August 13, 1927 Price 15 Cents SPONSORED BY HARGRAFT ^ 'd£4l Wude PIPES WRIGLEY BUILDING CH 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 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 Har graft dealers The Chicagoan — Martin J. Quigley, Publisher and Editor; published fortnightly by The Chicagoan Publishing Co., 407 South Dearborn St., Chicago, 111. New York Office: 565 Fifth Ave. Los Angeles Office: 5617 Hollywood Blvd. Subscription $3.00 annually, single copies 15c. Vol. HI, N#, H August 13, 1927. Entered as second-class matter at the Post Office at Chicago, 111., under the Act of March 3, 1879. 1 LOVER'S STAFF A Novel by Sibell Vansittart A Novel of Merit for the Aware A A A No . . . dear reader . . . not the usual hotch'potch a'k'Freud ... no con' founding psychopathological terminology . . .no high pressure morbidity here . . just a fine enjoyable story . . . well seasoned with dramatic instances . . . flavored with sufficient villainy . . .the story of Nancy Browning's love . . . And if you are weary of dingy realism . . . and that sort of thing . . . you will find relaxation in this story of an English girl. . . . You will find the people around this charming creature quite alive . . . from her stuffy old grandfather to the young secretary of the golf club . . . who fell hopelessly in love with her . . . and you will like Mary Grant . . . Nancy's golf -playing friend and sturdy ally . . . and Major Standish too . . . who brings about the happy ending of the tale . . . A charming story really ... it will stimulate you . . . and delight you. AAA Why not avail yourself of the opportunity to secure a copy of the first edition of the LOVER'S STAFF? The aware CHICAGOAN will insure your having a copy, by return mail (postage paid in Chicago). The coupon below, clipped and mailed in will do the work. The Chicagoan 407 S. Dearborn St. Chicago, 111. Please send me at once cop THE LOVER'S STAFF by Vansittart for which I enclose $2.00. This is to be sent to me postage paid in Chicago. Name. Address. City. .State. % 2 TUECUICAGOAN OCCASIONS LINDBERGH— Colonel Charles A., of the Minnesota Lindberghs, recently of Paris. Landing in full view and hearing of the populace on Chicago's island air port just off Grant Park, if ready. Saturday, Au' gust 13. Complete with original Paris cast. RODEO — (Pronounced rodeo). Third annual exhibit during which western fel' lows will endeavor to board the broncs while in motion. Soldier's Field. August 20>28. DEDICATION— Public thanksgiving mark ing official completion of the Buckingham fountain in Grant Park, August 26. SPECTACLE— Knights of Pythias, A. A. S. A. E. A. A. and A. — Uniform Rank. Supreme lodge (colored). Clinton and Washington streets. August l4'20. SOCIAL — Delegates to George L. Rickard's boxing conclave will gather at Soldier's Field for demonstrations by John Dempsey and Eugene Tunney. Advance notice is given so that prospective delegates may have ample time to secure their credentials by September 22. THE STAGE* Songs and Dance GAY 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 wisecracking 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. Mitzi the whole show and a bright, tuneful evening. 8:1?. Mat. Sat. Moving, August 14, to Great Northern. 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 Wih Hams, 75 nymphs. 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. Seventh st., Harrison 6609. Tent show life with Richard Bennett in the leading part. A wholesome piece of drama with the end' ing reasonably happy after a repentant father advises — and pretty successfully — a son who dotes on being a fancy young man. Okeh. 8:25. Mat. Wed., Sat. Nothing Sun. CRIME— Adelphi, 11 N. Clark, Randolph 4466 — A play, by Samuel Shipman, con' cerning the industry named in the title. It is reviewed by Mr. Markey on page 27 of this issue. Curtain 8:30. Mat. Wed., Sat. rHE SPIDER— Olympic, 74 W. Madison, Central 8240 — Something New York thinks well of, if attendance indicates approval, mentioned on page 27 of this issue. Opens August 14. Mat. Wed., Sat. *TheatricaI 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, IHC, 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. UNITED, 89 W. Randolph. Randolph 0262. TYSON. 72 W. Randolph. Randolph 0021. *A (legal) service charge of $.50 per ticket may be made by agencies. CINEMA Downtown CHICAGO— State at Lake— Bec\y, im personated by bewildering Billie Dove with Lloyd Hughes opposite, August 15- 21; then The Stolen Bride, none other than Sally O'Neil, with Owen Moore the competent culprit. There will be stage items of varied tenor before and after the unreelings, which are continuous from 11:00 A. M. until some twelve hours later. ROOSEVELT— 10 N. State— Camille, of which more news on pages 28 and 29 of this issue, with Norma Talmadge doing her best as befits an actress making "her picture for posterity." Good music but no stage interruptions with the continu- ous showings at this theatre. August 15 until finished. McVICKERS— 25 W. Madison— The Way of All Flesh, first American made vehicle U0N\E LIFE OP D&DDY BIGGS BY MASTER BISSS v F I MR. BIGGS SUCCUMBS GAILY TO THE ROLL-YOUR-OWN-MOVIES ADS TME CHICAGOAN 3 *0u*i*0*iii*&*mii**mfimmb^ IN AND ABOUT THE CITY fer the sturdy and sometimes turbulent Emil Jannings, beginning August 15 un less The Big Parade continues profitable beyond present expectancy. Good music with the picture, but no stage didoes. A continuous exhibition. ORIENTAL— 74 W. Randolph— Madame Pompadour, portrayed this time by Dorothy Gish with assistance of Antonio Moreno and a host of Paramount players, August 15-21; then The Heart of Mary land, with a cast including both Dorothy and Helene Costello, for the seven days following. Paul Ash, Al Kvale, the band and sundry glorified vaudeville acts will perform between exhibitions during both engagements. North UPTOWN— Broadway at Lawrence— The Poor Nut, Jack Mulhall as the same in an extremely funny picturisation which loses little of the stage play and adds much, August 15-21; then Service for Ladies, amply described and recommended by the information that Adolphe Menjou is featured. Stage entertainment also. South TIVOLI— 6325 Cottage Grove— The Un known, a Lon Chaney exhibit mentioned on page 29, August 15-21; then Service for Ladies, mentioned above. Bands and things between showings. CAPITOL— 7941 S. Halsted— The Calla- hans and the Murphys, a supposed com edy complimentary to neither of the families named, nor their relatives, August 15-21; then Resurrection, a substantial story of Russian existence under the Czar, for the week following. Vitaphone as well as a stage band and vaudeville in connection. West SENATE — Madison at Kedrie — The Prince of Headwaiters, impersonated by Lewis Stone and mentioned on page 29, August 15-21; then The Poor 'H.ut, mentioned above. Musical and other entertainment alongside. HARDING— 2 724 Milwaukee — Duplicate prints of the pictures listed above for the Senate, shown day and date, as the show people say. But the stage didoes are different. SPORTS BASEBALL-^August 13 and 14. Cubs versus Cincinnati at the North Side diamond. Take the "L." August 16-19. The White Sox with New York, including the Bambino. August 20-22, post-morten bout with Philadelphia. August 2 4' 26, Boston pours. All dates inclusive. RACING — Remodeled and enlarged Haw thorne track opens for 18-day horse racing fiesta August 15. TENNIS — United States Intersectional team matches at Chicago Town Tennis club. Bill Tilden, Manuel Alonzio, and possibly the Davis Cup entrants will play the amateur game. RADIO W. G. N- — The Chicago Tribune's Sam n' Henry — most popular single feature on the air. Quinn Ryan's enthusiastic an' nouncing. K. Y. W. — Jass bands from the Congress Hotel. W. /. /. D. — Dinner hour concert by Pal mer House Symphony Orchestra — 18 pieces — largest hotel symphony orchestra in America. W. L. S.— "The Show Boat." Hotel Sher man's all-round vaudeville offering, featur ing and excelling in old-time numbers. W. E. B. H.— Genial Gene Rouse at 10 a. m. and p. m. in news flashes from the Herald'Examiner broadcast from the Edgewater Beach Hotel studio. W. M. A. £>,.— The Daily Hews, Hotel La Salle. Whitney trio. Songs. Music. 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. COHGRESS — 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. RAHDOLPH 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. HEHRICI'S— 71 W. Randolph— the place that advertises "no orchestral din." AND DISCOVERS AN UNADVERTISED NECESSITY FOR CENSORSHIP 4 TUEG4ICAG0AN ATLANTIC HOTEL— 316 S. Clark. Ex cellent food with a German bias. Table d'Hote $1.50. No couvert. No orches tra. 11 a. m. to 9 p. m. ST. HUBERT'S GRILL— 615 Federal. No Table d'Hote, no couvert charge, no orchestra — but English cookery and serv ice which make one doubt the wisdom of the American Revolution (1775-1781). 11 a. m. to 9 p. m. Out a Ways MARINE DINLNG ROOM — Edgewater Beach Hotel — Where one always feels cor rect. Fine entertainment and good dance music. Marble dance floor, outdoors, es pecially worthwhile. SALLYS— 4650 Sheridan Road— Where you can get a good breakfast just before you go to bed — no matter how late or how early. RAJTNBp 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. VANITY FAIR— Grace and Broadway. One of those "cozy" spots. Clever floor show. Rose lights, jaw music, prize 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. 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. VICTOR HOUSE— 9 E. Grand Ave., Italian food which approaches the rap turous. Always cool. Table d'Hote $1.50. No couvert; no orchestra. 11 a. m. to 9 p. m. If you walk out of this place you've neglected to do the food . justice. .. jjf | ^ TI4E CHICAGOAN Places page 2 Building 6 Newspapers 7 America 8 Rodeo 9 Police io Dogs n Gene Markey 12 Nameless 13 Overtones 14 Phrenology 15 Bohemia 16 Chicagoans 17 Hospitality 18 Lincoln 19 Baedeker 20 Golf 21 Chicago 22 Parks 23 Citizenry 24 Publicity 25 Sports 26 Stage 27 "Camille" 28 Cinema 29 Music 30 Books 31 LE PETIT GOURMET— 615 N. Michigan Ave., Table d'Hote $1.50 and $2. Open 11 a. m. to 8 p. m. Good food and smart people in charming setting. No couvert; no music. JIM IRELAND'S FISH HOUSE— Sea food exclusively. Open 9 a. m. to 5 a. m. the morning after. No couvert; no music. 632 N. Clark, which is not too far for the after theatre indulgence. PEARSON HOTEL— 190 E. Pearson st Conservative residential hotel, quiet, well- bred, few transients. Competent menu at $1.50. Table d'Hote. No couvert. Music after September 1. 'Way Out THE DELLS— Dempster near Waukegan — Ye Olde Time Roadhouse. Plenty of outdoor atmosphere. GARDEN OF ALLAH— Farther out on Waukegan — no, no harem, but a floor show equal to a downtown revue. Plenty of broiled chicken. LINCOLN TAVERN— Same route— same entertainment — only more so. EAT AND ECONOMIZE* BREAKFAST— The modest tea room on North Clark street, in the 900 block, which proffers toast, flapjacks, and coffee all at once for ten cents. LUNCHEON— The distinctive grill on South State featuring T-bone steak with soup, vegetables, salad and dessert, includ ing beverage, for 35 cents. 700 South. TEA — The select shoppe on East Superior where tea can be had if you have nerve enough to demand it. Foamy liquid re motely like tea on tap for 25 cents the scuttle. Ask for Ruth and say you're a friend of Buck's. DINNER — The exclusive tavern on West Madison near the Northwestern station advertising the best meal in the city. Couvert charge a quarter. There are no other charges. *No than\ you. We're rich. STROLLS MORNING— To the foot of Randolph street for a look at the "Favorite" if it hasn't been moved. AFTERNOON— To the lower level of Wacker Drive and exploringly through same until you find a certain place which will disclose the reason. EVENING— Along the Southbound drive in Grant Park, Monroe to the Museum, with eye for building line and benches. Keep going. / AUGUST Insouciance "MINE thirty a. m Bridge up!!! A towering asphalt wall with a moat behind it ... . Leisurely clang ing of a toy bell A barge in glacier-like progress against the river current. Cars north to Chicago Avenue jockeying for a last minute dash into the Loop Exasperation south to Madison Street. Then — the knowing citizen opens his "Chicagoan" Suave as a golden gin buck. Wise as irony. Cool as satire. Sparkling with the best wit of the best writers and artists in this man's town. Let the bridge stand on its head all day. A lot you care — That is if you have your copy of it, CWCAGOAN And just in case you cant arrange to be stalled near a newsstand, the dotted line forms to the right. The Chicagoan 407 So. Dearborn St. Chicago, 111. Send "The Chicagoan" one year $3.00 — two years $5.00. Name Address. City .State. 