded Union veterans es corted their tightly laced and modest ladies to the main ballroom! And what a bridal suite. One grandpop, harking back to his bell- jumping days there, remembers glee fully his trips with kindling and coal in the early winter mornings to this famous connubial bower. A word for the barbershop. Charley Eden, its proprietor, who was later to build the Great Northern Hotel, had installed twenty-three chairs and the last word in ornate furnishings. But this brilliant publicity feature, the planting of 300 (Conued on page 24) THE CHICAGOAN n A Quiet Afternoon A Box Office Success for the Provinces That React to "Chicago" By Ashton Stevens and Gene Markey SCENE: A street in Chicago. AT RISE: (We'll get a rise out of the curtain, if nothing else.) THE GU^MATvJ is discovered (for the first time since his last acquittal) strolling down the street, emitting a pleasant jingle of hardware. THE CITIZEN, an amiable little sedentarian, carrying bundles, hur' ries along to catch the 5:17 for Kavenswood. THE GUNMAN (truculently) Got a match? (THE CITIZEN halts, deposits his numerous bundles on the side wal\, and searches his pockets.) THE CITIZEN (apologetically) Sorry — but I don't seem to have one. THE GUNMAN Take that! (He shoots THE CITIZEH-) (At the sound of the shot two HOSPITAL IHTEKHES enter, carrying a stretcher, into which THE CITIZEH falls. They carry him off.) (THE GUHMAH reloads, and THE BLIHD MAH enters, wear- ing blue glasses and carrying a tin cup.) THE BLIND MAN Could you give something to a poor blind man? THE GUNMAN (impolitely) I'll give you a sock on the nose! THE BLIND MAN (with justifiable indignation) Not if I see you first. (He shoots THE GUHMAH-) (The two HOSPITAL IH TEKHES enter in time to catch him on their stretcher as he falls. They bear him away.) (THE HEWSBOY enters.) THE NEWSBOY (shouting) Uxtry! All about the murder! (THE BLIHD MAH ta\es a pa per, and reads.) THE BLIND MAN (annoyed) Hey! This ain't my murder! THE NEWSBOY (convincingly) Well, this is! (He shoots THE BLIHD MAH-) (THE HOSPITAL IHTEKHES remove the remains.) (THE COP enters.) THE COP Just a minute! I saw that. You come along with me. THE NEWSBOY (witheringly) I wouldn't be seen walking with you. THE COP (cleverly) Is zat so? (He shoots THE HEWSBOY.) (THE HOSPITAL IHTEKHES, willing fellows, repeat their act with the stretcher.) (THE HU&SEMAID enters.) THE NURSEMAID I saw you. THE COP Nellie, me darling! You saw what? THE NURSEMAID (jealously) I saw you this morning helping an other woman across the street. (She shoots THE COP.) (THE HOSPITAL IHTEKHES ta\e their well-earned encore.) (A perambulator, containing THE BABY, rolls on, of its own ac cord. THE BABY is sitting up, playing with a large automatic pistol.) THE BABY (sweetly) Goo-goo! (He shoots THE HURSE- MAID.) Curtain "Hey — youse — cantcha read?' 12 TI4ECI4ICAGOAN Wilson Avenue Painlessly Projected Pictures II. A CITY within a city. . . . The heart, liver and lungs of uptown Chicago. . . . Hotels, skyscraping apartments of the kitchenette variety, big movie palaces, banks, department stores, specialty shops, big dance halls, a bathing beach, streets filled with motor cars, sidewalks crowded with eager-eyed youth. ... A myriad of flashing lights, bobbed stenographers, shop girls with the shortest skirts in the world. . . . Drug store cow boys, and girls, flirts of both sexes. . . . Legs, legs, legs and arms, too. . . . Fat legs, thin legs, medium legs, fancy legs, plain legs, pretty legs, ugly legs. . . . No corsets. An endless procession of bathing beauties coming from the beach wear ing one ounce suits covered with but- tonless and fantastically decorated slickers that don't behave in the wind. . . . Drugless drugstores on every corner, cafeterias half a block long, a lonely looking church, noisy radio shops. ... A wide open gambling house well patronized. . . . Tea rooms with funny names. . . . "The Fluttering Duck" is one. . . . Res taurants where there is no charge for the second cup of coffee. ... A lady bootlegger calling on customers. An Italian restaurant with this sign in the window: "Try Our Spaghetti, They are Fine." ... A Greek res taurant. ... A one armed lunch room. . . . Chop Suey restaurants in profusion. ... A dance hall with an illuminated mirror floor, "just like Paris." . . . Night clubs galore. ... A dance hall where the lights are turned out now and then. . . . Delicatessen stores by the score. . . . Boys and girls who live in hall bed rooms and spend most of their money for clothes. . . . Married couples who live in kitchenette apartments with hideaway bed and sink. . . . Flap pers smoking cigarettes. . . . The Uptown Railroad station. . . . Old men sitting on benches and talking like small town men at the corner grocery. . . . Orange juice stands with fan tastic fronts. ... A shoe shining parlor with a Victrola where the boys sing jazz songs as they work. Wilson Avenue lives like every day may be the last. — G. w. Overtone/ IF your garters tighten up, look out for rain, says M. V. Robins, govern ment meteorologist, which we think is stretching things a bit. ? One of our local citizens suggest as sessments of 5 and 10 cents to insure a continuance of the symphony orches tra. This may be Woolworth looking into. ? "Hold 'Em1' Joe Powers descended - from the top of the Morrison flag pole minus six teeth. When you lose six teeth atop a flag pole there's really no place to look for 'em. ? "DIVORCE MAY COME AT ANY AGE, SAYS JUDGE."— Headline. Though you've reached three score and ten Of happy wedded life — You may wake up tomorrow And find you've lost your wife. ? And now from Cimarron, N. M., comes a report that Vice-President Dawes' first catch broke the springs on his auto. Why all this fishing talk? Is the Izaak Walton League going to name the next president? ? The only man w« know of who feels bad about the street car wage dispute going to arbitration is one whose automobile failed to bring an offer from even the junk man. ? We pass along the suggestion, with out hope of reward, that our so-called legitimate theatres trade in their Es kimo pie vendors for good, modern ventilating systems. ? Two Wisconsin dry agents have been fined on a drunk and disorderly charge. They tried, in a raid, to ob tain a preponderance of evidence. ? One of our local vox poppers boasts about keeping the same collar buttons, front and back, for ten years. We have a careful wife, too. ? A Chicago woman obtained a di vorce from her husband because he was "addicted to the use of a saxo phone." Apparently marriage is not one sweet song with saxophone accom paniment. ? In the controversy now raging over whether man or woman chews gum most gracefully, we think the sexes are about equally proficient in registering that contented cow look. ? "Sex must be disassociated from business if women are to be a success," declared a speaker at the national con vention of Business and Professional Women's clubs. Does this mean high necks, long sleeves and ankle length skirts are coming back? ? It's about time somebody started agitating the building of a subway Own Your Own ' There Ought To Be a Law" AT last guests at the Blackstone Hotel can sleep in peace! The Drakes have purchased the land di rectly under the hostelry, and there is now no danger of the owners sneaking down in the dead of night and making off with the foundations. Now that we think of it, there should be a law requiring that all ho tels, theatres and other public places should own the land on which they set. It would be more than an incon venience to the guest should the owner suddenly take an idea to make off with his real estate and leave the building and its occupants doing a vertical Lindy. Hereafter, every time we enter a public building, we'll demand to see the ownership papers of the land be neath. ANGELA BOONE. THECI4ICAG0AN « It Is, Indeed, Paris In Which an Aware Chicagoan Further Prepares the Legionnaires SOMETHING has been said of the American invasion of Paris. The American college boy has captured Montparnasse. The American show man is in possession of Montmarte. But the real dictator of Paris is a young woman of ebony skin, a wick edly exotic type of beauty and with the ability to do the danse du ventre all over a stage or cabaret floor. Her name is Josephine Baker; she comes from the states and the method by which she took Paris is unique in his tory. She did it by doing the Charles ton, clad solely in a girdle of banana- skins. The world's pleasure capital was at her feet at once and has lain there with supine contentment ever since. It is Josephine Baker here and Jo sephine Baker there. Josephine may be seen nightly either at the Folies Ber- geres or in her own cabaret, one of the ritziest and, at the present moment, the most popular night-club in Paris. In either case, you will find her accom panied by her Harlem jazz band. Is there a charity benefit at the Claridge for the mutilated soldiers? Then Jo sephine heads the list of attractions with such celebrities as Mistinguette and Georges Carpentier taking their proper places behind her. All of which leads to the irresistible conclusion that if Thirty-fifth and State street could only migrate in a body, they would own the town in slightly less than an evening. For the American negro and his jazz are the most popular of all items of en tertainment. Everywhere you go, whether it be to the Folies, the Cirque d'Hiver (just now closed for the sum mer) or one of the plentitudinous Bals or Dancings in Montmarte, you en counter the inevitable darktown or chestra. And on those sparse occa sions when the negro in person is lack ing, you will find an aggregation of French players making the most valiant of assaults on the syncopated idiom. The result, in the latter case, is rather weird. For despite the Gaul's infatu ation for jazz, jazz is something he sim ply does not seem to be able to get. And to tell the truth, even jazz as played by the negroes here does not By Samuel Putnam sound quite the same as it does at home. This leads to the suspicion that many, if not most, of the Parisian Africans are from Africa, rather than from America. Next to Miss Baker — who, as one of our young "exile" group of writers as sured me the other evening, is "really quite naive, you know"- — the most popular persons in Paris are, undoubt edly, the three Fratellini brothers and their numerous progeny. The Fratel- linis long since took Europe by storm and are now the artistic directors of the Cirque d'Hiver, or Winter Circus. They always make their appearance here late in the season, and Paris each year proceeds to go mad about them all over again. Outside of the twentieth anniversary performance of M. Diaghilev's ballet russe, plenteously attended by the city's population of cosmopolite aesthetes and terminating in a fascinating little row between Igor Strawinsky and Jean Coc- teau over their operatic collaboration, Oedipus Rex — outside of the ballet, the usual run of unspeakable Parisian plays and a bevy of early summer vernissages — painting being the one sport at which your true Parisian really works — there is not a great deal else to report. Speaking of painting, Chicago's art colony is well represented here this year, among those present being Dell Quest of the Chester Johnson galleries, with Mr. Johnson himself due to ar rive soon, and Miss Alice Roullier of the Roullier Galleries. When I stepped off the train at the Gare St. Lazare, the first thing I beheld was Mr. Quest's smiling countenance. It was just like catching sight of the Wrigley Building in mid-ocean. Among others present is Virgil Geddes, now, if you please, financial editor of The Chicago Tribune's Paris edition. In the days when he lived in an Erie street garret, Virgil, I am quite sure, did not know there was such a thing as a stock or a bond; and he con fessed to me, confidentially, that he was not quite sure about the matter yet. The Tribune is run by intellec tuals, others being Elliott Paul, the edi tor pf Transition, new organ of the transatlantic intelligentsia, and Harold Stearns, who started this young-intel lectual-expatriate business by bidding a dramatic farewell to America some years ago. Mr. Stearns, who had the long-distance fist-fight with Sinclair Lewis, appears rather definitely to have forsaken literature and the arts for the Longchamps race course. He now does "turf notes" or something of the sort. Oh, yes, I ran on to John Gunther the other day at the entrance of the American Express Company's offices in the rue Scribe. John was interested in hearing how America and the boys back home had taken, or failed to take, to The Red Pavilion. Incidentally, he told me, as we sat over our beers on the terrasse of the Cafe de la Paix, that he had a brand new novel all ready for publication — to be published first in England, like its predecessor. John, who had just finished a breath less chase after M. Lindbergh, was hur rying off to Stockholm. He admitted preferring London to Paris and boasted that he had not set foot on the Left Bank this trip, catching himself up with the postscript that oh, yes, he had, too — he had just hopped over to have lunch with Ernest Hemingway. John seemed to be quite impressed with the rapidity of his own gestures. And there was Mr. Lindbergh, wasn't there? 