6 TWE CWCAGOAN -a office of rue BWILDINC j£2 ^ Lk *> " 1 J * ! J ' J ""'¦>¦¦¦¦>••<¦¦¦;"¦ — 1 II .. , — _ I' l-r— 1 NOW LEASING] % -;:;;;,i;:;X3a^ T V, "Come Back m Half an Hour, Joe* Sales Sonq Q Synchronization, which in motion pictures means striking High G forcibly on a phonograph record back stage at the precise moment when the prima donna on the screen hurls her right arm heavenward, has struck Chicago's newsstands. Now you buy your afternoon paper to the accom paniment of bits from Chopin, Chaminade or even Paul Ash. The Everglades-hued newsmonger at Con gress and State entices you to purchase his wares by means of a Pied Piper style of highpowered salesmanship that never was learned via a corre spondence school. In other words, he sings. This dusky newsman employs the psychological theorem that each person reacts to a particular classification of sound vibrations, that low notes send re sponsive thrills coursing over the back bone of one type of individual, high pitched tones are the Open Sesame to the emotions of another, while still others buy most readily to a sprightly ditty plentifully sprinkled with arpeg gios. When he harmonises "Chicago Daily News" in a rich bass, the pros pective customer with the low-note complex rushes forward breathlessly with his pennies. When he sings the same words in a quivering soprano and the high-note psychosis starts ferment ing in the soul of the next passerby, slip-slap goes another quarter-pound of newsprint. We recommend a varied and elastic repertoire for the news vendor to en compass all the daily reading sources of the Chicagoan. For example, there might be "When the Red, Red Robin" for the American, and "Bluebird" or any ©f the "blues" songs for the Hews, particularly for the Blue Streak edi tion. He might vary his program with the gridiron yell, "Go, Chicago, Go." SU RVE YS The Newspapers Miss Chicago's Wardrobe The Beer Market Sign Language Francesco Daddi Gasoline Salesology Private Settlements The Prisoner's Song Ro-de-o Colonel Lindbergh The Town for the Tribune. And to "plug" the Herald'Examiner he could call into service almost any of George M. Cohan's flag-waving melodies. If he knows the ancient, familiar "Oh, Chicago, Oh, Chicago" he might rend the air with that air when he ex ploits the Journal. As for the Post, what could be better than "Vo-Do-De-O-Do," with vocal accentuation of the "dough," particu larly if he has his newsstand on La Salle Street. N, Mtss Chicago OW that Miss Chicago has been exhibited with a degree of complete ness at the movie houses and everyone h§s had ample opportunity to glimpse her unique comeliness, we feel it no more than just to our readers to reveal this bit of information. She has received an offer from a cer tain leading and philanthropic specialty shop of $1,000 worth of clothing, to be selected when Miss Chicago so finds a need. The offer, we add unsmilingly, came from Lane Bryant and Company. T, Zymurgy HE wind of rumor spreads rapidly over a city. And when each whisper ing breeze bears a fine, yeastly incense of malt and hops chastely on its breath, the spread is electrical. The fact is that new beer is coming in. Not a paltry trickle of amber. Not a few enlightened beer merchants grown unaccountably philanthropic But a vast surge of brewery beer whelming along like a tidal bore, wash ing up on a beach of preteels, and bearing on the lift of the tide— more precious than ambergris — liverwurst, potato chips, and fabulously rare lim- burger. It is beer with a deep amber body to it, glinting and tawny against the bar-tender's vest. Beer with the mag nificent standup collar of a colonel of Uhlans. Beer with a titillating and voluptuous "scratch," a bead like a swirl of incredibly minute seed pearls swarm ing up to the light through sunlit water. And finally — not forgetting aroma or bouquet — here is beer with an authority which very justly ranks a supreme court mandate with the bar est whim of a homely chorus lady. We pretend no explanation; we of fer neither proof, telephone numbers 8 TWE CHICAGOAN nor apologies. We know only — and the disinterested scientist may confirm our research at 25 cents the scuttle — that something transcendantly splendid has got into the beer business. T, Significance HE sign on top of the Hotel Sher man is in a bad way. T,he first time we noticed the irregularity we smiled silently. The second time the misfor tune was more glaring, bolder, more with a purpose. We wondered sharply about it. And the third time it pro voked us to smile unsubtly and to break into refined print. The sign, when intact, reads HOTEL SHERMAN. Recently something has happened to the "E" in "HOTEL." One now reads in blast-furnace red: HOT L SHERMAN. It strikes us as being particularly appropriate for this weather. M imertca AESTRO DADDI, the same Francesco Daddi who used to afford much pleasure on both sides of the footlights when he was singing with the Ravinia and Chicago Civic Opera com panies, now delights many an adoring pupil in his Fine Arts Building studio. Recently the maestro received a young man who proclaimed himself an em bryonic opera star looking for a teacher to guide him past all the detours on the road to the opera. The boy looked at a pile of scores on Mr. Daddi's piano. "You used to sing these?" "Some of them." The boy looked thoughtful. "You are Italian?" he asked. Mr. Daddi said that though he was now a naturalized American he had been born and educated in Italy. "That is good," said the boy. "I am Italian." He looked about the studio, noting the music cabinets, the songs heaped high on the window seat and the piano, the dozens of autographed photographs, Caruso, Ruffo, Campanini, Papi, Raisa, Galli-Curci. These pictures he indi cated with a nod. "Are they all your friends?" The maestro nodded. Sitting at the piano he idly depressed a span of ivo ries. "Shall I try your voice now?" he asked. The boy considered, nodded, struck a noble posture and signified his readi ness to sing. Then he hesitated, sought to reassure himself on one last point before committing himself to a new teacher. "I suppose," he said, "I suppose you know music?" Scarecrow V^ITY people are presumed to be blase, incurious, and knowing. They have — or some of them have — the arti fices of the world lavished on them. At least through show windows they have fantastically rare and costly things lav ished at them. The city itself is a kind of magical place mysteriously evoked to glitter for its inhabitants. And city people, unimpressed, glitter in turn; this is called sophistication. But directly opposite Clarendon beach a country scarecrow turns town- wise sophisticates into so many pop- eyed yokels, incredulous as farmhands at a snake-charmer's pit. It is a very ordinary scarecrow, too, simply a set of unionalls stuffed with straw and topped off with a battered hat. One arm of the effigy points to a gas station. Cars slow up for blocks before this straw man. A whole calvacade of glittering steel and glass jostles before the hay- stuffed marvel. Chauffeurs gape; wealthy women lose poise and stare; even cynical youths turn and peer at the scarecrow. We presume that the gas-station owner, himself a city man probably, fetches in not a few customers who suddenly discover a need for gasoline — and a closer look at the dummy. Per haps here is the one sophisticated touch. N. Out-of-Court OW if traffic guardians are un- subtle and Celtic, at least one driver — who happens to be a nimHe-witted Semite — is crafty as the Old Serpent, and much more profitably so. This driver owns a battered Ford with incongruously shiny fenders. The vehicle is equipped with hair-trigger brakes, brakes that take hold of the asphalt with a business-like screech and grip enough to halt a bus dead in its tracks. Thus equipped our driver jockeys in front of a prosperous look ing car with good bumpers and stays close to it in the traffic lane. Sooner or later a stop-light flick ers. At the barest wink of amber the trick brakes are jammed on. A crash follows, a grand, resounding, tinny crash that brings up the corner cop at a run. The crashee vociferates to high heaven. He points accusingly to the stop-light. He moans over his crumpled fender. Then in high pas sion he demands the arrest of the male factor . . . and so on. Eventually the matter is smoothed over, out of court, say for five dollars. If the offending car has more than six cylinders the damages may be ten dol lars. Both cars drive on. Two or three blocks down a different copper is startled by another collision. Again a scene in which the courts are vehemently threatened. Again a cash settlement. In the course of an afternoon the Ford has been in a dozen smashups and had its fenders indemnified from five to ten times. All in all it's not an un profitable business. THE CHICAGOAN T, Prisoner s Song HOSE who have offices on Illinois Street near Dearborn tell a tale of how the prisoners in the Cook County Jail sing on rainy days. One day last week found us in an office of that doubtful district. Inci dentally, it was raining. And, true to the rumor, the Cook County boys were singing. Solos, duets, quartettes, and massed community singing. Fine voices for the most part. Occasionally there could be heard the mellow throatiness of some African guest of the state. They sang Smiles with enthusiasm. There was something plaintive in its ap peal. Anyone well versed in popular music suspected the performers of hav ing been in jail for a long time. A particularly patriotic buck sang Over There. An acute ironic touch. A bar rage of barroom ballads followed. There was about their rendition a con viction which suggested that they were prompted by the usual stimulant. But by far the favorite song, head and shoulders above the rest in popu larity, was the Prisoner's Song. "If I had the wings of an an-gul" . . . An astounding paradox. "Out of these prison walls I would fly." A threat easily enough believed. One wishes it would stop raining. T, Ro-d e~o EX AUSTEN, a gentleman of positives and a personality of depth and resonance, should know if anyone knows the correct pronunciation of the event occupying Soldiers Field from August 20 to 28. Nor is Mr. Austen a man -to keep you long in doubt as to this, that, or any other thing. Stand ing squarely upon his three inch heels, his ten gallon Panama backgrounding rather than shadowing a face that sug gests long days and nights on the round-up, he speaks and you know what he means. And so it was of him that we asked the question that went unanswered a year ago while authorities quoted Web ster, Zane Grey and Will Rogers into a deadlock. "How," we asked in .a purposely offhand and misleading man ner, "do you pronounce rodeo?" "Ro-de-o," was the prompt reply, "and the next short-horned — " Note to Lindbergh IF nothing happens, Colonel Lind bergh will arrive in Chicago on the date which appears on the cover of this issue. As all good Chicago institutions should signify welcome to the visitor, we do so, and we add in sincerity matched only by the futility of the sug gestion an honestly conceived and duly pondered recommendation: That Col onel Lindbergh park the Spirit of St. Louis in some suitable place and prom ise never to fly again. Surely the man has done enough, surely he can do more, but the daily newspapers have a certain terrible streamer with Lindy's name in it cast in metal, ready for in stant use. Come on, Lindy, ride the plush and tell it to 'em from the observation plat form. Majesty f\ SPIRIT of Palm Beach, Atlantic City, even of Deauville seems to have come suddenly on our none too effete traffic policemen. Officers stationed along the boule vard have been provided with colored parasols, beach parasols if you please, and some of the sunshades are gaudy indeed. The gentleman who supervises traffic at Chicago Avenue and the boulevard does so from beneath a dainty sunshade allegorically decked with futuristic wa- terlilies, symbolic, perhaps, of the offi cer's sobriety and decorum. Other cop pers chide truckdrivers from beneath parasols done in soothing greens and blues, depicting lake scenes and rural geese, cat-tail swamps, picnic groves amid the bluebells — a whole catalogue of pastoral diversions. Nor is the wa- terlily a solitary flower motif; there are violets, gentians, daisies, and butter cups. One expects a cop thus shaded to carry a miniature sand pail with its absurd little tin shovel, and perhaps to deliver his traffic whistling on a pan pipe. Yet somehow traffic officers resist manfully. Be the parasol as delicate as it may, the Hibernian face of its guardian is bold and red as ever; his voice, when loosed dutifully on offen ders, is altogether unsubtle. His "Pull over to that curb, and not a word outta ya!" still rings with an unquestioned and awful majesty. o, Breakfast Note UR good griend Gus — the sur name embraces a dozen syllables and ends — popouloupos, occasional purvey or of our hasty breakfast, and amicable Hellene, discoursed the other day on hot weather. Gus has been 25 years in the restau rant business. And in 25 years, Gus says, he has seen some odd things eaten. One of the regular customers dotes on wheat cakes, three of them, with a very gently fried egg broken over the top cake; he likes the dish summer and 10 TI4E CHICAGOAN winter, but especially in summer. An other business man slips ice into his soup — an understandable but somewhat drastic measure. Any number of people mix pickles and iced tea, a bar barous custom, according to Gus. We blushed under the rebuke. But the prize hot-weather order came the other morning. A hasty fellow de manded shredded wheat with cream. He got it; or rather he almost got it. Just as the cream pitcher was poised, he countermanded the order, "Cream did I say? That wasn't what I meant. Too hot for cream. Make it orange ice on those biscuits!" Traffic Device I HANKS for the buggy ride" has gone the way of all slang. It is almost as dead as a six months old popular song. But it was in evitably revived by the following episode. Mr. and Mrs. Morgan, stopping at a famous hotel on Sheridan Road, went out for a walk. The day was fine. So also was the display of bathing suits outlined at their extremi ties by much Chicago pulchritude and otherwise. Well entertained, the Morgans walked for an hour unmindful of the many long blocks of hot con crete pavement they were putting be tween themselves and cushions of the hotel's swings and benches. By the time they realized that they were tired and had no desire for mara- thoning back to their rooms, it was late afternoon. Busses were crowded. No amount of watching, waiting or wish ing secured a taxi. Mr. and Mrs. Morgan took the only way. They went directly to a nearby automobile salesroom, looked at a new straight eight, and got a demonstration. At the suggestion of one of the Morgans, the salesman dropped them at the door of their hotel. "Thanks," said Mr. Morgan, "for the buggy ride." Faki\ ir 1 ERSONS engaged in the pleasant occupation of walking down North Michigan Avenue recently witnessed a re markable sight in front of The Tai lored Woman, one of the dress shops that add color to the west side of the street. The two chubby little trees that mark the spot where shoppers alight were in the hands of their own peculiar kind of horticulturalist. The green of their leaves was being re newed. When the tree expert finished his job he hung on each tree the neat legend, Fresh Paint. Exclusive dress shops are so accustomed to gilding the lilies who are their customers that they see nothing extraordinary in painting their trees. Information Lieutenant make mills, one of our more literate coppers, tells this one. The Lieut, possesses, to do with as he will, seven languages, in cluding — no, wrong— including , Eng lish. As a tribute to such laudable sagacity it has been the custom of the police department to deliver to Lieut Mills all foreign correspondence, for translation and disposal. Thus came one day an inquiry from Berlin in the flowing hand and admi rable diction of Herr FranZ Plotzdorf, malty and comfortable burgher, which translated so: "Mr. Directory of Police — Greetings from our great city to yours. May I beseech you in behalf of the group of which I am spokesman to discover for me whether or not there is in your city a Rheinischer Verein. Many thanks and a toast to you." Make Mills hoisted an unused elbow and breathed an unheard phrase, prosit or dreimal hoch! With tender exactitude he searched directories and consulted such Germanic authorities as Gottlieb Hessel and Otto Pielmeyer. But alas! The local Rheinischer Verein has passed on to some Elysium where clouds are frothy foam and cherubs play Ach Du Lieher Augustine on pretzel-shaped harps. His duty done, the Lieut, sent to Sergt. John McGarvey of the type writer squad the translated letter with this, appended note: "Can't be found; write letter to that effect." John McGarvey, be it mentioned, is a dependable Gaelic soul to whom a word is sufficient. However, as Mills affixed his vigorous back hand to the morning correspondence his attention was courted by a salutation. He read on. The official brow crinkled. The official paunch expanded. Sergt. Mc Garvey thus: Herr Franz Plotzdorf: Dear Herr: — After thorough investigation we re gret to inform you that we find no trace in this city of Mr. Rheinischer Verein. H Show Business [E had insisted upon exhibiting the Sixth Annual Fur Show and why not? Was he not one of the exhibitors? He was, and was it not a splendid show ing? It was, and the crowd was large and eager of eye — at least until the forty-eighth mannikin stumbled and all but pitched headlong, sable and all, into the tympani — and surely there was the advertised million dollars* worth of furs on display and all that But his eyes were not all for the stage and his comments became shorter TJ4ECUICAG0AN n as he survived row upon row of rapidly glazing eyeballs. Presently he stopped abruptly, turned in his chair, scanned the dimly lighted auditorium and grunted, "We ought to stop that music. They think it's a show." D ' ame ORETTA and Henry, recent im migrants from St. Louis, were seeing Chicago under the guidance of an old inhabitant. In Evanston they admired the Northwestern campus. "Well," said the Chicagoan, "you haven't seem the best yet. You'll be crazy about Patton Gym." "Good!" Henry ex claimed. "Are we really going to see them?" "Them?" asked the Chicago man. "We've been quite curious about them," Henry explained. "We've be come more or less familiar with other Chicago celebrities but we've never been able to learn just who this Pat and Jim are." "Oh," the city man discovered, "you mean Sam 'n Henry." Rent-a-Dog DOG, preferably a great strain ing animal on leash, is an opulent piece of boulevard equipment. Theoretically, the owner of a dog should support the animal in the style to which it has been accustomed; that is he should command besides a car, a private rectangle of lawn, two servants, at least, and a spacious dwelling place. No self-re specting pup of any of the more snooty breeds could think of struggling along on mere dog-like devotion in a hall bed room. Shrewd fellows who operate a Gold Coast dogge shoppe know that an ade quately upholstered animal imparts a most convincing suggestion of an equal ly upholstered income. Given the dog and the boulevard, and onlookers can draw their own conclusions. They do. The deductions are highly flattering. Thus it comes about that one can rent a pup for an evening stroll through the Gold Coast. Prices vary, not as might be supposed, by the pound (no pun!), inch, bark, or wooliness, but according to animal fashions which change bewilderingly. Just now the long-haired fox terrier is a la mode. Each rented article comes with a guaranteed leash. It is pre-fed enough to run it for any reasonable length of tune. A deposit covering possible ab duction is required, although this last, one might guess, is a formality; the predeliction honest Fido shows for re turning to the old homestead must be taken into account. And each animal is warranted sound in wind, limb, and temper. Just why anyone should wish to su pervise a hired dog through the perils of traffic and the canine distractions of the Gold Coast promenade remains an inscrutable mystery. But cash custom ers seem pleased with their leasees. For tunately, perhaps, the four-footed aris tocrat in the enterprise is an extremely reticent employee. N, Emolument I OW we have certain friends who own automobiles but who have no place to put them. From the outset it is dis cernible that this is an itchy state of affairs. For it is necessary that these gentlemen house their cars in public garages over night. And these public garages are often six or seven blocks from the doorstep. If a car is parked at the curb — in it self an impulsively forgivable action — the owner is greeted the next day by the toothless smile of a police ticket. Unrevelatory information, certainly. A second offense results in the car being towed to the garage, for which service someone receives five dollars. Another obvious dissection. We shall discreetly go no farther into that matter. But — Our garageless friends also tell us that — with a certain definite under standing — cars may be parked in front of the doorstep for a period of one month, unquestioned and unmolested. A good-for-thirty-days parking ticket is tied to the radiator. A magic piece of paper which, the big boys tell us, is guaranteed to provoke a complete in curiosity in any officer who boasts even a gutta of fraternity in his soul. We tried to get some information regarding this mysterious understand ing. It is very complex. Night Life 1Y MAN on his way to Jackson Park stopped at the corner of Fifty-sixth and Everett Avenue and looked up at the sky. "What does he see?" demanded the persons who gathered about him. The man pointed west. At irregular intervals luminous particles appeared against the background of dark sky, darted about for an instant, and dis appeared. They seemed to have no certain shape and followed no regular course. They looked phosphorescent. They might have been enormous fire flies. They were birds flying in front of the Windermere Hotel and illumi nated momentarily by a large electric sign on top of the building. w> The Last Word E are human. We even ask peo ple how they like The Chicagoan, if we know them well enough or little enough to expect the worst. We did it only last week, as third party at a club luncheon concerning bonds and base ball, and the unknown quantity re plied, "Well, it's the only thing I can read against the boy's radio." We did not ask the boy's age. — THE EDITORS, 12 THE CUICAGOAN I F I MAY /AY /O TA^ Native Son Is Different ANYTHING can happen in Cali fornia. Well, almost anything. In California earthquakes happen, and Will Hays — but, on the other hand, Helen Wills happens. So the score is fairly close, and there is joy to offset gloom. Even Fatty Arbuckle's stom ach has a silver lining. I am informed that California is a wonderful state, and it must be true, for the Californi- ans themselves admit it. And when a Calif ornian begins admitting that it is a wonderful state the only thing you can do about it is to pretend that you are wanted on the telephone. Even then you are not safe, for telephone- booths have no bolts upon their doors. There are two grinds of Calif orni- ans: those who are born there (through no fault of their own) and those who came from Iowa. The latter specie is dangerous only at certain seasons of the year, but its bite, as well as its bark, is poisonous. The ones who were born in California refer to themselves, for some quaint reason, as Native Sons. Now, certain cynics have been known to consider the term, Native Son, merely an incomplete epithet, but that is neither here nor there. (And if it is neither here nor there, then where is it? But let it go.) John V. A. Weaver, the poet of the masses, once said (and, no doubt, is still saying) that visitors in California make a point of dressing for dinner each night to keep from going Native Son. But I will say one thing for the Native Sons of California: at least they have the grace to stay there. California is called the Golden State, and no one seems to know exactly why. There must be a reason, however, and I think it would be a splendid idea for the Florida Realtors' Association to get up a contest, offering a crate of grape fruit for the best answer. My own private theory is that California is called the Golden State because of the number of gold teeth in its smile of welcome. But, of course, this is not definite. And while we are on that indelicate subject, I cannot refrain from recalling Miss Beatrice Lillie's comment upon a New York theatrical producer. "He," remarked Miss Lillie, "has a heart of gold — and teeth to match!" Many arguments have been raised in defense of California. Some say it is the climate. From all reports (includ ing weather reports) it must be a very remarkable climate. I am told that dur ing half of the year Californians wish it would stop raining, and during the other half of the year they wish it would start raining. The sun appar ently makes them do strange things. For instance, it makes them wear those peculiar straw helmets, as revealed in the accompanying illustration. If asked what is wrong with this picture you will no doubt reply at once that the explorer should be shown sitting upon a dead lion or a live elephant. But there you are incorrect, for the gentle man under the helmet is not an ex plorer — he is no less personage than Mr. Ashton Stevens, dean of the Chi cago dramatic critics. And he is at tired thus not, as you might imagine, to study the animal life of darkest Africa, but rather, to have a look at the animal life of brightest Hollywood. Mr. Stevens arrived from California a few days ago, wearing this solar toupee, and on the evening of his arrival was waiting for a friend in front of Or- MR. ASHTON STEVENS The Unblushing Bridegroom chestra Hall, the facade of which is lively with posters proclaiming the wonders of the wild animal film, Chang, on exhibition there. Attracted by die critic's helmet a crowd gathered, evi dently under the impression that the ballyhoo for Chang was about to begin. The next day Mr. Stevens gave die hat to Burton Holmes, who has the wins' kers to go with it. However, the dean of the Chicago dramatic critics is not one to speak lightly of California. There are two main causes for this: (1) a few years ago he was born in California; and (2) a few weeks ago he was married in California. Which is bogie for that course. I often wonder why so many people get married in California. And not always during the rainy season, either. (You might call California a state of nuptial bliss. You might — but I hope you won't.) Nevertheless, Mr. Stevens had a most excellent reason for doubling his single blessedness; and that reason was Miss Katherine Krug, who, before she became Mrs. Stevens, was one of my favorite actresses. The happy pair, as their friends call them, suffered only one disappointment: af ter voyaging two thousand miles to be married by Will Rogers, the mayor of Beverley Hills, they discovered that he was no longer in office. All of which must prove something or other about the alarming condition of affairs in American politics. Every year the list of permanent emigres to California lengthens. The most recent convert to that climate is none other than Mr. Harry K. Thaw, of whom you may have heard. Mr. Thaw, after his last hegira from Mat- tewan, became a fireman, but tiring of that simple life, returned to the bright lights of Broadway; and now he has gone out to Hollywood, bought a movie studio of his own, and is by way of be coming a director. Killers and cuckoos are no novelty in Hollywood, so I dare say he will not attract undue attention, but he ought to make a dandy director. There is a legend that just before he forsook Broadway he attended the opening of Rio Rita at the new Zieg- feld theatre, which is somewhat fanci fully decorated with specimens of Josef Urban's art. Chancing to fall asleep, Front Page Harry awoke when the lights went up, and as he blinked around the startlingly modernistic thea tre he uttered a wild cry: "My God, I shot the wrong architect!" — GENE MARKEY. TWECWICAGOAN 13 NAMELESS/ Lions Pine Under Stigma Nameless I. Nameless II. "W HAT are their names?" A simple enough ques tion, whether it be asked of new twins, grown girls, prospective ac quaintances or live stock. Certainly when asked of anything so imposing as a lion it demands a ready and explicit answer. And when asked of an Art Institute lion — a shaggy, magnificent pussy if ever there was one — a nameless silence is in credible. Yet, incredible or not, the lions are — nameless as a litter of new born puppies. And these cats, five feet tall, the largest bronze castings of the standing animal ever achieved in America! "Names?" the traffic officer echoed as he made himself audible above the snarl of the boulevard. "Sure they got names. You'll see the names right on the base. Their names are Kemeys. It's written plain as can be." Kemeys, your reporter pointed out, is the sculptor's name — Edward Kemeys (1843-1907). Perhaps the foremost American sculptor of wild life, the figures were cast in 1893 and present ed to the Institute by Mrs. Henry Field in the same year. It follows that the twin