14 TME CHICAGOAN I F I MAY /AY SO Dark Clouds Do Have Linings LIVING in and about Chicago ^ (adv.) during the summer has, if I may say so, certain definite advan tages. Life here is more tranquil than in, let us assume, the borough of Man hattan. The Chicagoan seeking relax ation from the cares and strife of big business has a varied list of pleasant diversions from which to choose. For example (if you want an example: and even if you don't, I fear I must give you one) he may fancy the ancient sport of kings. With three racetracks in convenient juxtaposition to the Loop, it is only necessary for him to get an early start on Tuesday in order to see Friday's racing. And while we are on the subject of sports (if, indeed, we are on that sub ject, which I am inclined to doubt) there are some fast polo games to be seen around Chicago — provided you know where to look for them. Myself, I have looked everywhere for them, but don't let that discourage you. Chi cago, moreover, has two major league baseball teams. Certain cynics may doubt the veracity of these statistics (i. e., there being two teams), but that is my story, and I am going to try to stick to it. Nobody can deny that base ball is a lively form of entertainment, even if you are watching the White Sox. At least it keeps you out in the fresh air. But in the matter of indoor sports Chicago is perhaps not so adventurous as the neighboring community of Man hattan; for Chicago has not yet ac quired a taste for the "mixed" soiree which is the more or less last word, if I may say so, in New York. A mixed soiree, in case you have never graced one with your presence, is a black-and- tan evening in the home. It is a form of social affair popularized by Mr. Carl Van Vechten, so it is alleged, while he was seeking local color for his last novel, Trigger Heaven. As a matter of fact (now that we are going in for facts) this idea is not entirely recent, nor did it originate with Mr. Van Vechten. Nearly a score of years ago the shirt-fronts of Chicago were shaken when that blithe boulevardier, Mr. Guy Hardy, flung a fiesta in honor of the negro composer, Coleridge Taylor. So, by way of settling another score in the great civic rivalry, it must be con fessed that Chicago did it first. How ever, it remained for New York — or that portion of its citizenry whose thought is influenced by Mr. Carl Van Vechten — to make a large ado about taking the negro to its heart, as well as its hearth. At almost any party in gay Gotham nowadays the girl you sur mise to be a tennis-champion, tanned by the suns of Palm Beach and South ampton, may turn out to be Miss Flor ence Mills. One evening, a fortnight ago in Manhattan, I was hard at work upon the composition of a drama, as I like to call it, in collaboration with Mr. Sam uel Hoffenstein, who is celebrated as the biographer of A. H. Woods, and whose waggish book, Poems in Praise of Practically Hothing, is to be pub lished during the coming season by Boni & Liveright. (If further intro duction is necessary, Mr. Hoffenstein was the fellow who cried: "We want Levine!" during the Lindburgh pa rade.) But like many another talented writer, he possesses a marked aversion to the task of writing. "Come," said he, "we have labored enough. I know where a louder if not funnier evening is to be had. At this very moment a soiree is in progress upstairs in the apartment of one Mr. W , whilom MR. CARL VAN VECHTEN In One of His Darker Moods boon companion of the late Anatole France. Mr. Carl Van Vechten will appear in person, attended by a large following of the colored cognoscenti." "Let us see," said I, "if you exag gerate.' And forthwith we ascended to the bizarre chambers of Mr. W , who is by way of being a writer, and who is assuredly a charming host. As announced, ' Mr. Carl Van Vechten was present in person, and there were lesser lights, including a covey of mid dle-aged ladies of a type extremely lit erary. Across from them, and quite alone, sat a young negress. The party was yet young, and there were no others of her race in evidence. I rec ognized her as Miss Ethel Waters, whose voice I had heard from the vic- trola and across the footlights, and for whose Afric art I hold high admira tion. Mr. Van Vechten (still in per son) took me over to her, and with a benign, sacerdotal air, presented me. I accepted her gracious invitation to sit in the vicinity, and we talked of this and that, and I found her to be de lightfully naif and "nacherl." I ad mitted to her that this was my initia tion into the mixed soiree, and asked her what sort of people would be com ing. Would there be the usual effemi nate young men? "Plenty of 'em," replied Miss Waters with a healthy Harlem laugh. "We better shut the windows or they'll be flyin' out!" Other negroes were arriving now, greeted with affectionate acclaim by our host and Mr. Van Vechten. There was a statuesque beige beauty named Edna Thomas, who plays in Lulu Belle; Nella Imes, the writer, and El mer, her husband, who is an eminent physicist; and particularly there was James Weldon Johnson, greatest of the negro poets. With fine dignity they circulated among the white people, and there was no self-consciousness of a lit erary "stunt" about it. It was like Paris. Only everybody was better be haved. Miss Waters was giving me her opinions on the general subject of men. "I," she declared, "like hundred-per cent he men!" And who was I to argue that point with her? I asked her if she cared for these mixed parties. "Oh, I don't mind 'em," she an swered. "I got only one social preju dice—I don't like goin' to parties where there's actors present!" — GENE MARKEY. TI4ECWICAG0AN 15 Good Clean Fun A Resume of Wholesome and Now Extinct Parlor Games "^^N long evenings — "begins Pro- V«y fessor Northrop's manual of Games, Puzzles, Charades, and Recita tions, "On long evenings when the lights burn brightly and a cheerful glow pervades the room, it is often found that sitting still is a very dull proceeding." Against ennui, and in lieu of wicked cards and fleshly waltzes, the Professor lists his infallible array of parlor di versions. These parlor games once flourished in delightful profusion, es pecially in the more righteous homes, so that social contacts of stripling and post-stripling innocents took place at gatherings at once danceless and dis infected. Left to themselves, young natures thus happily commingled fur nished their own environment. Then was, in truth, the long-vanished, gol den age of good clean fun. Even Chi cago lads were impeccable under the ground rules of parlor sport. Parlor games were of numerous varieties. "Educational" flings, very like the modern quiz parties with their titles of "Authors," "Questions," "Quotations," etc., were probably fully as dreadful as their ultimate descendants, the Cross- Word puzzle furore — now dead — and the Word Change frenzy — already a bit gan grenous in the Line. Geographical ex perts could and did lecture on scenic routes. Young alchemists astounded many a parlor full of old folks with their devilish pyrotechnics. Electricity, too, was applied with robustly humor ous results. Riddles and rhyming con tests throve as refined amusement in many a deacon's sitting room. But when the old folks had doddered along upstairs, the real merriment be gan. Before father had doused his whiskers in the pink china washbowl and climbed over the bedslats, a kiss ing game was in sweet progress below him. Indeed, out of the list of en tertainments proposed by Northrop, some 80% are kissing games pure and simple — the professor assures us of their extreme freedom from turpitude. A list of field events is monotonous — at least in perusal. Ariadnes' Leopard is played so: "The penitent By Francis C. Coughlin on his hands and knees is obliged to carry around the room a lady who is seated on his back, and whom all the gentlemen (himself excepted) are priv ileged to kiss in turn." Kissing Un der the Candle Stick: "This con sists of kissing a person over whose head you hold a candle stick." To Kiss the One You Love Without Being Noticed: Kissing all the ladies in the company without distinc tion." Kiss Your Own Shadow: "Place yourself between the light and the person whom you intend to kiss, on whose face the shadow will be thrown." The Clock: "The player is a clock." He calls a person of the opposite sex before him. This person must ask what time it is. The clock is privileged to reply whatever hour he likes — claiming a kiss for each hour." Here is a welcome bit of variety: The Disappointment: "A lady advances toward the penitent, but turns quickly and allows the kiss to be taken by someone else." One may perceive the slow growth of monogamous leanings, perhaps. Yet despite the sweet monotony, an occasional flash of spirit manifests it self in the long catalogue. Consider The Blind Man's Choice: "The one to pay a forfeit stands with his or her face to the wall. One behind the penitent makes suitable signs of a kiss, a pinch, or a box on the ear as numbers one, two, and three. Which ever the choice chances to be is given." A rare, heroic game! Now and then a bit of nuance peeps shyly through the greenery. The Kiss at Second Hand: "This pen alty is inflicted only on a lady. She who is directed to suffer chooses a fe male friend. She then presents her self to a gentleman who kisses her. She must carry this kiss to her com panion. This may be repeated as many times as there are gentlemen in the party." Here is a startlingly un-canonical frolic called Convent Porter: "The person playing forfeit is door keeper. A gentleman enters the va cant room which is supposed to be a convent parlor . . . knocks softly from within . . . whispers the name of a lady with whom he desires an in terview. Someone knocks again, the porter opens the door and the gentle man comes out. The lady names an other gentleman ... at the next knock the lady comes out and another lady is called. . . . The porter under no pretext has a right to enter or even open the door until someone knocks (from within)." At least such an ar rangement seems to embody the very essence of democracy; so do nearly all games the Professor lovingly records. The Beggar is an astounding pastime. "A penitence to be inflicted on a gentleman only. The penitent takes his staff and approaches a lady. He falls on his knees before her, thumping his staff on the ground, and implores 'Charity!' The lady asks, 'Do you want bread? — Do you want water? — Do you want a penny?' — etc. To all such questions as these the beg gar replies by thumping his staff im patiently. At length the lady says, 'Do you want a kiss?' At these words the beggar jumps up and kisses the lady." Oddly enough, one has ex pected something like that all along. It is a high point, The Beggar Few parlor games were so imaginative, or so robust; the good Northrop's list never quite equals it, though his cate gory is long and explicit. Finally, to conclude a tender survey of the usages of a past generation, the writer is moved to quote the Profes sor's preface in which the compiler speeds his work on its way with the following pious sentence: "Amusement and instruction go hand-in-hand." Thirty years after publication, the unbiased reviewer must wholly assent to the Professor's theorem. 