beasts have lived all their lives, 34 years, in Chicago. "I don't know their names," added another copper. "But I do know that some years ago a farmer from out near Wheaton bought one of them. Yes, Sir! He paid five hundred dollars cash. Along about four in the morn ing he brought a wagon in from the farm and started in to haul the left- hand lion off to Wheaton. Wanted it for his front yard. Said it would make a darn fine ornament. He had a receipt, too, from the slicker who sold it to him Say, that farmer set up a roar." "The correct name — " put in a scholarly looking man who joined the little group on the steps, "the correct name for lion is Felis leo." "Felix and Leo," mused the first copper, "well, I can't say I like them names. They don't make a hit with me. What do you think, Ed?" "I dunno." Ed was a brother blue- coat. "I knew a Lyon on the force once. He was named Bill. Fine fel low. Used to be out at the Town Hall station. But that don't help much, does it?" "Doesn't," snapped the scholar, "it certainly doesn't." "They're too noisy," added an art student who had just come up, sketch pad and all, "roaring and yowling all the time. A nuisance. You know it's a fact that every time a nubile inno cent walks into the building these lions rear up and howl. They've never been known to fail, either. Why on a busy day the din is deafening." "They're fierce all right," a quiet sarcastic fellow added his say. "They're so much fiercer than the Nelson lion in Trafalgar square that the British government wants to call a 5-5-3 conference on lions." "Tush," said the scientist, "the lion is a night cruiser." "Someone propose a brace of names." It was our suggestion. "Felix and Leo," said the first cop per. "Leo and Cleo!" "Nah — they're both gentlemen lions." "Castor and Pollux," a meek old gentleman beamed. "No," said the second copper, "not unless I know what I'm gettin'. Thanks just the same." "Achilles and Willies." "Nope." "G-r-r-r and B-r-r-r." "No." There, or near there, the discussion came to an end, leaving the animals un-named as ever. A dereliction which shrieks for abatement. Now this hearth and home maga zine is all for doing right by bronze lions. To leave them in their present state is cruel. It involves an unflat tering family inference for one thing; for another it impersonalizes two dis tinguished guardians of Chicago cul ture. It is shriekingly a thing for something to be done about and The Chicagoan suppresses with effort an urge to offer medals and things for best suggestions. It offers, instead, imperishable fame and distinction to the reader whose names for the ani mals shall apply to them in perpetuity and be graven, in time, upon their sleek sides for all to see. We shall even stand godfather. 14 TI4ECWICAG0AN THAT Oak Park man who wired the police to take care of his cat while he was on his vacation gives us an idea about our dog and canary. ? An American woman has been fined 100 francs for making a face at a French traffic policeman. Had this happened in Chicago, she'd have had a face made right back at her. ? Dining service has been installed on the Paris to London airplanes and we are now practicing the juggling of a cup of hot coffee while going into a nose dive. ? "The high cost of living in Chicago has struck a red stoplight," reports a Overtone/ local writer. We hope the apparatus goes out of order before the green light flashes on again. "Knees Go Into Eclipse; Waist Line to Return." — Heading. We remember women's waist lines, Also their unpainted lips. And now we've smo\ed a piece of glass To see their \nees go in eclipse. ? Now it is up to the reducing par lors and gymnasiums to add lunch counters. ? A Wisconsin woman lost her teeth overboard and two days later her hus band found them inside a fish he caught, which makes us believe more and more that Jonah swallowed the whale. ? This is the season of the year when the automobile ad writers try to for get the superlatives they applied to last year's model. ? THE GAS TAX Listen to the pennies; Hear them as they fall. hen is sweetly smiling — He will get them all. ? A medal for usefulness to be be stowed by the city is urged by Alder man Dorsey Crowe. We nominate for early consideration the one man in our foursome who always has a lead pencil. ~MerKocf( A part of the movie producers' pledge to "clean up" quashes jokes at the eighteenth amendment. Well, they had all been used twice anyway. ? What has become of the downstate judge who was going to enforce Chi cago's pedestrian ordinance? . . Poetic Acceptances Franklin P. Adams accents an invitation to a Beach Comb' ing Party given to find Lucy*s locket. If I should come to this affair, If I can leave my work at noon, If I should choose to see you there, I'll come with good old Heywood Broun. Should I accept the chance to be Upon the beach at Delavan Two handsome chaps will follow me, — Forbes Watson and Frank Sullivan. If I should say we'd join you soaks And thus not miss our rightful call ings, I'd drag with me some lovely folks, — Sam Chotzinoff and Lawrence Stall- ings. Eke if I come to your beach spree (And will there be a mull-pot?) I'll bring the mentioned company And Alexander Woolcott. Tell me how anyone can have the plain nerve to pose in the nude! — DONALD PLANT. TMECI4ICAG0AN 15 A Barber-Made Man Revelations in Phrenology EVERY ten days or fortnight he wishes he had a bald head and a wig; for every ten days, or fortnight at farthest, he fancies he must have his hair cut. And oh, how he dreads it! It was not always so with this thick- ish, grayish-haired frequenter of first nights. Time was when he went light- heartedly and almost youthfully to his barber; and not so long a time ago, either; hardly more than six months. Then it was joy to him to slip into the Bifield Brothers' basement and lounge his lazy length in Teddy's chair. Teddy was no ordinary barber, but a virtuoso with the scissors. Teddy was a sculptor in hair, thatching those cranial despressions where bumps of Modesty and Constructiveness should have bulged and subtly enlarging those minute mounds which, the phrenologist tells us, stand up for Benevolence and Courage. A hairscape by Teddy was a work of diplomacy as well as art, for Teddy knew a patron's weaknesses only to love and conceal them. He was a reserved man, was Teddy. As a banker, a bond salesman, or even a burglar, he would have been reckoned reserved. As a barber he was perhaps the most reserved member of his pro fession this side of an asylum for the deaf and dumb. He talked only when you desired him to talk, and never on subjects so barbarous as baseball and the drama. He would, when discreetly questioned, tell you of his decent home on the South Side, and the well-kept Chevrolet, and the missus' adventures in running a small beauty parlor. I have often thought that Teddy's shy revealments of his domestic felicities were not without their influence on this particular patron, who one day af forded his notoriously unmotored self a Buick and another day attained the high happiness of a wife. "We are what our barber makes us," Teddy's loyal patron of a dozen years would say to himself. And then, about half a year ago, he strangely deserted the Bifield basement and Teddy and harmonious haircuts. His desertion was strange because it was so simple, so unpremeditated, so fatelike. Teddy had been away on vacation and for three weeks his customer had walked the Loop and Michigan Ave nue with long, lorn locks, finally sneak ing into one of those semi-private bar ber shops that are concealed on the upper levels of tall buildings and emerging with a haircut that presented him to his consternated clubfellows with his weak and irregular cerebral topography publicly proclaimed. The man was never the same after that dia bolic haircut, which semed to enlarge his ears, narrow his brow and elongate his neck. Of course time and Teddy could have cured even this masterpiece of tonsorial malpractice. But, perversely, knowing not why, the unfortunate fel low remained away from the one bar ber in the world who could so cut his hair as to make it appear to grow on a human head. But why, he stupidly asked himself, should he be enslaved to one haircutter? So disconsolately he flitted from barber to barber, who un failingly and uninvitedly talked to him about ball games, horse races and thea ters, ran their evil clippers as far up as the chrysanthemum belt, anointed his denuded scalp with poignant tonics and juices brewed from the leaves of the noxious bay tree, and rendered the poor devil a blight on nature, friends, family and himself. Character oozed away from this man as water from a sponge. Strange bar bers — always strange barbers — knew him at sight for a weakling and worked their grotesque will on his haunted head. His hatter hated to see him come into the shop, so ill did he become the normal vogue in head-covering. His tailor remarked a change in his gen eral mould and carriage, although his measurements showed no change. His doctor could not reconcile the good be havior of his patient's arteries with what he ruthlessly described as a hang dog expression. His banker hoped that he had not been making any invest ments which, however modest, were be yond his means. His wife was still kind, but — well, not so friendly as. formerly. She ceased to urge him to go and get his photograph taken, and her quaint little epithets for him no longer included "handsome brute." She ruined his breakfast on a recent Sunday by re marking, "My dear, is that really the shape of your head or just the hair cut?" I could laugh myself pink over this unhappy man's downfall since deserting his barber and becoming too pusillani mous to return to him. I could roar with mirth at the unmanly weakness that keeps him from going back to Teddy, making a clean breast of every thing, and starting all over again with the number one clippers just one-half of one inch up the base of the neck and no higher, and then, perhaps, the latest news of the South Side and the Chev rolet and the missus. I could laugh me a laugh that would bring the house officers to my door were I not that unhappy man myself. — ASHTON STEVENS. Generalship GOOD generalship has always in cluded understanding of the sur prise attack. That applies as well to motoring as to any other form of con test whether for a place in the sun or in the turning line. The other day a motorist who wanted to make a left turn at Monroe and Michigan found himself in the wrong lane. No amount of nerve or skill served to wedge his car into any chance space between the automobiles waiting for the signal. For a moment it appeared that the motor ist would be forced to miss his turn. Just then the light changed and the cars began to move. The man who wanted to turn pulled up close to an other car, smiled his most ingratiating smile, and spoke. "May I get in line in front of you?" he asked. The other driver was completely taken aback. Be fore he recovered from the shock of this unprecedented piece of strategy he found that he had actually allowed the other car to squeeze in front of him. 16 THE CI4ICAG0AN Children of Light: A Survey The Past and Present of Chicago Bohemias PICK out a district with bad streets and unpainted houses where rent is cheap and gin is an uncostly liquid that will produce a swirling and zoom ing within the brain. Allow the young men to walk about the streets with their hair exposed to the sun, carrying under pale arms a copy of Ronald Fir- bank or Carl Van Vechten; it is im perative that their countenances belie an interest in commerce. What usu ally happens is that faces belie an in terest in anything less Dionysiacal than a five-day spree, at the end of which all participants go swooping down Rush Street to evade symbolic pink- eyed goats. It is what one bright wit called a Mesozoic jag. Young women Latinates, brave crea tures, are encouraged to take solemnly to ties and collars; they must walk briskly to suggest an interest in steam- fitting and steel construction; if they carry books (a lethal weakness) it must be nothing less frivolous than Herr Os wald Spengler's Decline of the West. Then — keep a straight face (an as tounding example of repression) and call such an area the Latin Quarter. Many an unwitting listener will be lieve you, will actually think that it is a Latin Quarter where works of art are produced. And many a cataleptic wench will believe the statement even though you broke into a laugh that would trail over the bumps and depres sions of four prairie states. The point is that every town of any proportion whatsoever wants to have such a dis trict; every city must foster the arts, must have a Latin Quarter. Sure they should. You're doggone right! Now Chicago, Heaven only knows, has its near north side which many an unposted individual has called a Latin Quarter. True it bears the stigmata of such a section. It is a gleeful dis trict with a reputation. A person ad mitting an address on its uninhibited streets leaves himself open to a barrage of accusations more formidable than the annual imaginings of the Illinois Anti-everything Association. A true reflection of the inaccurate suspicions of honest performers. For the man or woman living on the near north side is not vicious. Call him or her a mil lion other things, but not that. True, the district due west of the Latin Quarter boasts a scrofulous and spavined mentality. A bawdy area, say at Clark Street near Ontario. But the streets three blocks east? Slightly on the wrong track, perhaps, but harm less. Certain it is that the near north sider has in his brain an astounding number of apocryphal ideas, some of which are to be politely doubted, some discredited with subtle enthusiasm, and many to be loaded with lead and tossed in Lake Michigan. And still, if one can believe him, the poor inhabitant is only having for himself one fine time. A Latin Quarter actually producing works of art? Well, not yet. One can never tell about a Latin Quarter. It is a curious thing. Always asinine in perspective but forgivable in retro