16 TI4ECWICAG0AN Thanh you so much, Officer — Now where can I get a bus? TUECI4ICAG0AN 17 CWICAGOANJ" IN the mythology of Chicago, en shrined beside honest Father Dear born and Mrs. O'Leary's fiery cow, there was once a stalwart goddess who wore a classic breast-plate and a phoenix-crested helmet. She was our Pallas Athene, and her cult flourished from the World's Fair period until Jove Thompson ascended the local Olympus and began to bellow: "Buy a horn!" She is almost forgotten now; the cartoonists who are the curators of our folk-lore have fallen out of the habit of invoking her power. Yet she still exists, incarnate. De throned from her plaster pedestal, she is with us in the flesh. Wherever a woman's energy is needed for the city's good, she bceomes manifest. She dashes from political meetings to hospital board sessions in a furious Studebaker. Whenever an irre sistible force is required to deal with some tedious philanthropic chore, a unanimous shout goes up : "Let Janet Fairbank do it!" At which this great lady an swers blithely, in the only words the goddess of the phoenix crest was ever known to utter: "I will." And she does. Mrs. Kellogg (Janet Ayer) Fair- bank is our First Citizenness. Her range of activities is so wide that she does not fit into any single category. She is a "social leader" in the society columns, a lively Democrat in the political news, a novelist to the book re viewers, and a Page 1 personality to the city editors whenever some worthy institution launches a million dollar drive. It is useless to attempt to classify her, other than to say that more than any contemporary woman she represents the spirit of Chicago, and like the city itself she covers a great deal of ground. Robust of body and soul, she is therefore a fitting chieftainess for the mixed tribes who inhabit this industrial jungle. She is best known, of course, along the fringe of civilization that makes the decorative shore-line of the Chicago wilderness; but she stands for Western avenue as well as for Michi gan boulevard. There is nothing Let Janet Do It "precious" about Mrs. Fairbank. Her sense of humor is as hearty as a gale off the lake. When she goes to a stu dio tea among the aesthetes of "Tower- town," it is as if someone had opened a window to let in the prairie breeze. Her name is a local synonym for energy, but her almost constant occu pation with civic tasks that involve executive flutter and flurry does not harry her nerves. She has never yet been found with that wild look in her eye of the woman whose engines are racing. Always in good humor, she seems immune to feminine neuroses. She never becomes frantic under stress. She is altogether a woman, and Mrs. Kellogg Fairbank yet not a member of De Goncourt's "the more demented sex." Mrs. Fairbank's political activities are mainly an overflow of high spirits and zeal to accomplish. She is not a political theorist, and is not especially concerned about feminism. She is an ardent Democrat because she was born one, and because her soul is democratic. She has none of the attitudes of the "emancipated woman." So far as leg islation is concerned, whatever the Democrats do, if it is honest, is more or less satisfactory to her. From the male political point of view, she has no bees in her bonnet; and therefore she is welcome whenever the call goes out that now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party. POLITICS are really an incidental interest for her. Her central am bition is toward authorship. When the drive or the campaign has ended, she turns to the art of letters with a sigh of relief. The real Janet would rather write than be President. ' Yet her impulse toward action and social expression is always leading her away from her desk. If restricted to the anti-social task of spinning words out of thin air and through a type-writing machine, she would probably find her self profoundly unhappy. But writing is where her heart is. No one other than the members of her family ever caught Mrs. Fair- bank writing. Her days seem too crowded to admit the slow and lonely process of imaginative let ters. But she is a recognized nov elist, and a diligent though still un productive playwright. Her list of published titles includes a volume of short stories and two full-bod ied novels. Her "The Smiths" de serves high rank in Chicago fic tion. A vast amount of research went into this saga of the city's rise to its present stature. Mrs. Fairbank is modest about her literary accomplishments. Her work commands the respect of professionals, but her own attitude toward it has the charming shyness of the amateur. This freedom from pose characterizes every phase of her career. She passes from one achievement to another with se rene and good-natured simplicity. Mrs. Fairbank has a genius for hos pitality. A list of her dinner guests through any year would supply ma terial for an Academy of Arts and Let ters, a fair-sized college faculty, all-star casts for several plays, and a few Sen ate committees. If she were a blue stocking and a culture-hunter it might easily be said of her that she has founded a salon. If accused of such an impressive social triumph, however, she would answer with a laugh: "No, only a home." In her family life, no less than in her public activities, Mrs. Fairbank represents Chicago at its soundest and 18 TI4E CHICAGOAN best. There is nothing flashy or ephem eral about the Fairbanks and the Ayers; they are a third generation of Chicagoans and a spirited fourth gen eration is growing up about them. They are rooted here, and in their town house on North State street or their summer home on Lake Geneva one gets the feeling of a fine family tradition, of permanence and progress. These Fairbanks are no transitory breed, likely to pull up stakes at any minute and flit to California, New York, Paris or London. They belong among us. They are of Chicago from its small town days before the Civil War to a remote and elysian future. And if the politicoes, the bankers, the traction magnates, the reformers, and the newspaper editors continue their long, argumentative procrastina tion about solving our transportation problems, some day the public will arise and shout: "Let Janet Fairbank dig the sub way!" Whereupon Janet very likely will. — CHARLES COLLINS. Backgrounds By One Who Knew Them When— Amy Leslie was a comic opera singer and wore tights. ? Gen. Milton Foreman "traveled on the road" selling a line of hats and caps. ? Carl Sandburg worked as a porter in a barber shop at Galesburg, Illinois, and later was private secretary to a Socialist mayor in Milwaukee. ? Congressman Martin B. Madden was a water boy in a stone yard at Lemont, 111. ? Walter Washburn conducted a delicatessen store on the north side be fore he became city editor of The Chicago Evening Post and a teacher in the Medill School of Journalism. ? Ashton Stevens was a professional teacher of the banjo in San Francisco and one of his pupils was William Randolph Hearst. Playing the instru ment still is his favorite pastime. ? Former Ald. Michael Kenna, "Hinky Dink," sold newspapers in the loop and later ran the "Workingman's Exchange" in Clark street south of Van Buren where the largest — and coldest — glass of beer in Chicago was sold for a nickel. ? Col. E. R. Bradley, famous turf man and owner of the big gambling Casino at Palm Beach, was the pro prietor of a modest ready-made cloth ing store in Madison street, across from the Brevoort Hotel. ? Fred Donaghey was a compositor on a Philadelphia newspaper. ? Ald. John Coughlin worked in a Madison street Turkish Bath parlor, earning the name, "Bathhouse John." ? John C. Righeimer, boss of the Illinois Boxing Commission, worked as a clerk in the office of the Illinois Central. ? Florence Couthoui worked at her father's newsstand in the lobby of the Congress Hotel, before becoming queen of Chicago's theatre ticket speculators. ? Teddy Beck was a reporter for the old Chicago "Mail before he became managing editor of The Chicago Tribune. ? Anton Cermak, Democratic chief tain and president of the county board, drove a sawdust wagon on the west side before entering politics. ? Former Ald. John Powers was a clerk in a grocery store on the west side. ? John Hertz was manager of a stable of prize fighters, before becoming the big boss of the Yellow Cab Co. ? Charles A. McCulloch sold newspapers at Clark and Madison streets and later become circulator of The Chicago Evening Post. Variation The sun is a great leveler, It makes the whole world kin, And the Colonel's lady And Judy O'Grady Have blisters under the skin. — ted. vWM M««>» «A«£!ajgifc-. Bare Facts Exploding a Tradition NOW that summer is at its zenith, the populace of Chicago once again becomes divided into two camps: those that sport the coat of tan, and those that do not. The brownskins have decidedly the upper hand in con ducting the affairs of the town. Does not the mask of bronze, say they, mean ease and leisure, the power and the glory of life's full fun? Wide-eyed and gaping, they dream of the opulence and splendor that make pos sible those merry hours on the breeze- blown deck of an inland clipper, on golf links and tennis court and in the saddle. But we have long been harboring a doubt as to the justification for all this awe and envy. So to run this trouble some matter to ground, we recently summoned our Inquiring Reporter, bade him sharpen his best pencil and fare forth to snare the facts. The said I. R. promptly dashed out to the corner of State and Madison and asked five brown white men, picked at random: THE QUESTION Do you believe you can tell me how you got your coat of tan? THE ANSWERS A. CzynewicZ, West Chicago Ave nue, bookkeeper, — "I do. It was only yesterday morning that I took my block and tackle and went fishing at the foot TUECUICAGOAN 19 Chicago Annex The Operations on the Lahe Front of Ohio Street. I took my umbrella along, too, in case a storm should blow up. But it was a beautiful day, and I caught a perch at sundown." Mortimer Lethargy, West Madi son Street, poet, — "I do. This is an odd coincidence. Today is the first day I've been off the park benches since the early robin chirped. I've pretty well managed to keep my place in the sun, all right. And just because I close my eyes and tilt my head, it's no sign I'm asleep. You've got to shift the toast in the toaster, you know." AMOS Q. Pipp, West Roosevelt Road, deputy sheriff, — "I do. And I'm glad you asked me. I got sick and tired of waiting for the rapid transit that I need in my business. So I've been out digging my own subway. You should see my shoulders." Francois Villon, Pratt Boulevard, shoplifter, — "I do. I live pretty far north, but I'm partial to Polite Transportation, so I come down on the top of a bus every day. And there's always that nice wait of an hour at the Link Bridge, while that little tug goes puttering up the river. It makes one realize what a metropolis Chicago really is— looking up at all the big buildings, I mean." John Sledgehammer, South Hal- sted Street, blacksmith, — "No, I don't. Although I must say I find waiting in line at the Oriental theatre just as good at high noon as any other time." JOSEPH P. POLLARD. IN the case of Chicago, hogs come on the hoof and go out in tins and boxes to be bartered for the stuff of which parks and boulevards and bridges are made. All the while the city by the lake has her mind on more than hogs alone. Not that the art of butcher ing is decadent or that Chicago has be come snobbish about it. Chicago is the same virile butcher as always, but not a butcher merely. She — begging your pardon for the contradiction in gen ders — is interested in universities, opera companies, a symphony orchestra, museums, and art galleries. With her advance in culture and wealth she has improved her personal appearance. Facials by expert city planners, new clothes designed by well known archi tects, have wrought many changes. At times there is something almost ethereal about her. For proof of that go out to Cornell Avenue near Hyde Park Boulevard and look north past the spot where the old half of the Chicago Beach Hotel but recently stood. Or better still, put on your hiking boots and scramble out to the edge of the newly made land be tween Fifty-third and Fifty-sixth Streets. Looking north one sees on the horizon a gleaming mass that might be a fairy city, or at least a glittering, right-side-up mirage. At one end is a phantom building resembling the Field Museum; at the other, a miniature Furniture Mart. In between you can pick out the Straus Building, the Tribune Tower, the whole Michigan Avenue sky line, if you know your boulevards. Seen in the morning, or at sunset, or any time at all, over a six or seven mile expanse of water, the city is a hog butcher in a million. THIS long strip of land grafted on the shore is known to residents of the neighborhood as the dump. In an other year or so it will blossom out in grass and trees and roadways. At present it is all that its name implies; superimposed layers of earth, cinders, fragments of concrete, tin cans, sand, old shoes, scraps of porcelain, used paving materials, and old Christmas trees, accretions hauled by truck after laboring truck. During the summer months this unfruitful truck gardening is supplemented by the activities of the sand sucker, whose lights and whistles and silent comings and goings have brought romance to Hyde Park. It may not be as thrilling as a Conrad brig or a Masefield cutter, but to those whose windows have never faced any but an inland sea and whose knowledge of ships is more literary than experi mental, the big sucker is a delight by day and a twinkling mystery by night. Close inspection may dispel some of the romance but that does not deter many persons from making the rough crossing from Everett Avenue to the breakwater and its environs. When a gray sand sucker, riding low in the water, ties up opposite Fifty-third Street and makes connections with the long conduit extending south just inside the breakwater, spectators thrill with antici pation. When the men at the open end of the pipe signal that all is well and shout their "let 'er go!" a hush falls on the crowd. And when the heavy mixture of sand and water starts to pour from the boat, the "here it comes" of the spectators has the same excited ring as the race track cry, "they're off." All along the shore from Grant Park to Jackson Park this work of sand fill ing is going forward. That which is being done between Firty-first and Fifty- sixth Streets is no more remark able than that elsewhere, but slightly more accessible. When the filling is completed the new land will total 1,139 acres, or far more than the eye can now see, for the present breakwater will be only the west line of a lagoon whose opposite boundary will be the east shore of the chain of islands extending south from the one already made east of Grant Park. This lagoon will contain 343 acres of waterway crossed at eight points by bridges. A Chicagoan of no great age can remember when Grant Park was a trackless waste and recalls a time when there was not much but lake east of Hyde Park Boulevard. It is no won der that the lake shore dumps and sand fills attract fascinated crowds. — RUTH G. BERGMAN. 