spect. However, it must be said that it is at least a merry place. Most of its citizens are constantly amused, and no one is really concerned about any thing less personal than the next meal — gallant poverty! Some day, possibly, something worth a dime will come out of its raucous streets. But in the mean time — a lot of talking, and little more. For there have emanated from this section of the city more equivocal claims to genius than have drifted from the combined exhaust of Chelsea, London, the Left Bank of Paris and Greenwich Village, New York. A first sweeping statement. Nevertheless true. That little or no work of consequence has waltzed from its brawling doorways is a fact deplorable enough in itself, but insufficient to discourage the vocal out put. The envy of Congress. On the near north side one spea\s many novels. To write them is a tautological error. Yet generalizing somewhat tartly over the endless palaver in near north side studios — a studio is more often than not remarkably like a cheap hall bedroom — the surveyor is apt to come a ludicrous cropper. To the extreme chagrin of respectable critics, Latin Quarters every now and then produce an artist who cannot be ignored. That sucessful artists do not continue to live in the garret where they first puzzled out their best work has nothing to do with the case. Even a successful brewer moves over to the lake front after a bonanza or two. Often enough the artistic dabbler, before he has made a go of it, is poor, crazy, and set upon. Frequently, too, he is young and fool ish. And there are impostors and in competents among artists as there are among shoe salesmen. Just now the near north side seems lamentably afflicted with a sorry crop of yearners; the lunatic fringe seems to have eaten deeply into the muse's robe. But a year — two years. Who shall say? For there was a time when Chicago had a Latin Quarter, a small coverage of ground on the corner of Stony Is land Avenue and Fifty-seventh Street. In the humble shacks on that corner — revenants of the World's Fair — lived those who were responsible for the Chicago Renaissance back in 1910- 1912. There lived Carl Sandburg, Sherwood Anderson, Floyd Dell, who mentions the particular neighborhood in his story, The Briary Bush. There also lived such staunch supporters of Bohemia as Ben Hecht and Maxwell Bodenheim. In a nearby street lived Theodore Dreiser. A day now as dead and embalmed as Belshazzar's penman ship on the calcimine. A brave day of wining, wenching and working — now gone. Carl Sandburg alone remains. Even the near north side is declining. Too many fifteen story hotels are ap pearing to make the happy inhabitants feel that theirs is a district dedicated to the selected few. Each month brings a new apartment hotel. Each month sees three or four studio buildings razed for modern con struction. And the crowd is getting out, getting out fast. For the most part they are migrating to the corner of Center and Clark Streets, where rent is cheap, gin is plentiful, and where one may express what passes for a soul without a question, without even a wrinkle of disapproval on the fore head of passers-by. . — JOHN MCGRATH. TUE CHICAGOAN 17 CI4ICAGOAN/ IF this century is conspicuous over the last for more cerebral nudity (physically, not mentally speaking) among members of its population, the blame can be laid squarely upon the shoulders — or wherever the blame is usually laid — of one man. The cur rent custom of going bareheaded at any and all times would never have reached its present proportions if Maj.- Gen. Milton J. Fore man had not suddenly readjusted his career and turned from hat to military bands. He did not join up with a troupe of martial man- giers of sharps and flats, but he had many of them play. for him, in tune at his com mand. You see, the Gen eral really was born with a toy gun in his hand instead of the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth, on Des Plaines street, between Randolph and Lake streets. The gun was not visible at first and therefore not recognized, but guns are not so easily hidden, as any good gang ster can tell you, so it quickly made itself evident when the embryonic gen eral joined the Illinois National Guard in 1895. At that time young Milton Fore man was cutting his home state into cross-word puzzle patterns as a sales man for Keith Bros., Chicago hat manufacturers. He worked for them for 23 years and sold so many hats there wasn't a bare head in the state. During the latter part of this heady business he enrolled in the Chicago College of Law — now Kent — and henceforth legal tomes shared space with his hat samples on his constant "jumps" about the state, which were so numerous that he says there isn't a sizeable town in Illinois in which he can't call at least one man by his first name. During this time his interest in the National Guard grew steadily. When Head to Field Pieces the Spanish-American war came along he entered as captain of the First Illi nois Volunteer Cavalry. But much to his disgust, and like thousands of General Milton J. Foreman others, he never got out of the coun try. Col. Robert W. Stewart, now chairman of the board of the Stand ard Oil Company, was a major fret ting for action at the same time. Shortly after he enlisted for war service, Foreman received notice of his having passed his state legal exams. Returning home, he served as alderman for 12 years under Mayors Harrison, Dunne and Busse, with such distinguished confreres as Frank I. Bennett, William Manor, Col. R. R. McCormick, John F. Smulski and William E. Dever. With the bar beckoning more strongly than the bandeaux on the hats from the house of Keith, he dropped his $12,000 to $15,000 a year income from his hats to scrape together about $900 as his net earnings from his first year as a lawyer. Now he is senior partner of Foreman, Bluford, Steele and Schultz, one of the largest legal firms in the city, as they say in the success maga zines. In spite of his fame as a barrister, however, the General is just what his title says he is from the top of his head to the non-skid bottoms of his rubber heels. Soldiering is his great est love. When the World War spattered itself across the world's horizon, Foreman plunged into it. If he hadn't got into action this time he would have staged a war of his own on this side which would have made the real thing look like child's play, at least to the official dom which might have held him in "rehearsal" as before. Whatever else the World War demon strated, it proved why General Foreman is a broad shouldered and big chested man. It's to be able to carry sim- taneously all the med als that were showered upon him when the smoke of battle had cleared. The D. S. C. for extraordinary heroism in action near Fme. de Maucourt, the D. S. M., member of the Legion of Honor of France and Commander of the Order of the Crown, Belgium, are but a few of them. Meeting the General casually, you will find him one of the most affable of men. Under fire, either military or before the bar, he sticks to his guns with a fighting spirit and deter mination which is unquenchable. Gruff, genial, game to the core, sol dier, statesman, humanitarian, whole hearted in everything he does — that is General Foreman. Though now on the retired list of the military, having been discharged with high honors at a great function here on January 26, 1927, Foreman's hobbies still are the American Legion and his "Dugout," his home. Here personally autographed likenesses of the greatest of the military world, 18 TUECI4ICAGQAN Pershing, Foch, Haig, Summerall, Wood, Harbord, to mention a few of them, constantly peer at him from the walls of the living room and here he greets a never ending conclave of his "buddies," who make an armed camp of the "Dugout" with their war-time reminiscences. The army is the sun rise and sunset of the General's life, hot as a war lord but as a humani tarian. "We will always have wars as long as human nature is as it is," he says. "So we can't stop wars, but we can stimulate a greater sense of justice and forbearance in the men that take part in them and thus help make wars less likely." The General's conversation bristles with shafts of sarcasm or wit like a wire fence does with barbs. Com menting on the unpleasantness with Spain, he said: "That was a hell of a war! Too many actors in it. Too private and over before we got through rehears ing. Nice little scrap, but too exclu sive because it quit too soon." "Well, what about the World War?" "Ah, that was better! It didn't give everyone a chance at that, but it did give me one, and so I've no complaint to make." Thus the world lost a champion hat salesman and gained a hero. — FRITZ BLOCKI. Slogan Truth In Advertising A NOT too modest women's wear shop almost under the "L" at Broadway and Leland displays gay frocks against the roar of elevated traf fic. Perhaps it is because colors must fight to be heard in the gloom under neath the "L" arches, against the iron rumble of trains — or it may be that girls in the district prefer highly pig mented garments — at any rate the window risplay is not noticeably ret icent. Hardly. Above the window is a legend in gleaming white glass, a relic, pre sumably, of a former occupant: WE MAKE OUR OWN PASTRIES. Looking from the window display to the sign, and from the sign back to the window display, one breathes a whole hearted sigh of agreement. "Thank You ' * No Idle Gesture THE recent announcement of a Loop hotel, that hereafter upon being awakened in the morning guests would be told the weather report by the phone girl, focuses attention upon the luxury now surrounding the awak ening ceremony. Indeed, many per sons now make their hones in hotels in order to enjoy being awakened in the morning, while it is not at all un usual for the more greedy guests to leave a call for every hour from seven till five. Progress in this matter has been ex ceptionally rapid. Traveling men still in their 'teens can remember when a curt " 'Seight o'clock" from the phone girl was all they had to show that an other day had begun. The casual and general nature of this announcement always left considerable doubt in a guest's mind. This accounts for the fact that practically all of them went back to bed again. Then an obscure manager decided that what was lacking was the personal touch. The next day his guests, leaping from bed at the first shrill ring of the telephone, were elec trified with "Goo' morning; 'seight o'clock," which, as guests demanded more and still more luxury, soon be came, "Goo1 morning, Mr. Blan\; 'seight o'clock," and then, "Goo' morn ing, Mr. Blank; 'seight o'clock; we hope you slept well." There, for a time, progress seemed to stop. Hotel men were at their wits' end. Guests became disgruntled and discontented. Something had to be done to keep them at the telephone in their bare feet a little while ' longer. Various experiments were tried by the desperate managers. One hostelry be gan having its phone girls recite the en tire hotel litany, so that their guests were awakened with, "Goo' morning, Mr. Blank; 'seight o'clock; we hope you slept well; don't scratch matches on the woodwork; there is a corkscrew hanging in the closet; turn off the lights before you go out; the price of your room is $4.00; please do not disturb; guests holding room after seven will be charged another " day; and stop, have you left any thing?" but intellectual guests, who had previ ously spent many happy hours reading this litany in their rooms, objected to having their literature taken away from them, so the plan was soon abandoned. Just as managers were beginning to despair there came the announcement about giving guests the weather report. This opened up an entire new field, as it was but a short time of course until the better hotels began adding the rest of the news. So we now have, "Goo' morning, Mr. Blank; 'seight o'clock; we hope you slept well; rain today and tomorrow; Babe smacks homer; daredevil bird man, in Tribune Building elevator, hops off of top floor; man dis claims credit for slaying radio fan, admitting he was drunk; police take two bad eggs from love nest; grief -striken wife blames poor aim for missing husband; divorced wife awarded custody of press clippings but must let mate see them twice a month; recently- discovered tribe of authors who never charged plagiarism to be exhibited in America ..." and so on, ending with "Goo' night, sweet dreams," it now being midnight and the guest ready to retire to awit the next weather report. In spite of the comfort and luxury of this service, however, there are still some old-fashioned guests who don't like to be called. When desiring to be awakened early in the morning they much prefer to let Nature take its course, years of experience having shown them that they can depend upon the maid rattling the key in the lock and the moaning vacuum cleaner suck ing the patter off the carpet right in front of their door. — JOSEPH FULLING FISHMAN. ? *J The study of history, if it teaches anything, teaches that nothing succeeds like success. The study of ethics is a kind of lick-spittle apologetics designed to prove it. TU£CI4ICAG0AN 19 Public Need Sans Suggestion THERE is more or less complaint among the swimmers in the an nual Chicago River race regarding the flavor of the water. They seem to feel that world's fair talk and subway noise should be set aside for the more important matter of producing some essence that would, when dropped here and there in the Chi cago River, give to its substance a more zestful taste. And the swimmers are not alone in this. The poor quality of the water is such that no self-respecting suicide — at least no epicure — would care to derange his liver by inhaling a suffi cient quantity of the Chicago River liquid to bring about his demise. Chi cago is losing hundreds of good sui cides each year due to the deplorable quality of river water. Of course, the Chicago River isn't any worse, as to taste, than it was before, but swimmers and suicides are a little bit more particular