20 TUECUICAGOAN A Dinner Dilemma Product of the Tea Room Era THAT is the trouble with a great city. People get lost so easily, and remain lost. In the course of my browsing around Chicago I have seen ever so many per sons I would like to know better and see again. But they disappear. There are nearly a hundred men from my company in the army who live here — but the only ones I accidentally meet are those I never liked anyhow. But men are men and easily met, in restaurants, clubs, smokers and on golf courses. It is the women I see and lose that I regret. The Indigo Pigeon is a small, highly decorated tea room north of the river, which means it is in Chicago's only bona-fide Bohemia. Although I lived on that near North Side only a few years ago, I can scarcely recognize any thing familiar there now except per haps, The Hotel Bradley. They have crowded out the shacks that once housed "The Wind Blew Inn," and the "Pudding Club." Great apartment hotels and office buildings are shooting and sprouting up, despite the poor soil. And in be tween are tea rooms and sandwich shops of the type of the Indigo Pigeon. To these places come the boys and the girls from the advertising agencies. They eat toasted cheese sandwiches and discuss color design and salaries over their half dozen cigarettes. These res taurants have learned the art of fancy prices — of much for little, reversed. Rents are high. But what does it mat ter to copywriters? They make $7,500 a year each. Strangely enough salaries for these bright young things who dash off swell blurbs for linseed oil or cob web stockings are always $7,500 per annum. But it allows them at least 75 cents a day for luncheon, cigarettes free. She was already seated when I ar rived at the Indigo Pigeon. I sat down opposite her and ordered my luncheon. Then I allowed my eyes to treat them selves. The effect was immediate. A magnetic current, the kind that is sup posed to go hop-skipping around that magnetic pole up where Nungesser and Coli are found every few days — ran from my eyes to hers. For she too had looked up and given me just the shadow of a smile. The shadow of a smile and the ripest lips, and the gleam from dark pools under heavy lashes! She wore simple black velvet with a white thing under it at the breast. She was as dark as a gypsy and mature, and yet very young. She held her one after luncheon cigarette with deft, long fingers. Her eyes were full of meditation. She looked my way again, and then above me and beyond. "I will come here often," I mused. So on the following day I came again and sat in the corner where she had been, directly under the bronze Venus. But she did not appear. I tried it another day. A disagree able woman, "of the arts," took the sacred place. The Indigo Pigeon lunch eon was not nearly as delicious as it had been on the first day. In the days between my meeting with her had been arranged mentally. I had led up to it deftly so that nothing should be spoiled by overhaste. There would be the first shy word, the linger ing first days of friendship, and finally the walk together by the lake shore when the lights had sprung up along Boul Mich. I pictured the rapid suc cession of days, and the cherished nights. Life, to my famished soul, grew misty and filled with a great romance. Gladly could I endure the tedious days if it meant luncheon at the Indigo Pigeon and our evening meal at Madame Galli's. She would learn to care for me too, without reason or explanation — and at last — But, as I have remarked at the be ginning, that is the trouble with a big city. She never came to the Indigo Pigeon again. D. S. Co-Op An Incident HILE leisurely strolling up Lake Shore Drive in the cool of a moonlit evening, I paused to survey the progress of a new and ultra apart ment building. Venturing closer, I barely missed stumbling upon a loving couple in fond embrace in the shadow of a sizeable signboard. It was in truth a touching scene, and worthy of ap plause. But a brief reflection convinced me that a stealthy and considerate re treat was more in order. As I vanished up the boulevard, I cast a furtive glance at the sheltering signboard. It bore the words "100 Per Cent Co-operative." — J. P. P. Poetic Acceptances Carl Sandburg accents an invi tation to a Hog Butchering Contest given by the Swifts They tell me you are going to have a hog butchering contest in your backyard on Wednesday after noon, and I believe it. And they tell me I am invited to your hog butchering contest, and I answer : Yes, it is true. I have seen the invitation. And they tell me it will be a swell hog butchering contest as there has ever been, and that I must not miss it. I have nothing to do on Wednesday afternoon, so I shall not miss it. And they tell me it will be a good contest if it is hot. So I hope it will be hotter than a bear pit in fly time. And they tell me the hogs will be herded into a tiny pen, fright ened, greasy, running, lumber ing along, Shackled, Hoisted, Kicking, Squealing, fighting, passive, bullied, pullied, STUCK! — DONALD PLANT. TWE CHICAGOAN 21 Mysticism A Digestive Digest I'M not entirely clear yet as to how it happened. I was standing in what looked to be a safe enough doorway, watching the noon hour crowds swish ing by, when suddenly I was flung bodily into their very midst, and I daresay that I was carried along for some seven blocks before it occurred to me that I ought to be doing some thing towards remedying my situation. But, inasmuch as I was more or less in the thick of things, my course of action dependent upon the movement of my comrades in the ranks, I shut my eyes and determined to let come what would. When I opened them again, I found myself perched on a stool in one of these infernal toasted sandwich shops. Affixed to the four walls of the place were several life-sized menus and I ran my eye over the items listed thereon, with the caution of rank amateurish ness. Whiz, Wham, Whee, Bing, Biff, Bennie, each of these strange names represented an utterly individual cre ation of the sandwich makers' art. Par, Bogey, Birdie, Rig, Rex, Rham, I caught myself repeating odd incanta tions and I rejoiced inwardly at the way they rolled from my tongue. Zip, Zulu and Zest were suggested by one of the counter boys, Dan-P, Peach, and Noggy by another, but I shook my head as I mumbled sadly, "Stud, Straight, Black Jack." Then suddenly I saw it, the one that I had been seeking, a name imbued with continental sophistication. My heart thumped wildly as I turned to the counter boy and whispered hoarsely, "Zee!" This blase fellow nodded his ap proval and immediately set to work while I sat there, waiting, wondering. Scarcely a minute had passed when he placed the finished gem before me, and I know that my hands were trembling as I raised it to my mouth. But, alas, after one bite I knew that this could not be the Utopian creation that I had so eagerly awaited. It was, in fact, just a piece of boiled ham tucked be tween two pieces of rapidly cooling toast. I dashed blindly to the doorway and staggered into the crowd, screaming madly, "Whiz, Wham, Whee!" — E. B. GRAHAM. JOURNALI/TIC JOURNEY/ The Carmagnole IF public reaction to the sudden elimination of the symphony orches tra from our contemporary scene may be fairly judged at this early stage, it can be safely predicted the average Chicagoan, as well as those directly affected, will give the matter consider ably more attention than a mere lift ing of the eyebrow. The orchestra, along with the White Sox, the Cubs, the Art institute, the Lincoln Park zoo, the "Boul Mich," the Civic Opera, the universities, the Field Museum, the Wrigley tower, the railroad stations and yes, even the stockyards, stands high in the list of our proud boasts. Many a solid citizen, who would scratch his head and say "let's see, now" if you asked him to direct you to Orchestra Hall, has pointed with no little and quite pardonable pride to the symphony as one of the solid rocks in the foundation of his belief and con fidence in the home town. Ask him to buy a season ticket and he might register indifference, but pry loose and crack to pieces one of the cornerstones of his faith in this best city in the world and he will rise up in righteous wrath. That such sentiment exists and is growing cannot be doubted. Publicity accorded the differences be tween the leader of the musicians' union and the Orchestral association, which ended in complete disagreement, was thorough and left little choice as to the proper placing of responsibility for the decision to disband the orches tra. The hosts of genuine music lovers who view the situation in the light of a civic tragedy may well take comfort in this rising tide of indignation on the part of the solid citizens mentioned. Their number is legion and their sym pathy is nothing to be sniffed at. If Chicago is actually to be deprived of one of its proudest boasts, if the hard work of thirty-seven years, the tradi tions of a splendid organization and the millions of dollars spent on a civic ideal are to fade suddently into the limbo of futility you may rest assured there will arise on these lake shores a mighty protest. One cannot but feel, however, in spite of the present dire outlook, that such a thing could really come to pass. Mr. Charles H. Hamill, president, and his fellow officers of the association are almost confidently hopeful, among themselves, that something will happen within the next few weeks to save the day. Some of them believe, and think of it with some apprehension, that eleventh hour rescue, in the form of a deficit subsidy proffered by one or a group of "angels," may be offered. Others of them feel the union leader will capitulate and execute a complete about face in his attitude towards the association. In any event these men must be admired for splendid courage in choosing and sticking to the only decision compatible with decent dignity and for their unquestioned loyalty to the public, the ideals of the orchestra and to the four score and ten veteran musicians, whose livelihoods have been jeopardized by an impossible situation. The decision to disband the orchestra was made only after the officers had reached a blank wall in their efforts to find a way out. From reports of the negotiations discerning observers could have guessed the underlying trouble. Others, less diligent or having less familiarity with the orchestra and its history are probably unaware of a state of affairs in the musical world of Chi cago which is at once ridiculous and tragic. It is said that a bit of indigestible beefsteak, or something equally in- finitestimal cost Napoleon the battle of Waterloo. It will be written that the ephemeral aspirations of one man, possessing too much power, threatened 22 TUECUICAGOAN to wreck the first Chicago symphony orchestra. The issue in the present wage dispute is in no way connected with the traditional conflict between capital and labor, except in the mind of this one man. The income of the Orchestral association is derived entirely from individual subscriptions and the revenue from ticket sales. After operating and overhead expenses have been paid, every cent of that income goes to the musicians. There is no profit. The present base wage for members of the orcchestra is $80 a week for the twenty-eight or -nine weeks of the regular season. By reason of their membership in the symphony many of the players receive handsome emolument outside the season for spe cial engagements or through teaching activities. Also, a considerable num ber of the orchestra members are annu ally engaged each summer for the Ravinia opera season. Some of them, of course, depend entirely upon their orchestra salaries for a living and, sad to relate, in view of the present situa tion, most of this latter group are the men of longest service in the orchestra. At the time the association was founded, December 17, 1890, the musicians assembled by the late Theo dore Thomas, the first director, were members of the Musicians' Federation. But, in the words of Joseph Zettelman, tympani player and one of the three original members of the orchestra still connected with the organization, "We were not consulted when our federa tion went into the Federation of Labor. We were just told we had been ad mitted and would have to keep our membership in order to play." And it now appears that in accepting this in voluntary membership each player in the orchestra — bearing in mind, if you please, that the organization is entirely civic, an artistic effort not conducted for profit — placed his destiny in the hands of James C. Petrillo, business agent of the union, whose musical career, he once said, "didn't last very long because I wasn't good enough to hold a job." In considering Petrillo one must re member that his record of honesty is unimpeachable. In his dealings with the buyers of musical talent for com mercial purposes, such as for orchestras in the legitimate and motion picture theatres, dance halls and the others, his methods of collective bargaining are strictly his own business. Mr. Petrillo's mistake, and it may mean for him the loss of a dictatorship most unique in the annals of labor management, is plainly in confusing the Orchestral association and the symphony itself with the commercial organizations mentioned. Out of a clear sky he presented a demand for a $20 increase in the base wage of the symphony and when it was refused with the explanation that the association was paying the musi cians every cent available and that no means of increasing the revenue of the orchestra were feasible, Mr. Petrillo made, for publication, the following amusing reply: "These men" (the association officers), "say they haven't got the money. They claim to have a lot of civic pride, and yet they won't go out and get the money to save the orches tra." Hardly a week before that, in a newspaper interview, he had been quoted as saying, "This is a matter of business. I am a business man. We have asked for a raise, and we are go ing to get it. Civic pride be damned." During one of the final, disastrous conferences, one of the association officers was reported to have paid Petrillo a jocular compliment by call ing him "The Mussolini of Chicago music," to which the union leader is said to have replied, "If I were in Mussolini's place, I'd do a much better job of it than he is doing." A few days after the disagreement and the decision to disband the orches tra, Petrillo, at a conference arranged by an envoy he later repudiated, offered to cut his wage demand in half for one year if the full demand were agreed to for the second year. When this was refused, the situation assumed its pres ent deadlocked status. Luckily, by the terms of its charter, the Orchestral association remains alive with an opportunity to venture into other fields of musical activity until a settlement can be effected. There is however, much sadness in the ranks, perhaps most pungently expressed in a long telegram from Frederick Stock, veteran and distinguished director of the orchestra, in which he expressed his loyalty and affection to the association, his public and his friends and com rades, the musicians. There are also bits of sunshine which are helping the association officers to weather the storm. One subscriber mailed in a check to Mr. Hamill, to which was attached a message. It read: "In spite of every thing I am renewing my subscription. By all means keep Stock as director and get up some sort of an orchestra. I'll come to hear it even if there are only three players, including Henry Vogeli crashing the cymbals and your self beating on the bass drum." — JOSEPH DUGAN. ? Martial To Date EPIGRAMMATA, X., XLVII: (Vitam quae faciunt) THE CONTENTED COMMUTER (A. D. 85) The things that put the kick in life, Old dear, I say to myself, Are plenty of jack without any strife, A bit of ancestral pelf, A bit of back yard, where a garden may grow, A snuggery within, A wife who's not too fast, too slow, And a cellar full of gin. You may strike all the lawyers from my list, And take the doctors, too; My mug at the polls may often be missed, But don't let my creditors sue. For the simple life is the life for mine, Without any fads or frills, An old side^kick now and then to dine, A wee drop for my ills. And when I hit the well known hay, Boy, how I will saw wood, And I'll laugh at a hearse till my dying day, As a good gazebo should. €J The most damning argument against the intelligence of women is the num ber of them who think their husbands are clever fellows. THE CHICAGOAN 23 JPORI/ REVIEW The Tennis Show COMPARATIVELY speaking, in terest in the punch trading melee which occurred last week in New York was no whit greater than the enthusi astic response of tennis fans hereabouts this week to the state championship matches now on at Skokie. Big Bill Tilden, apparently none the worse for his somewhat disastrous invasion of England earlier in the season, is here and that may account for the over flowing crowds at Glencoe. Tilden is always a good show. There are other names, too, of hardly less importance on the courts. Alfred H. Chapin, for one, will defend his state title in the tournament. Mrs. Charlotte Hosmer Chapin is here to defend her singles crown. To go on with the list of somebodies, there are tennis personages at Skokie represent ing just about the best talent available from coast to coast, with only a few notable exceptions. Wallace Johnson, of Philadelphia, whose famous chop stroke has been the undoing of many a younger, faster opponent; Junior Coen of Kansas City, recently here in the River Forest tournament; Wray Brown, Johnny Hennessy, Emmet Pare, all these and a host of others, many of them up and coming youngsters from our own Chicago -claycourts are busy smashing them across the nets. Per haps it is needless to mention that the gallery, as usual, is one of the major attractions of the show. Turf Racing ALTHOUGH it was feared the re- >• ported exodus of Chicagoans to New York last week to attend Mr. Rickard's fiesta might cause a slump in attendance at the sporting attrac tions offered in these environs, you wouldn't have noticed any sparsity of numbers had you attended regularly the Lincoln Fields race meeting. Turf experts agree that from just about every angle the summer's running at Crete has been as successful in interest and merit of talent shown as any meeting held in Illinois within the memory of the present generation of track addicts. Day after day the turn stiles at the grandstand have clicked a steady tune as the hundreds from the loop crowded in to play their favorites. It is rumored that the chance to place your bet right at the track and then see the ponies run has killed much of the barber shop and pool hall bookmaking which flourished before the days of legalized racing in the state. Shell Racing THERE was in the news of recent date an item to thrill the stout hearts of former college oarsmen whose homes are in Chicago or near by. It was no less an announcement than the long hoped for public recog nition by athletic directors of Chicago and Northwestern universities of crew racing and their prediction that the completion of the proposed racing channel between Roosevelt road and 5 2d street, would spur the authorities of both institutions to establishing the sport in Chicago. For many years former Eastern college oarsmen have found an opportunity to continue their favorite pastime at the Lincoln Park boat club and the achievements of that sterling organization are manifold, but they will readily agree that only intercollegiate racing can give the sport the prestige here that it deserves. Undoubtedly Director Stagg at Chicago and Mr. Wilson at North western have known for years the merits of rowing as a college sport and, no doubt, have regretted the lack of crews representing their schools. There were excellent reasons why the subject never reached the point of serious agitation. First of these was expense. College rowing costs as much or more than any other sport and its revenue to the athletic treasury is nil. Happily the item of expense may now be solved at most of the bigger institutions as a result of the phenomenal public patronage given football in recent years. Huge gate receipts taken in during the gridiron season have done more for all college sports than many realize. Both Chi cago and Northwestern universities are at present in fairly good position financially to incur the expense of supporting crews. It may be that in only a few years, we may see an annual Big Ten regatta rivalling the traditional contest of eastern crews at Poughkeepsie. Yachting EXIGENCIES of magazine publish ing prevent, at this point, a de tailed account of the fates of thirty- two white wings, trim sloops of the Chicago and Milwaukee Yacht clubs, which sailed merrily away from the river harbor last Saturday evening in the twentieth annual Mackinac race. There will be more concerning them anon. Baseball THE recent slide of our Cubs down the league and their immediate recovery to the top of the column should prove something or other. For one thing it proves that the gentleman named Joe McCarthy has a certain amount of adroitness in the business of managing a baseball club. For another, it would indicate the boys who call him boss can withstand a threatened slump and come back stronger than ever. You may as well order those world series tickets right now. — THE SPORTSMAN. 24 WE CHICAGOAN Hotel History A Century of Hospitality (Continued from page 10) silver dol lars in the shop's floor, brought many a customer from Dubuque and Benton Harbor into the shop to poke furtively at the eagles with stubby, gunmetal shoes. Charley, who also had a series of Turkish baths in operation in the basement, had the dollars well sealed down. Thither came William McKin- ley and Grover Cleveland to be shaved. Potter Palmer met all trains with Concord coaches. He entertained the young Rudyard Kipling when the author was compiling his American Notes. Thither came our western Warwick, Mark Hanna, great Boss of the Republican Party; Thomas Nast, whose pencil put down Tammany (for the moment) ; Sam Clemens, Garfield, Grant — a famous host. The other hotels met Palmer's ad vance with improvements in their serv ice. The new elevator, first cable drawn and later controlled as today, struck fear in Phil Sheridan's bold heart. The Stratford, on Michigan at Jackson, where today the Straus tower shouts to a financial sky, installed the annunciator to summon guests to the lobby. The bellhops detested it, as it did them out of many a dime. But the Stratford hit the peak in daring departures and brought down upon its head the wrath of many an honest rural visitor. The hotel changed its dinner hour from 12-2 P. M. to 6-8 P. M. and called the noon meal luncheon. The other hotels pooh- poohed the idea, and followed suit. The World's Fair brought a swarm of hotels, many of them still in busi ness today. More than 300, with an aggregate of 44,000 rooms, were erected, including the old Chicago Beach, the Lexington and the Grand Pacific. The Virginia was famous then, and the Brevoort. The Briggs House, at Washington and Wells, was the high class drummer's famous hos telry. In a history of early Chicago, an in spired author has this to say about the Sherman of his time: "This palatial mansion, ninety-six feet high, is the most pretentious, homelike, exquisite, perfect palace in existence. For the rudest country boor a stay at the Sher man for a few days, where he will come in contact with the great people of the world, will do wonders. A week's sojourn at the Sherman will do more for a person's general culture and polish than a grand tour of Europe!" The Listerine copy-writer of 1876. — DICK SMITH. ? A Dandy Idea Lets Name Ferris Wheels MANY times in polite parlor con versation the question has arisen: Why do not the cars of Ferris wheels have names? Some hold to the old theory first advanced by J. Hobart Millingcamp of What Cheer, Iowa, in 1879, often called the What Cheer Theory. Mill ingcamp said that Ferris wheels were nameless because their inventor, G. W. G. Ferris didn't want to name them. This seems to be one of the more con servative ideas. Another theory is: Ferris wheel cars, being, as they are, a cross be tween merry-go-round cars and swings, really ought not to have names. The reason given by the believers of this theory is that the cars were, well, sort of illegitimate. Now Pullman cars have names; many have very beautiful names, in deed. Some swings have names. Lots and lots of vehicles have names. So why can't Ferris wheel cars have their names, too? Steamships' names end in -ic and -ia and other syllables. You can always tell a steamship by the last syllable of its name. Why wouldn't it be nice if Ferris wheel cars' names were ended with -da? There could be the "Clar- inda," the "La Veda," the "Esmer alda," the "Da-da," etc. Say, why wouldn't it be a dandy idea to have all the names of Ferris wheel cars end with etc.? I'll bet I can think of ten, any way, swell names right now; before you can say John Dill Robertson. 