about their palate and health. A swimmer can not keep fit by gobbling up the pastel blue liquid that flows within the Loop gates, and a suicide would be a poor insurance risk, on the typhoid count alone, after having immersed himself for any length of time under the Randolph street bridge. Just how to clear up the water we don't profess to know. The problem is in the hands of the Drainage Board, and if there are no perfumers among that body of men let's call in the tax payers, whose ability to sweeten the city treasurer's pot might be applicable to this peculiarly saccharinating prob lem. — LEIGH METCALF. The Lost Lincoln A Reading of the Hieroglyphics Moon Song The moon above the light of the stores, Looks round and spendable, As though it could buy something Quite dependable: A ticket to the land of dreams Or a sapphire dress with silver seams. The moon in the country Is just a light, To see if the cows Come up all right. — MADELINE BABCOCK SMITH. THE statue of Lincoln in Grant Park, which was unveiled only a year and a half ago, should be flanked by sphynxes instead of Doric columns. For this seated figure of the care-worn "Emancipator, brooding over a divided people, the tragic leader of a fratricidal war, symbolizes a mystery. It is only a minor mystery, but it piques the curiosity. It is a mystery of the little Chicago which occasionally says "I won't" instead of "I will"; of the reactionary Chicago which is some times caught applying four-wheel brakes to civic progress. It is an ironical mystery whose memory should be preserved as an antidote to the boastfulness of our go-getters. This Lincoln was the last work of Augustus Saint Gaudens, greatest of American sculptors, who died in 1907. It has existed in enduring bronzes for twenty years. It was created by Saint Gaudens under a commission in the last will and testament of John Crerar, who had the happy thought of giving to the South Side a sculptured Lincoln that would supplement, if not rival, the world-famous statue in Lincoln Park. The statue was modeled, cast, and delivered to the South Park Commis sioners, before Saint Gaudens died. It then passed into oblivion. The years marched on, "like great black oxen," to quote William Butler Yeats and Ger trude Atherton. The statue failed to find a pedestal upon the Chicago land scape. It became forgotten. It was lost in the jungle of Chicago like a prehistoric god in a tropical forest. If the trustees of the estate of John Crerar were annoyed by the mysterious disappearance of a 100-ton statue, bought and paid for at more than $1,000 a ton, they never expressed themselves openly. Finally some old-timer with a long memory (name forgotten) sat down and wrote a letter to a newspaper, giving the facts in the case as he re membered them and asking why the statue had never been erected. His letter was printed in a "Vox Pop" column, where the world might read and wonder. Of all the four million, only one man saw it and perked up his ears. He was a newspaper man, but not in a position to sway the destinies of na tions or of statues. As a matter of fact, news was supposed to be none of his business, and when he walked up to a city editor with the clipping and said "This is a story," he was yawned at. Whereupon he spoke eloquently upon the subject of Lincoln, Saint Gaudens and the art of sculpture for half an hour. The city editor finally became conscious and shouted for a reporter. The reporter's name was John Ryckman, and he had a habit of bring ing back what he was sent after. He returned with the statue, or a photo graph of it, which served just as well. He had found it boxed up in a barn where the South Park Commissioners stored their excess statuary and lawn- mowers. He also brought back inter views with the commissioners which were brilliant examples of the art of saying nothing. The newspaper decided to give this story a ride. Whenever there were no assassinations in Cicero, it chased its bright boys out to ask park commis sioners impertinent questions. Action followed; and after twenty years in storage the second and last Saint Gaudens' Lincoln found his way to an eternal seat upon a chair of state in Grant Park, facing south as if waiting for word from Appomattox. When the ceremonies of unveiling were announced, an architect was asked by a professional journal to 20 TUECUICAGQAN which he contributed to write an article about this new-old Lincoln. He, too, tried to find out why John Crerar's gift was twenty years late, but the only answer he received was: "It would be tactful not to inquire too closely into this subject." Upon a bronze tablet at the back of the pedestal there is an inscription . giving honor where honor is due. The names of the men who were South Park Commissioners when John Cre rar's will was read are there. All but two of them are dead. The man who gave the "Vox Pop" letter to the city editor, who dispatched the reporter, who unearthed the lost Lincoln, recently visited the monument. "I have heard," he said, "that the pedestal and architectural setting were designed by Stanford White, who back in 1907" was rated as a very naughty man. I wonder if that is the answer?" Then he read out the names of the extinct board of park commissioners, and sang under his breath: "Fifteen men on a dead man's chest — Yo, ho, ho, and a statue of Abe!" — CHARLES COLLINS. Gratitude Thanks for the posies, The daffodils and rosies, But don't you think you've got .a crust To send bouquets when pollen dust You know annoys our nosies? — PAUL ERNST. ruR'5«<kAe<€ (aeC- Chicago Guide IV: After Baedeker Michigan Boulevard, N.orth At Madison Street, South Michigan Boulevard suddenly becomes North. The tourist should pause here a mo ment to observe the view. Across the northern horizon are flung three tow ers and several buildings. Reading from left to right they are: the Mather Tower. When asked what this tall, willowy edifice was to be, Dal, the bricklaying foreman on the job, replied: "A needle. Find the hay stack." Next come the chewing gum twins, office buildings by day and a lighthouse at night. The Tribune Tower is the building which intro duced the word Gothic into the Chi cago vocabulary, just as the tower of the Furniture Mart (at the extreme right of the picture) has introduced color and humor into local architecture. Between these two towers looms a mod ern structure in warehouse red. Standing at Madison and Michigan the traveler is in the shadow of the Tower Building, until the recent Tower Age the highest edifice in the city. It is still surmounted by a noble figure known variously as Mercury, Diana, Commerce, the weathervane, Progress, in fact, almost everything but the Spirit of St. Louis. Only pole sit ters and pigeons know its gender and purpose. The sight-seer should now proceed northward. He can do this by bus or cab unless he is in a hurry, in which case he should go on foot Near the n. end of the block be' tween Madison and Washington is the only building in downtown Chicago which is devoted exclusively to flowers. Across Washington Street stands the Public Library, a very ancient build' ing erected in the Nineteenth Cen' tury. In bad weather the reference room on the fourth floor is a favorite retreat of many Chicagoans whose sense of smell is not too delicate. Across from the library, on the e. side of the street, rises the peristyle built to commemorate the end of Grant Park. Behind it may be glimpsed the long, beaverboard Illinois Central Station. N. of this point the boule vard has buildings on both sides. The e. side of the street is Oilburner Lane, gradually cooling to Refrigerator Row as it approaches the river. Here per' sons can arrange to heat- their houses without coal, preserve foodstuff with out ice, and part from money with or without delay. The building on the w. side of Michigan at Randolph houses the Crerar Library, where life is real, life is earnest, and the reading room is not for conversation. The froth of life and the soda fountain is purveyed in the next block within the walls of a Spanish Garden whose blue plaster sky is never darkened by clouds. The management tempers the wind to the shorn customer and altogether the cli mate resembles that of southern Cali' fornia, except that here there are no unusual days. The traveler will observe that Michi' gan Boulevard, like the Chicago River, has been made to change its course and run uphill. So far, Canada and the eastern Great Lakes States have made no protest. One of the many noble bridges which span the Chicago River forms the crest of the Michigan Boule vard hill. The ends of the bridge are marked by large tombstones sur mounted by funeral urns which at times smoke in a most ominous manner. — E. V. PARK. ^f All men are eventually beaten by life. Therefore Nietzsche, while an able warrior for an assault with the sturmtruppen, was an abysmally stupid tactician. He fought ferociously well because he was too ignorant to foresee his sure and pitiful defeat. THE CHICAGOAN 21 Birdies and Lies The Chicago Golf Epidemic 1 "HIS game called golf, which has ¦ infected the Chicago area until woolen stocking retailers and grass seed salesman are buying baronial halls, has yet to be appraised. In doing so briefly I may cut through a few foursomes or trip some master on his own niblick. That will possibly end my welcome at certain country clubs. Still, all the golf writers go about their business too seriously. Of course, golf has its time-hallowed brand of humor, built around the standard Scotchman with his gutty balls, or the unnamed dub playing his first round. But where are the Westbrook Peglers of golf? Unborn, or at least unhired. It has been scarcely forty years since Andy Bell caused a regular Bug Club riot in Washington Park by trying out the trio of clubs and used balls he brought back from a trip to Scotland. Then a few enterprising gentlemen, mostly wealthy enough to ignore pub lic sentiment, founded the first club — a nine-hole, thirty-five member limit affair —out at Belmont, near Napierville. While one foursome went around, the other thirty-one were busy chasing the cows off the greens. But as I write this there are about 170 golf clubs, pri vate, fee, and public, and some with the features of all three. When I take this sheet from the typewriter a new one will have opened. There are nearly as many salesmen describing the advantages of the private club memberships (by invitation only — no Jews, or no Gentiles, admitted — for Knights of Columbus — only 32nd de gree Masons, Blue Lodgers stay out) as there are oil burner peddlers. Golf has become an industry, creeping up on the chewing gum or motion picture businesses. Each year, mighty forests fall to make clubs for perspiring office men, and to supply millions of Reddy tees. The local golf press flourishes, even without the whiskey ads which make the English game's journals so fas cinating. And every metropolitan paper has from one to three golf writers. Harland Rohm, a serious young man, handles the sport for the Tribune. "Debonair Ernie Heitkamp, who enjoys playing a round on every course, writes golf for the American; Fred Proctor stepped from the high powered brokerage wire, in the Board of Trade to write his well known "Notes of the Golfers" in the Examiner; Jack Hoag is given free rein to tell all in the Evening Post. Then there is Arthur Sweet, once a pro and for years an amateur of high rank, who does his stuff for the Daily Tsjetus. All these boys know the game and write it well, as does the specialistic Bob Gardner. Size may have something to do with it. Olympia Fields, a twenty-seven mile skip down the I. C, is still Chi cago's (and the world's) ultimate in clubs. It has 1,300 members, seventy- two holes, spread over six hundred acres, and a million dollar clubhouse. The locker room is so big that when a member phones in to the soda fountain they send a boy on a bicycle with the ginger ale. It takes an annual budget like that of U. S. Steel to operate Olympia. A club manager whose salary approaches a railroad president's, and who has hundreds of employes under him, is needed. It's hard to make wisecracks about a club like that. But just recently, 600 of the 1,100 or so caddies who work at Olympia went on strike. The boys wanted a day off each week. The Board of Governors was said to have been in dignant. They loaded the boys on a train and sent 'em to town. And all the rest of that day many a poor 200- pound player had to carry his own clubs. The boys didn't get the spirit of golf. There are a great variety of golf clubs, even if they all look the same from the interurban window. Private courses which have gained age and dig nity, as Chicago Golf, Onwentsia or Riverside, are formal. Clubs like Wil- mette, Norske or Illinois are open- hearted. Some of the fee courses have farm house clubhouses and are rather short on shower baths. The public courses have few natural hazards, — but many human ones. Tournaments and Saturday prize competitions have reached a point where it's a distinction not to win some thing every week. Trying to keep a record of it all, as the club pros or managers who are racking their brains for new stunt features must do, would drive a Roger Babson loony. Classes A, B, C and D (especially D, the boys with the big handicaps) have to win all sorts of prizes or they won't play. It's done this way, if by chance any reader doesn't belong to a golf club. An earnest player, fat and fifty per haps, usually goes around in 135 strokes. So a benevolent power grants him a 58 handicap. The gentleman, puffing and full of fatigue, labors in to the 18th green. He has made his round in 130! With his 58 allowance, he has a net of 72 — low net! Con gratulations are showered upon him. He wins a pair of blue golf stockings with red beagle hounds embroidered on them. The hole-in-one club is another example of what promotion can do. Chicago has a number of members of this "inner society" and nearly all of them are only mediocre players. Of course it's all a matter of a lucky stroke, but when a man does it, he is showered with gifts from manufactur ers of golf supplies and he has his picture in the paper. Harry Moir is as proud of his hole in one at Calumet last year as he is of the Morrison Hotel or of Joe Powers' record. At least, as a true golfer, he should be. Golf even gets into politics in Chi cago. When William A. Dever was mayor he had to fight the urgings of hundreds of club promoters to become an honorary member of their clubs and drive the first ball. It was hard to resist, because he's a real golf fan. So is Francis X. Busch, who was his cor poration counsel. Ed Litsinger, who might have become mayor if Big Bill hadn't is another golfer who can't keep off the links. "Chick" Evans, who used to win so many cups in big time com petition that he had to hire a hall to keep 'em in, has been given a fine job as superintendent of golf for the Forest Preserve courses. And so it goes. Our numerous professionals, well dressed men (Continued on page 31.) 