1. John Dill Robertson, etc. 2. John Paul Jones, etc. 3. Battle-of -Mon mouth, etc. 4. Fall-of-Fort-Sumter, etc. 5. James G. Blaine-at-home, etc. 6. 'Od's-boodles, etc. 7. Mary Anne McCoski, etc. 8. Till-Eulen- spiegel, etc. 9. Don John of Austria, etc. 10. Secret Service, etc. There could be lots of other names, too. But then, aren't there lots more Ferris wheel cars? Anyway, something ought to be done about giving Ferris wheel cars names. Perhaps if we had a "Give - a - Ferris - wheel - car - a - name-a- day-Week" we could get something accomplished. — DON CLYDE. ? Neighborly Item Anent Aware Evanston SEVERAL students at Northwest ern University have managed to pass examinations to become police men. It's like this: Evanston's burglars and safe-blowers are, as is everything in that city, eru dite. No law-breaker without educa tion would have a chance at gaining his end. The householders would sim ply refuse to be held up by the com mon type of burglar who pays taxes in Chicago, and any hold-up unable to answer Carl Sandburg's ten-questions- for-highbrows would be turned over to the Chicago police without comment. The Evanston police force recently came down with the hunch that, to cope with the learned burglars around its streets, policemen of equal intellect were required. Accordingly, the cam pus was solicited and with not a great deal of anguish the students who re sponded managed to qualify. The re sult is that Evanston burglars now can find policemen on the same mental wave length, which is certainly a swell and hospitable idea. How unlike this is Chicago's police policy! As we zoom through Chicago streets, and are hailed to the curb, we find our selves utterly baffled in trying to strike up a pleasurable conversation with the big boy in blue. The Chicago police man's vocabulary is atrocious. If the officers insist that we chat with them, we should insist that they choose sub jects of certain common interest. We plead for mutual topics of interest and THE CHICAGOAN 25 a discontinuance of inane, unanswer able questions. Policemen should be advised that the general public is totally uninspired forninst a conversation that begins with "wherezzzthefire?" and ends with "wattayoutinkwattayoutink?" There are, academically, no satisfactory an swers to these questions. Being hauled to the curb would not be lacking in interest if the gentleman with the hickory duster would speak: "Just a minute, sir — I'll make it a hy pothetical question and put it to you as one Sigma Nu to another. Granted that the speed laws of a modern me tropolis are thirty miles to the gallon, of the real stuff, and that a Whippet can get away faster than a Cicero gun man, what would be the relation of a man driving a Packard at forty-two be tween Adams and Monroe to a hun dred collar cash bond, or what have you? Here is something stimulating. A rubber-heeled pedagogue has asked us a question, a rather extraordinary one, but one that churns the gray matter and sets on the curb to figure it out on the policeman's celluloid cuff. Unanswerable? Perhaps. But it would take an hour to discover the fact, whereas when the policeman, as he really is, asks us, "What's the hurry?" we know instantaneously that it is inane and irrelevant. Or, seeking to sincerely find an answer, we waste our voice on the Lakefront air by re plying tritely enough: "Hurry enough, to be sure. Nero would have never singed his whiskers had he hurried through his violin rendition. Hurry is a word opposed to lethargy, my dear man. I am not swearing at you. Leth argy is the adjective invented to de scribe the Chicago subway status as early as 1900." Even though we could get through all that before the ambulance arrived, we would feel silly and useless, and vow to throw away our car and call a Yellow. Summing up, the only relief is for the cops to be supplanted by college professors. Either that, or to put the cops through a course of afternoon bridge playing with the ladies, where polite conversation is catching. LEIGH METCALFE. ? •J A liberal has been defined as a man who doesn't know exactly what he does want. A conservative, then, is a man who doesn't want him to have it- Examinations for Audiences In Behalf of the Recondite Few fOOKING back over any season — Lw drawing the line of demarcation at a given point for the purposes — the theatre-goer comes to the conclusion that it wasn't the shows that were so bad; it was the audiences. Audiences that found a double meaning where there wasn't even a single one. Audi ences that ate candy and rattled its programs. Audiences that missed the point of the play. Of course every theatre-goer remem bers the time at the Follies when he was trying to determine whether the girl with the boyish bob was Theodora Templeton or Ethelynne Riviera and the woman in the row behind talked endlessly about the technique of the Greek drama. Then there was the girl who began to grow restless before the end of the first act of "What Every Woman Knows." "Say, this is a rotten show, ain't it?" she was heard to exclaim. "My boy friend told me it was real deep, but, my God! what do I care about Scotch history!" Movie audiences are no better. A young woman complained bitterly to a local manager recently. "I was settin' in the theatre fixing to enjoy myself fine," she said, "when two birds next to me started in to pan the show. 'There's no use talkin,' one of them winds up, 'it ain't art!' Well now what do some folks want. The show was Gloria Swanson in a two million dollar production and she wore at least fifty different costumes and the mountains in the background was built especially for this one picture. Can't you keep out the crabs that don't know a good thing when they see it?" Other familiar neighbors in our the atres are the man who reads the sub titles aloud, the one who has seen the show before and tells what is going to happen next, and the jewel who dis covers the "message" of the drama. Without doubt more plays have been spoiled by audiences than by authors. This deplorable situation has not until recently received the serious con sideration which it deserves. We be lieve, however, that we have found a simple and effective remedy which lovers of the theatre will warmly en dorse. Our solution is simple: Entrance examinations. In addition to the unification of audiences, examina tions should accomplish a secondary desideratum in reducing the size of them, thus lessening the total number of plays and play houses necessary and thereby materially diminishing the annual cost of production. A few sample sets of questions fol low: I. The Motion Pictures Name all the former husbands of the heroine and their present wives. What is Will Hays' salary? ¦ Identify by the sense of smell twenty brands of chewing gum. II. The Follies Who has the more beautiful wrists, Marilyn Miller or the Venus de Milo? Where is the stage door? How many yards of silk were used to make the back drop in the third scene and what was the cost of each. III. The Drama When will you finish writing the great American novel? What have you in common with W. Shakespeare? Compare and contrast Marlowe's "Dr. Faustus" with "Gay Paree." IV. The Opera Name all the boxholders and tell who were their guests the first night. List the five most courteous head waiters from Miami to Lake Louise. Explain the fundamental differ ences between Paquin and Lanvin; Brooks Brothers and Society Brand. — e. V. park. 1. 2. 3. 1. 2. 3. 26 TWE CHICAGOAN At the Erlanger, misses-size Ann Pennington flaunts a conviction that while the human limb may be useful in reaching the ground, it is a deal more ornamental when reaching in other directions. Miss Pennington is only one of George White's Scandals. THE CHICAGOAN 27 7#e ST A G E The Exercises at the Erl anger Pittsburgh Plus I HAD just started to pour a few straights, when the phone rang. It was Bella, one of the regulars, saying she was coming over and bringing Mrs. Rollo Ritzy, one of Pittsburgh's four hundred. They arrived. As I expected, Bella took me aside and whispered in my ear, "Mrs. Ritzy rarely drinks, you'd better serve a mild cocktail." She looked very regal, that is Mrs. Ritzy, sitting in my high-back Spanish chair. A stunning creature with her jet black hair and raven eyes. When she spoke, it was the voice of a Ma donna. I brought in the light cocktails. Mrs. Ritzy accepted her glass, saying she thought just one might help her head ache. Perhaps it did. I made up the next round of drinks. Bella piped up with, "Please don't give Mrs. Ritzy another drink, I'll drink hers." The Pittsburgh lady lifted a glass deftly off of the tray. "Bella, my dear, I think one more of these lovely drinks won't harm me," she said. Third round. Charley suggested "bottoms up." We all played that game a while. That ninth round was dynamite. I mixed it. Bella moved to the lady's side. "Don't drink it, dearie; you'll hit the ceiling if you do," she whis pered. But the lady, with poise and precision, smiled and said, "I'll just sip this one." "May I have another, and shall we play 'bottoms up?' Mrs. Ritzy beamed. I acquiesced and handed over an other glass. Bella wailed, "She can't have another, she's half cuckoo now." Mrs. Ritzy (still regal) came to my side and put her arm around my neck, issued a royal command informally, "Bring me a straight gin," she said, "and get the women and children off this boat. It's listing." — e. la pierre. WHENEVER there comes an announcement that no seats are to be had for an entertainment cur rent in one of the theatres, then every body in town and everybody out- of-town, as \yell as residents of the suburbs, en masse, must procure seats for that particular entertainment — or perish in the attempt. This phe nomenon, so pleasant to those wolf- eyed gentlemen who control the amuse ment traffic in America, occurred a couple of months ago when Gay Paree burst upon the drab purlieus of the Loop. Gay Paree was — and is — the brightest of the Shubert shows, and for a time certificates of admission to it were as difficult to secure as epi grams from Mr. Coolidge. Now, the same phenomenon has happened again, and this time at Colonel Erlanger's spielhaus, where George White's Scan' dais has put up its banners and its prices. Everyone in the telephone book is apparently trying desperately to get a glimpse of the Scandals (at something over six dollars a glimpse) and it must be that they all want to go the same evening, and that they all want to sit not farther back than the fourth row. Several cases of nervous- breakdown among the ticket brokers have been reported. But there are reasons aplenty for this eagerness on the part of the citi zenry to view Mr. White's Scandals. It is the most opulent revue of the eight that Mr. White has sponsored since first he took his bow as an en' trepreneur: a vast, glittering spectacle, replete with whistleable tunes, and ably performed by a platoon of hoof- and-mouth specialists, supplemented by a brigade of young women, none of whom are deformed, and all of whom appear to be very light on their feet, as the saying is. This revue has about it always a pleasant, familiar quality of Old Home Week. The same favorites re-appear, year after year, and most of them improve with the passing seasons. The current version, however, offers as new headliners Harry Richman, that glib young man of the Gotham night clubs, disciple of the Al Jolson school of song, and Willie and Eugene How ard. Willie is, as always, a superb clown — one of the three Class A dia lect comedians in America; and noth ing seems to have happened to Brother Eugene's silver cornet tenor. Then there are Miss Ann Pennington and her rouged knees, capering hither, not to say thither, as of yore; Tom Patri cola with his banjo and his boisterous dancing; the Sisters McCarthy, look ing very much like something out of a Paris revue, but singing and stepping with more talent than I ever witnessed in a Paris revue; Miss Frances Wil liams, the perfect platinum blonde chanteuse; that amazing lad, Buster West (who halts the proceedings every evening) and a goodly array of second stringers. In the matter of settings, costumes and lighting effects, Mr. White's pro duction surpasses even the most pre tentious of Mr. Ziegfeld's Follies. The costumes and settings represent the epi cene art of M. Erte of Paris, who is responsible for the fantastic covers on Harpers Bazar. A reticent young fel low, Mr. White. It is announced dur ing the performance that" the dance called the Black Bottom was invented by him. Which is a droll assertion, since I saw it danced by colored enter tainers in the Paradise night-club in Atlantic City two years before this Scandals went in rehearsal. But no matter. Mr. White has, on view at the Erlanger a sprightly show, and modestly no mention is made in its ad vertising to the fact that it is a musi cal revue, glorifying the American brassiere. G. M. 2$ THE CHICAGOAN Legendary Leginska Chicago's Adopted Cinderella IT all happened on a little by-street in Hull, England! Mrs. Liggins was giving eighteen- months-old Ethel her morning bath. Downstairs, Auntie who had dropped in for a visit, was whiling away the time at a quaint old piano, picking out with one finger the melody of "God Save the King." Suddenly, above the splash of water in her little tub, Ethel heard sounds — new — strange — delightful sounds she had never heard before. Oddly thrilled and excited, she began to kick — to reach toward that elusive something — to in dicate in her baby way that she was no longer interested in soap and water. Dismayed at first, Mrs. Liggins soon realized that it was the halting music, heard for the first time, that was mak ing such an impression upon her baby. So, with a mother's intuitive under standing, Mrs. Liggins carried Ethel- — still glistening with drops of water — ¦ down to the parlor and the quaint old piano. Eager little fingers touched the ivory keys — clung to them — moved experi mentally yet firmly toward other ivory keys. This was enchanting! This was infinitely superior to the heretofore supreme pleasure of bathing! And that was the beginning of Ethel Leginska's phenomenal career as a con cert pianist and conductor. Ethel Leginska — now the permanent conduc tor of the Chicago Woman's Sym phony. Although Mrs. Liggins was not musical, she studied enough music to be able to tutor Ethel until, at the age of three, the child was ready for the professional tutorship of a music teacher. Playing and practicing day in and day out, the years flew quickly and joyously for Ethel save for six dismal months of compulsory attend ance at school. Then one day, when Ethel was about nine years old, a beautiful carriage, quite as sumptuous as that which called for Cinderella, drew up in the little by street of Hull. The carriage bore the crest and coat-of-arms of the Arthur Wilsons of Tranby Croft. The Arthur Wilsons, some of you may remember, whose daughter Muriel was such a famous English beauty and favorite of King Edward. Ethel, arrayed in her Sunday best, was carried off in the "royal coach" to the "royal castle" — Tranby Croft. "I shall never forget my first im pression of that gorgeous place," Ethel Leginska told me with something of that first awe in her voice. "There was that enormous hall with its grand and imposing staircase, and the stained glass window behind it. And then — while I was still trying to comprehend all this magnificence, Muriel Wilson (who soon after became my godmother) came down the staircase. Her beauty transcended all else around her. Im pressed out of all shyness, I went toward her and in my Yorkshire dialect exclaimed: 'Aye, but ye air bootiful!1 Muriel was so delighted with me that she picked me up in her arms and kissed me." The Wilsons were so impressed with little Ethel and her amazing talent, that she became their protegee. And Lady Maude Warrend, a friend of the Wilsons and a great influence in Eng land, also became interested in the child pianist and suggested that for the good of her career she change her name from Liggins to Leginska. Ethel was ten years old when she made her debut as a concert pianist at Queens Hall, London. Incredible, you say? Not when you consider both the genius and the unremitting labors of this little English girl. And on the heels of her London debut followed four and a half years of study in Frank furt, Germany. Now if you haven't believed this a story of a modern Cinderella, you can not help but be convinced when you learn that the famous Leschetizky — Paderewski's master — became so inter ested in Ethel Leginska that he offered to teach her all he knew. So, until Ethel was sixteen at which time she began touring Europe, she resided in Vienna, Austria, under the tutelage of this master musician. It was just about three years ago that Ethel Leginska began to take an active interest in conducting. And it was Princess Marie Louise, aunt of England's King George, who gave Ethel her London debut as a conductor. Since that momentous occasion, she has been the guest conductor of the greatest symphony orchestras of the world — the Berlin Philharmonic, the Paris Conser- vatorie, the London Symphony. From a lowly by-street of Hull to the courts of kings! Such has been the amazing success of this modern Cinderella. And what sort of woman is this who has brought the musical world to her feet? Has her contact with the pomp and ceremony of high places made her an alien to the hum bler things of everyday life? The answer is, Ethel Leginska is as whole some and unspoiled as if she had but just emerged from the by-street in Hull. Therein lies her charm which is aug mented only by the poise, the quiet wisdom, the self-possession of one who has "seen the world." Emotional? Temperamental? Le ginska's highly emotional conducting, invariably commented upon by her critics, is as natural an outpouring of feeling as the song of the lark. And her so-called flares of temperament which have caused audiences to wait. in vain for her appearance, have been the results of snapped nerves and drained vitality. Ethel Leginska is scarcely more than a girl. Just a slip of a thing she is, with a luxurious mop of dusky bobbed hair, blue-gray eyes and a face that is at one moment that of a happy, de lighted child, the next that of a grave, thoughtful woman. For back of all the glamor of her life there have been times of anguish that only a wife and a mother can know. She is animated, but it is the animation of voice, eyes and facial expression. Her enthusiasms are as genuine as those of a child. The birds and flowers and woods that &ur' round her summer home are just '"too sweet" for further eulogy. It is almost a religion with Ethel Leginska to be nothing that she is not. She hates affectation, snobbery, and all THE CHICAGOAN 29 7#e CINEMA Old Wine in New Bottles the other "vices" people assume to hide their real selves. Although she has a slight English accent, she is strongly opposed to the affected English dialect. "It sounds so stupid, don't you know?" she laughed as she mimicked the real Cockney accent. "I want to talk as the people around me talk," she went on, "and I don't want any one to get the impression that I am trying to put on airs of any sort." Not long ago she held a contest for children studying music. A little twelve-year-old girl won the contest. And the prize? This little girl is now Miss Leginska's protege, and is being trained much as Ethel herself was trained under Leschetizky. Feminine to a degree, Ethel Leginska interprets and judges everything through the mind of a musician. We were walking up Wabash avenue. Passing one of those peroxide blonds, painted up like a circus clown, Miss Leginska exclaimed: "Why do all the girls paint up like that? I think it's awful! Somehow I just couldn't do it. There's something about it — " she fal tered, trying to express just what she felt, "well — being a musician I couldn't paint anymore than I could get drunk if I were a minister. To me there's something sacriligiotis about it — some thing that wouldn't ring true to that which lies here," putting her hand against her heart. These are not the scruples of a relig ious person. For Miss Leginska is re ligious only in an abstract sense. Out side of being taught her morning and evening prayers, her independence of thought, especially with regard to re ligion, was in no way influenced by her parents. "And yet it's strange," confided Miss Leginska, "that although I have read everything the atheists and agnos tics have to say, I couldn't — simply couldn't go to sleep at night until I had said my prayers." All that is best and most beauti ful in life is interpreted by her in terms of melody. And, according to her, to be a great musician, to under stand the works of other great musi cians and interpret for her audiences their moods and experiences, one must live right. Not always, perhaps, ac cording to the "right" of one's neigh bor, but always according to the "right" of one's own conscience. — EDNA ASMUS. THE formidable bunk industriously circulated by the Americans who buy German pictures for exhibition on this continent — a propaganda no less prodigious in its element than the genu ine German product of which so much was written a few years back — brings a picture like Metropolis into high prominence. It comes into such a the atre as the Roosevelt under sublime circumstances. The management lays in a supply of overstuffed drumsticks, the music supply houses are ransacked for a cymbal capable of splintering win dows a block away, the ad writers lure the natives with ten-ton superlatives and the newspaper critics co-operate to complete the illusion. It is, as stated, a prodigious propaganda. Upon examination, Metropolis turns out to be one of those things. Fritz Lang, a director lacking nothing save an idea, has accomplished some remark able photographic effects. His imagina tion is a wondrous, inspiring thing so long as it busies itself with the me chanics of production. Applied to an idea, as no doubt it will be when Holly wood invites him over, it should func tion to the thorough satisfaction of picture audiences. Lacking an idea, and confronted with the job of manu facturing Metropolis, Mr. Lang dis played a characteristic comprehension. Borrowing the Frankenstein fable for his left hand and the supposedly extinct Capital-Labor formula for his right, he dated them forward several centuries and there they are. Boom-boom-boom go the drums. Clang-clang-clang go the cymbals. Mechanical salesmanship for a mechan ical device. Tinkle-tinkle-tinkle go the dollars. * Meanwhile a picture foolishly titled The World at Her Feet goes incon spicuously into the conspicuous Ori ental, wastes the able and delectable Florence Vidor upon the jazz addicts for seven days and moves thence into the neighborhoods. Newspaper critics mention it pleasantly but briefly. The ad writer hasn't much space for it after he has sufficiently placarded the hot news that Paul Ash still is among those present. It is a splendid picture. This entertainment, a mere story built upon a mere idea, does not require drums and cymbals. It requires noth ing at all save projection apparatus and a white expanse. It is exactly the pic ture to exhibit at your home for the entertainment of your guests, although you will do well to omit the title plate and offer it simply as a Vidor vehicle. The story is too good to be told save by the projector. * Other pictures introduced at the best theatres, for various reasons, are: Ten Modern Commandments, a like able little chorus girl yarn spun around likeable little Esther Ralston, Lost at the Front, a trench comedy that is only vulgar, Running Wild, in which W. C. Fields is funny in spite of the author, Dearie, a series of scenaric reminis cences sustained in spots by the person able Irene Rich, Roo\ies, a training camp burlesque that is funny in spite of occasional dips below decency, and The Callahans and the Murphys, a plain bust. * The whole of which does not constitute an extensive array of enter tainment, a circumstance of which theatre-owners prove themselves aware by featuring advertising to the effect that Ted Lewis, Bennie Krueger, Paul Ash and Waring's Pennsylvanians may be seen and heard in the principal the atres in a given week. I suspect the sheet-music dealers. — W. R. WEAVER. 