22 TWECmCAGOAN Chicago Complex An Inglorious Admission '/TpHIS," said the young man be- 1 hind the wheel, "is Michigan Avenue." "It's beautiful," said his guest. "Yes, it's nice," the driver admitted, "but you come back and see if after all the improvements are made in Grant Park. Bridges — new I. C. stations. Then you'll see something." He turned east on Monroe and south in the park. "One of our famous St. Gaudens Lincolns." "Stunning," pronounced the visitor. "It will be when there's nice grass everywhere and the trees are bigger. This is going to be a swell park some day." "And that," hazarded the girl, "is the stadium." "Good, isn't it? But you wait until it's done. We're going to have an aquarium over there, too, and a land ing place for airplanes. See those boats out there? They're sandsuckers. We're filling in the lake. Going to have a chain of islands. It'll be pretty nice, won't it?" "Yes, indeed," agreed the guest. "And this is a wonderful driveway." "It's all right as far as it goes. Now we've got to turn here at Twenty- third street street but eventually the outer drive will continue straight out along the shore." "Well," said the young lady, "there's nothing the matter with this street we're on now." "South Parkway? Of course it's wide, but there's lots to be done to it yet. I look for a building boom around here. Then we'll have something to show you." Meanwhile there were Grand Boule vard, Washington Park and the Mid way. "Your university is beautiful." "Pretty fine. But of course they're still building. Wait till the new chapel is finished." In Jackson Park the girl admired the old Fine Arts Building. "Attractive ruin," her guide agreed, "but we're going to have a mechanical exposition building here in a few years. That'll be something to talk about." After seeing the south side they drove downtown again. "This is the Auditorium, isn't it?" asked the visitor. "Your famous old opera house. It must be beautiful inside." "It's all right," the young man ad mitted, "but it's going to be torn down. They're making plans for a swell new theatre." "Now," he continued, "we're coming to our big double-decker bridge." "I've heard about that," said the girl. "A wonderful improvement, isn't it?" "Oh, sure," answered the man, but we're going to have another bridge pretty soon, a continuation of the outer drive. That'll be a real improvement." "This double driveway looks new," remarked the stranger. "Just finished. Nice when all the kinks are straightened out." "Chicago certainly is a wonderful city." "Well, if you think it's nice now, just imagine what it'll be in ten years." — RUTH G. BERGMAN. . TiP For Emergency Use Only IT was about the time of the morn ing when the men who man the milk wagons were getting their work outs that a most intoxicated young man was weaving along a Southside boulevard homeward bound. From across the street came another person seemingly much more in his cups than the young man; certainly less success ful in maintaining his cherished equi librium. As the figure approached him, the young man saw more or less clearly that the fellow was a policeman. The fact is, he was a policeman. The policeman, for that's what he was, staggered swaggeringly up to the young man and asked with complicat ed enunciation, "Where yuh goin' this time o' night?" "Goin' home this time o' night," replied the young man. "I says, 'Where yuh goin' this time o' night?' " growled the officer. "Oh, I thought you asked where I was goin'," said the young man. "Yeah, an' yuh said yuh was goin' home," muttered the policeman. "I am," said the young man. Then, perhaps sobered a bit by the blue and brass, he drew from his pocket a most official looking, red I. C. ticket, flashed it in the officer's face and said, "See here, officer; I'm Blank of the Insert- nameof press." The policeman bent over the ticket, scanned it thoughtfully, straightened and said cheerfully, "Oh, tha's all right then; go on." — DON CLYDE. Document By "Hold 'Em" Joe Powers ¥ THINK like Lindbergh, Serg. 1 York and I have a message for the youths of this country, and now that I got my world's record for flag-pole sitting all won — I'm willing to do my part as an example. I ain't much of a hand to talk about myself but I would like to get my ideals before the parents of America so that their kids could have some thing to shoot at. First, let me say that I got more will power than any young fellow my age in the United States, but that don't mean that boys and girls of to day have to give up. If young people today would spend more time prac ticing flag-pole sitting instead of golf and gin drinking America would be a better place in which to live in. My friends tell me that I have nerves of steel. They are right. I have got nerves of steel. The night the lightning struck the Morrison flag pole I never thought of coming down and when the lictricity came right out of the tips of my fingers I just lit another ( ) cigarette. (I never got a thing from the Camel people.) I think if parents would point out to their kids that I not only won the world's record by my steel nerves and will power but that I have painted flag poles and signs in every one of our United States the .youths might get interested in this movement, if for no other reason than to get around some. Many people ask me what did I think about while I was up on the Morrison for 16 days 3 hours and 37 minutes with nothing but my nerves and will power. Well when I was awake I kept thinking about the better things in life like art and music and the number of automobiles on Michigan avenue. And another thing — a job like this gives you time to plan another sitting idea. Which is just what I done. In a few days, I hope, I'm going to put on a flag-pole sitting contest which will practically darken the Loop skies with flag-pole sitters. — HIMSELF. <HThe literary critic who inconti nently damns every work presented for his verdict has a smaller percentage of error against him than any practicing member of any learned profession on this planet. THE CHICAGOAN 23 Standard Discourse Grass, Trees, and Waters Three Views of Chicago Parks What to Say, and How to Say It [NOTE: With a view to saving wear and tear on the cerebral folds of our citi zenry we herewith present a guaranteed vacation discourse, easily learned and ef fectively delivered. This ritual is equally moving at Starved Rock, the Dunes, Yel lowstone National Park, the Grand Canyon, Pike's Peak, The Dells, The Forest Pre serve, as well as at all natural beauty spots both at home and abroad.] Jees! What a climb. Ain't nature strenuous. Ha Ha Ha. Ha Ha Ha. Strenuous is right. Lookit the water way down there; howja like to fall in that from here, Hey? And the rocks! Ain't they some pebbles though? Pebbles is right. Ha Ha Ha Ha. Well, it sure is a great view. Takes your breath away. Believe me a guy pays for his breath up here. It ain't like Chicago. Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha. Boy I bet the Indians, Egyptians, Frenchmen, Spaniards, Old Settlers (delete all but one) had high old times around here. Indians ain't all. Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha. Look at that couple over there. Did ja ever! Ha Ha Ha Ha. Gawd my feet hurt. Mine too. I've wore through these stockings. How'd them people get way up there? Climbed up, howja suppose? Gee, look where Joe is. Come down, Joe, you'll fall. Do be careful. Oh Joe don't stand on your head out there. You'll kill yourself. Come and look at the scenes. How deep do you think that is. Deep enough? Ha Ha Ha Ha. Where's the hotel from here. Gawd, it must be a thousand miles. Well, let's get going. C'mon Joe. — GONFAL. Referring to Emotion To Maxwell Bodenheim The sleek convexities of thought Are subtle and insidious things; A precious load, not to be bought With idle words and dim yearnings. The searing constancy of pain Produces animosity, And so we scan an inky stain Of verbose furiosity. — WILLIAM CLOSSON EMORY. FALL, winter, and spring, relaxation is a private matter. In summer it becomes a public function carried on openly in the city parks. Stalwart fellows not at the moment engaged in hog-butchering, wheat han dling and playing with the railroads, to filch from Mr. Sandburg, dispose themselves in the open air attended by vast wives and shrill offspring. Chil dren scream; young folks swim and court; wives eat. Through it all the recumbent male rests tremendously. Now and then a volleying child gets itself bunkered against his torso. Oc casionally he is stirred by the beauty of green lawns against blue water and so consumes a sandwich. But by and large he rests. We do not mean to set down that all relaxation in the public parks is of equal and epic dimensions. A great many less robust citizens avail them selves of these play areas during August weather to rest or recreate according to their inclination in such matters. Some dabble at tennis on the grass, a pleas ingly unstrenuous pastime, not at all in the demoniac mode of Mile. Lenglen. Couples stroll lovesomely amid the city's open spaces. A whole race of amiable fellows tosses horseshoes. And another race, more affluent perhaps, rides to imaginary hounds on the bridle paths. Bathers and babies make a great display of themselves in the long, hot summer twilight. Band concerts are well attended. Sweating amateurs toil at baseball while their sweating ad mirers toil at cheering them on. A leaven of small boys, piping and nimble as frogs — and as amphibious — adds mo tion to the heat-weary crowd. City dogs, strange pent-up animals, each a-quiver with a wild surmise at every other dog, are led captive — more rarely in triumph — along winding park paths. City people gibber in the mon key house. Hoboes enjoy nirvana by fantastic lagoons. Speaking ethnically, north side and west side parks are fre quented by nordics. Southern play places run to darker complexions and fewer complexes. All in all there are 4,965 acres of park to this gent's town, and the acre age is growing; month by month the city edges back the lake and eventu ally waterfront rubble heaps become trees and grass. More than 80 miles of boulevard connect the large parks. The mileage of short cuts across the grass, paths dear to the plain voter and his lady love, must reach well toward infinity. Continuing with figures, there are 193 small parks, 14 large ones, 31 play grounds, and 12 beaches. Something like 45 million people avail themselves of outdoor recreation during the year — a noticeable percentage in their stocking feet, though this last free ges ture seems to be on the wane. We like to think of Chicago parks as having three high points: The Belmont harbor in Lincoln just at dawn when the sky is yet dark against the eastern rim of the lake so that air and water join indistinguish- ably on an imaginary horizon. Much higher the sky is barely pink. The dawn stars still plain. Ghostly craft flocked at anchor with their heads all in one direction are nebulous in the un real light, each yacht sprouting a mast with a magically lighted tip, incredibly, grotesquely tall. A hulking, tremen dous dredge against the far harbor side completes an unguessed allegory. Jackson park toward dusk. A long ride through the scabrous and littered city which gradually becomes present able for perhaps ten blocks and then breaks into abrupt splendor at the park edge. There is no gradual introduc tion to Jackson. Suddenly it is before you, a jewel of green cloisonne, a place of deep lawns, still water, cool, rest ful, complete. Later on one notices de tail: the sad magnificence of the crumbled Fine Arts buildnig, the la goons, the wooded island. But the first impression is Jackson park . . . abrupt splendor ... a jewel of green cloisonne. And last there is Grant park, the outer drive, at night. A steady whine of rubber against black asphalt. Far to the north the city is a miniature, a puppet staging which gradually be comes gigantic as one's car bores into the cool air. Suddenly, the clean Greek beauty of the stadium and the Field Museum. And one turns full against the ramparts of Chicago, a bright, enormous wall set proudly against the ageless silence of Michigan. 