30 THE CHICAGOAN MU/ICAL NOTE/ Labor vs. Capital on the Drum AS this is written, the attention of the metropolis is directed toward a rather serious musico-economic issue; to wit, shall the Chicago Symphony Orchestra cease to exist or shall it not? So far one Signor Petrillo, representa tive of the musician's unions, has de clared in no uncertain terms that un less the Orchestral Association makes substantial financial concession there will be no orchestra for the season of 1927-28. And the Messrs. Hamill and Oakley, veteran representatives of the Association, no less certainly refuse to meet the demands of the unions. At the moment, therefore, we see the old feud between capital and labor, made more pitiable in this instance because so far the most important corpse on the battlefield is a grand old Chicago institution — the Symphony. There are even now faint signs that it may return to life. A barrister, by name Fine, has stepped into the fray in the capacity of mediator. His ex treme optimism in regard to the entire situation arouses our doubts. At the same time, he may turn the trick. Several psychological aspects of the entire struggle may have escaped your attention. They impinged upon us rather gradually after considerable con versation with members of: the orches tra, musicians-about-town, and divers old friends of the Orchestral Associa tion. A man like Mr. Oakley must be, by this, in no conciliatory frame of mind toward the musicians' union. At least twice before in the history of the orchestra during the past five years, organized labor has made a definite threat against the continuance of its existence. Each time Mr. Oakley et al have grimly resisted and as grimly yielded. By now he in particular must be pretty mad. Mr. Oakley does not have to devote his leisure to the future felicity of the orchestra. He has a handsome villa in Florence, and, I have no doubt, plenty of important business interests unrelated to musical affairs. Therefore, it must irk him considerably to spend these pleasant summer days in a dusty room haggling with a group of union savants whom he has no desire to know and who seem bent on making his life miserable. We catch, in short, from the tone of the Association lead ers, a note of impatience and defiance that is due in part to the events of the last few years and in part to down right social differences between the an tagonists. Although we have no desire to take sides in the controversy, there are three more possible factors that militate against the representatives of labor. We have on fairly reliable authority that the men who run the movies in Chicago, having been squeezed with precision and dexterity in the region of the wallet by the musicians' union, are about set to dump their large orches tras overboard. And this would be a blow from which the union could scarcely recover. We regard, secondly, the threat of union representatives to organize a new orchestra, guaranteeing a minimum of $125 a week to mem bers, as unqualified bunk. A good 90 per cent of the subscribers at Orches tra Hall would promptly give such a project the cold shoulder. In addition, Mr. Petrillo would have a tough time finding a place for his band to play. And, lastly, Mr. Petrillo and his side kicks must reckon with the cultured many who are just becoming dimly aware that, somehow or other, their beloved orchestra is in grave danger. DAPA LISZT had his paw in every * country in Europe. Observing, as he no doubt did, the almost unrelieved montony of ItaHan operatic music in the nineteenth century he made haste, through the agency of Sgambati and Martini, to inoculate the boot of Europe with symphonic bacteria. The result, directly traceable, is the new and significant group of symphonists, including Pizzetti, Rhesphigi, Casella and Malipiero. There were some, how ever, who could not abandon composi tion for operatic stage so lightly. And while they went to school in Mittel- Europa they took what learning they got back into the Italian theatre. And the most significant product of this curious compromise is Italo Monte- mezzi's "L'Amore dei Tre Re." This opera, an exceedingly popular one in the Ravinia repertoire, was given its first hearing of the season Tuesday night, July twelfth. With Papi drawing all of the bounty from its passionately vibrating score, with Johnson and Bori a ravishing synthesis of personal beauty and dignity and fine singing, with Lazzari, at home in the role of the blind old king, and Danise, a familiar and capable Man- fredo, the performance left almost nothing to be wished for. The second act of "L'Amore" rises to a dramatic and musical climax that invariably puts to the test the finest ensemble. Com bined of the ecstacies of love and death, written with a tragic intensity, it requires only one trivial slip to plunge it into pathos. But slips were were none. We commend it to your instant attention if it is (and it will be) repeated later in the summer. BETTER late than not at all the Scandals are in our midst. And with proper apologies to Mr. Markey for the intrusion, we point with pride to Ray Henderson, comparatively an unknown, who has leaped to his place in the sun with "Lucky," "The Birth of the Blues," "The Black Bottom" and "The Girl Is You and the Boy Is Me." These are all neat, zestful tunes, compactly harmonized and succeeding, in one instance, in creating a new dance meter for La Pennington. The first half of Mr. White's revue con cludes with a spirited debate between Mr. Richman and the Howards, the latter unconvincingly disguised as high brow composers, on the relative merits of "classic" music (a cutie comes out while they bleat "Traumerei" or some such truck) and jazz (the plump Mc Carthy gal in the St. Louis Blues). Mr. Richman finally plays his ace, Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue, while pink angels ride up and down on ele vators. The competition is too keen for the Bros. Howard — still represent ing the "classics" — and Gershwin and Richman win in a walk. This proves something. — ROBERT POLLAK. THE CHICAGOAN 31 Book/- Novels of Early Fall FROM the publisher's point of view summer is over — the Fall novels are here. Undoubtedly the most discussed of the American novels will be Louis Bromfield's "A Good Woman" (Stokes) . It is Mr. Bromfield's fourth novel, and with its predecessors, "The Green Bay Tree," "Possession," and "Early Autumn' — which the author groups under the general tide of "Escape" — it shows the rise of indus trial America, its bearing down upon the individual, and the ensuing struggle of the individual, especially woman, to stand up under or get away from, the pressure of the machine. The award, recently announced, of the Pulitzer Prize to Mr. Bromfield for the best novel "depicting the finest aspects of American life" — or whatever the exact phrasing of the conditions is — brought renewed attention to a novel ist who has been consistently successful with the public ever since the publica tion of his first work. Some of that attention, however, will be hostile when "A Good Woman" is given its first glance, for on the jacket, in quotation marks which indicate that it comes from the author, is this dedication: "To all the 'Good Women' of America which has more than its share of them." The story takes a good woman, Emma Downes of Mr. Bromfield's com posite "mill town" and shows how her goodness is merely an evasion of the facts of life. She moulds her son as she wills — making of him not only a mis sionary to "darkest Africa" but the husband of another, and at that a hus band in name only, as she explains to Philip that Naomi cannot have a child IT'S THE YOUNGER CROWD THAT SETS THE STANDARD! O to the younger crowd if you want the right word on what to wear or drive or smoke. And notice, please, that the particular cigarette they call their own today is one that you've known very well for a very long time. FAT A What a whale of a difference just a few cents make! while she is living in the jungle, and that any attempt to defeat the laws of nature is immoral. When Philip does rebel against a situation which he soon grows too big to fill, and comes home, his mother still tries to hold him in filial subjection — and precipitates tragedy. To call the book the story of a feminine Bab bitt would be unfair to Mr. Bromfield, but as a sort of rough indication of what it is, in part, the phrase will serve. CURIOUSLY enough the publica tion of this book follows by a month or so the posthumous publica tion of another novel, this time laid principally in Africa, and again deal ing with women and their respectabil ity: Olive Schreiner's "From Man to Man" (Harper) edited by her husband, who gives an account of the years of work and revision spent on the manu script. Possibly only the older genera tion of the Chicagoan's readers will remember "The Story of an African Farm"- — except by hearsay — the book which made Olive Schreiner one of the world-novelists of her day. "From Man to Man" is just as intense a book as that, making the most of its African background and posing against that background the figures of two sisters, both victimized by men, one of them saving herself through her intellect — but sacrificing her emotional nature — the other succumbing. The young American writer who 32 The Resort of Fashion and the Epicure 18 W.Walton Place Opera Club Building For Reservations Phone Delaware 2592 Luncheon Dinner cannot sell his "stuff" and who has to live in a garret — who has not even money enough to get to Paris where he thinks he could live on nothing — may be recommended to read "The Mob" by Vicente Blasco Ibanez (Dut- ton) in which the tale is told of a young Spanish writer who manages to emerge from a depth of poverty, dirt and depravity, which outdistances any thing that we can show. Ibanez has not been so popular with the highbrows since his rather sudden coming into popular fame — with "The Four Horse men of the Apocalypse" — and he can write cheaply and theatrically. But in this work he is in what may be called a realistic mood. Dmitri Merezhkovsky was for long known only to the few, among Amer ican readers, who had discovered his great novel, "The Romance of Leo nardo da Vinci," which was really a life of da Vinci. For a long time it was out of print, then it was reprinted and we were given another, "The Birth of the Gods." Now, while Tutankhamon is still lingering in the public memory, comes a sequel to "The Birth of the Gods" called "Akhnaton: King of Egypt," an almost epic treatment of the attack made by Tutankhamon on his father in law, with Dio's passion for Akhnaton, and lots of fascinating Egyptian background. —SUSAN WILBUR. Detour I IME was when a bus ride was a bus ride. Lately, owing to road repair work with its incongruous invasion of the Gold Coast by gangs of honest working men, the dime jiggle has be come a sight-seeing tour. In particular the busses numbered 53 lurch through highways and by ways never before advertised as adja cent to transportation. Late and testy citizens are thus presented with an in voluntary view of the charms of their city, among the charms in theory being several dozen odd inhabitants of the Bohemian quarter, rare specimens, and seldom seen by daylight. Up one street, down another, through alleys, to the lake, away from the lake, into the park, and out of it, and around it — one recalls the puzzles of childhood. And finally, in due and overdue time, you arrive somewhere. Well, we propose a slogan: Ride a bus and — damn you — see Chicago. BURTON BROWNE. TWECI4ICAGOAN Where Fine Cigars Are Smoked Tom Palmer Predominates Wengler & Mandell, Inc. Chicago - Tampa SPONSORED B FROM England come Ben Wade pipes . . . different from all others. From the first day on they are sweet, mellow, "broken- in." Breaking-in an ordinary pipe means smoking out the varnish, the stain, the metallic coating inside the bowl. The Ben Wade inside bowl is unstained . . . the briar itself is pumiced and polished by the Ben Y HARGRAFT Wade patented process. The pores of the wood are opened and kept open for per fect absorption! Precious moments of per fect pipe smoking are slipping by . .* . don't wait longer. Ask your best tobacconist for Ben Wade pipes. If he can't respond to your demand write for the catalog of all shapes in actual sizes. This sign identifies all MBSE 5 Har graft dealers You are cordially invited to visit the STEGER Store and inspect the New Orthophonic Victrola in Electrola and Radiola Combinations exclusively — and the automatic Orthophonic Victrola, the phonograph that changes its own records. Terms to suit your convenience ===== STEGER & SONS Piano Manufacturing Company Founded by John V. Steger, 1879 STEGER Building Northwest Corner Wabash and Jackson You zvill enjoy hearing the latest VICTOR RECORDS Telephone— HARRISON 1656