24 THE CHICAGOAN Backgrounds By One Who Knew Them When— John T. McCutcheon came to Chicago from a small town in Indiana . and got a job on the old Chicago Record. ? County Clerk Robert M. Sweitzer was a salesman for a wholesale dry goods firm. ? Richard J. Finnegan was a lawyer and ran for Congress on the north side before becoming managing editor of The Chicago Journal. ? U. J. Herrmann, better known as "Sport," was a billposter at the old McVicker 's Theatre. James Wingfield was a jockey rid ing the jumpers at all the principal race tracks in the country, before becoming a theatrical booker in Chicago. ? Sidney Smith traveled through Illinois giving chalk talks in country school houses for several years before getting a regular job as an artist on a Pittsburgh newspaper. He came from Pittsburgh to The Chicago Tribune. ? William L. Veeck, president of the Cubs, a native of Kentucky, started in Chicago as baseball reporter for The Chicago Evening American. ? Ring Lardner covered baseball for three Chicago newspapers before turn ing out to be a comical writer and mov ing to New York. ? Claire Briggs started his career as a newspaper artist on the old Chicago Examiner. ? Guy Hardy was an accountant in a bank before be became an impre sario. ? Ben Atwell was city editor of The Chicago Daily ?iews, before entering the show business as a press agent. ? Art Wells was a telegraph operator in a stock broker's office. ? Eddie Foy sold newspapers at Clark and Madison streets. ? John M. Glenn was a reporter for the old Chicago Inter Ocean. ? B. A. Eckhart was a clerk* in a drugstore. ? Sherwood Anderson was a sales man in a Chicago advertising agency and wrote novels as a sideline after office hours. ? Ben Hecht began as a picture chaser for The Chicago Journal. Law and Order At State and Washington HILE waiting for a street car the other day — and this was on the corner of State and Washington, not in a scented boudoir — I was treated to the spectacle of a gayly colored roadster • careening blithely to the left around the corner, scattering before it a solid phalanx of amazed pedestrians. This counter clockwise looping of the loop did not pass unheeded by the khaki-clad direc tor of wayfaring. He played a few shrill bars on his whistle, spat on his hands, and lumbered over to the offending car, which had now come to a dutiful halt. Being a man of few words, but often, the officer fired a salvo of invective at the driver, gave an encore, and thundered: "You can't make a left turn here!" Whereupon the driver, a youth of bold and rakish mien, smiled triumph antly, and answered: "Well, didn't I just make one?" What followed is, as the rialto boys have it, nobody's business. JOSEPH P. POLLARD. Do you mean to say you haven't "Vo-Do-De-0 Blues?" THE CHICAGOAN 25 AMONG the myriad schemes for getting a gleam of limelight, de vised for reasons numerous, both legitimate and mountebank, are many containing the essential elements of humor. O. Henry once wrote of a newspaperman who turned charlatan press agent and wound up a kaleido scopic career by organizing a group of wealthy suckers into a banquet club, membership in which entitled each dues payer to the privilege of reserving an expensive table at one of the more ex clusive New York hotels once each month to hear a distinguished speaker. At the close of each meeting, the guest of honor was always presented with a huge silver loving cup by the chair man, for the purchase of which each member had contributed his pro rata share. All arrangements, including the renting of the banquet hall, ordering of the dinner, issuing of the expensively engraved invitations to members, keep ing of accounts and securing of the speakers was handled by the organizer. For his trouble he added a little here and there to the various charges paid by members, but his supreme coup was in charging each distinguished speaker a flat but otherwise plump fee for the privilege of speaking as guest of honor before the exclusive dinner club! O. Henry probably based his tale on fact. Banquets have ever been a favor ite medium for the artistry of bunk. There is something about an invitation to a banquet that's irresistible no mat ter how well aware the person in vited may be of the excellent prospect of his being bored to exasperation. There is, of course, a certain elixir which provides an antidote and quite possibly it is for the sake of the cure that most of the sufferers undergo the malady. Publicity in the news columns of our daily prints has become such a real or fancied necessity for the success of nearly every kind of public undertak ing, commercial, charitable and politi cal, that the persons charged with ob taining it must leave no stone unturned in their quest The business of get ting free advertising into the papers has become an industry of bewildering proportions and a great deal of it is entirely ethical from all viewpoints. The chief difficulty faced by the pub licity seeker today, in respect to news papers, lies in the fact that the daily press is supplied with such an enormous mass of press agent material that only a very small portion of the best of it can be used. The agent, therefore, is JOURNALUTIC JOURNEY/ The Publicity Dinner thrown into the keenest sort of com petition in the peddling of his wares. This has led to the birth of sundry weird contrivances designed to win the ear of editors. And the commonest of them in Chicago is the publicity din ner. Examples of civic undertakings re quiring extra effort in the matter of assuring items in the papers are exhibi tions such as the war show of recent date, the coming rodeo, charity drives of all sorts and the less commercial of the sporting events of magnitude. It has been the custom of adroit press agents for these affairs to inaugurate their campaigns by a frank, personal and social appeal to the individuals who compose the editorial staffs of the pa pers. The appeal is merely an invita tion to attend "a little party, to be given for newspapermen exclusively at the such and such club on this or that date." The words have a world of meaning to all reporters and editors who have attended similar functions. They are always completely without a vestige of formality and lack the threat of after-dinner speeches. Antidote elixir for the latter, however, is pro vided in such abundant quantity as to preclude seriousness beyond the first half hour. If any speeches are made at all they are spontaneous and have no reference to anything whatsoever. After-dinner amusement is usually provided by the guests themselves. At one such dinner recently representatives from all the papers, not a few alder men and several high officials of the city government were assembled for the solemn purpose of outlining ways and means of cooperation between the press and those in charge of a civic exposi tion. The newspapermen were the guests. From the time the assemblage sat down to dinner until 3 a. m., when the last of those at the party dispersed and started home, hardly a word was spoken concerning the purpose of the dinner. The press agent who ar ranged the affair was confident the boys would have a good time and that later they would associate his enterprise with memories of a pleasant evening, to the advantage of the enterprise. The reporters and editors, on the other hand, realized this full well and as the cause was legitimate, accepted eagerly the invitation to a good dinner, non- poisonous elixir and a lively evening without incurring, mentally or other wise, the slightest obligation. By the time the cigars were passed more than one of those present had reached that point of jubilation which might be called effervescent. So deeply did one newspaper man feel over the brilliance of the occasion that he rose tremblingly to announce: "I think — I think — I don't know what I think," whereupon he subsided into his chair again amidst salvos of applause. A corpulent alderman, beseeched to give his "Memorial Day address," ahemed a few times and began: "I have in my pocket two small cubes of ivory. I shall withdraw to yon corner of this spacious hall. If any here care to join me in a little, contest I shall be pleased to accommodate the gentlemen." He did and they were as the litde cubes clicked a merry tune for the remainder of the evening. There were, to be sure, a few who failed to enter into the spirit of the affair, but these departed early and as the big room became more and more obscured by dense clouds of cigar smoke the scene assumed bacchanal propor' tions. A disinterested observer might have described the latter part of the evening as a good old-fashioned binge, but he would have done so without rancor. Publicity dinners are con ceived and executed entirely in the spirit of innocent if sophisticated fun. The press agent who arranged the party accomplishes his purpose and most of the guests go home none the worse for their exhilaration. If there are headaches next day, they are con sidered no more than a fair price for value received. — JOSEPH dugan. 26 TWECWICAGOAN JPORT/ REVIEW Sufifiort for Shorts WHEN you stop to consider it, the announcement of the box ing match to be held September 15 (or thereabouts) in our lake front stadium is of more than passing sig nificance. Boxing is a manly, virile sport and when you think of two fine strapping fellows coming all the way across the country to test their skill, one against the other, right here in our own front yard, so to speak, you must feel a certain obligation to sup port the event by buying a ticket or two. It is gratifying to know that these boys will get some remuneration for their trouble in coming here, but we must not forget that unless the match is generously supported by the public, the boys won't get as much out of it as they expect — not by a couple of million dollars. We understand the exhibition is not to be one of those questionable winner-take-all affairs. It is to be fair and square for both boys. Mr. George L. Rickard, who arranged the meeting, is to divide whatever funds are col lected at the gate in an equitable man ner previously arranged as to shares. At this writing, more than a month before the date set, only $750,000 has rolled in. In estimating what Chicago ought to do in the way of support, Mr. Rickard thinks $2,500,000 would be about right. John Dempsey, in case you didn't know, is a well set-up young fellow from the west. Eugene Tunney comes from the east and was formerly one of the enlisted personnel of the Marine Corps. The boys have been rivals since last fall when Eugene bested John in a match at Philadelphia. The coming contest is a return match and will decide the rubber if Tunney equals his previous performance. The early wagering favored him five to nine in the east and four to five in Chicago. Mr. George Getz is the local patron of the affair, which will be conducted under the auspices of the Illinois Box ing Commission. If they haven't done so as you read this announcement, the rivals will arrive almost any day now to begin practicing. Turf Racing DUST kicked up by the flying hoofs of galloping ponies in the final races of the Lincoln Fields race meet ing at Crete will hardly have settled completely before the ballyhoo will be on for the 18-day affair at Hawthorne beginning Monday, August 15. Spon sors admit they have spent some $300,000 for improvements to the oval and the grandstand and the entries so far announced measure up to first class race meeting requirements. The closer proximity of Hawthorne, as compared with the Crete oval, should also add considerably to the popularity of the daily runnings. Yachting YACHT skippers who faced bad weather two weeks ago at the start of the annual Mackinac race and dawdled along in the doldrums off the west Michigan shore a few hours later are hoping for better conditions next year. Nole Karas managed to put the nose of his Siren across the finish line considerably ahead of the other white wings after some 59 hours of sailing under difficulties. His achievement and the triumph of the Jackson Park Yacht Club's Shalomar in winning the cruiser class race puts Chicago well in front for sail racing honors until next year. Tennis IANK Bill Tilden is not only coming *-* into his own again but is adding new tricks daily to his long and well established gallery thrillers. Last week at Seabright, N. J., he scorned a shower of rain, flipped off his shoes and continued to slap the ball over the net, much, you may surmise, to the astonishment and delight of those on lookers who had umbrellas and could remain. Bill was wearing a pair of heavy white wool socks, according to the fashion note relayed from the courtside. A week before he had dazzled Chicago by snatching the state championship away from Johnny Hen' nessy after a gruelling five sets 5-7, 6-3, 6-2, 6-8, 8-6. Seeding of Chicago entries in the Michigan state tournament at Grand Rapids shortly after the Skokie matches ended would indicate a healthy respect for tennis as she is played hereabouts. And with the United States intersectional team matches opening here right soon, we may expect our local prides to give Mr. Tilden and the other ranking stars of the country another good stiff run for their reputations. A glance at the sport dispatches from the four corners during the last couple of weeks shows great activity on the courts everywhere, all leading up to the Davis cup matches. Following the Seabright tournament came the Wightman cup set-to in which the best women singles wanglers met up with a contingent from England at Forest Hills. Golf MID-SEASON tournaments at the golf courses are in full swing, the players swinging likewise. Champions rise and fall with each turn of the calendar and timely chronicle of each new star- in,' the golfing heavens becomes a business of trying to catch up. The triumph of Mrs. Lee Mida in the Women's West' ern at Oak Park was not unexpected after the first few rounds. Excellent golf was the rule throughout the tour' nament and the laurels of the winner quite deserved. The retiring cham pion, Mrs. Melvin Jones, played a sturdy game in the face of ill fortune. A golfing note concerning the game in Chicago would not be complete at this juncture without mention of the situation at Olympia Fields a few days ago. The reason couldn't have been the circus, for it has folded its tents and disappeared, but something equal' ly fascinating must have taken its place for a day because the caddies early one morning announced they were walking out — and they walked. It is reported the rough at Olympia Fields will yield a rich harvest to any one taking the trouble to search through it. — sportsman. fWE CHICAGOAN •27 Oak Street Beach Painlessly Projected Pictures THE Drake and Lake Shore ho tels . . . An endless line of shiny motor cars chugging along the boule vard with occupants who never deign to notice the bathers. . . . Hundreds of children from the tenements near the. river joyously splashing about in the Gold Coast's front yard. . . . Benches occupied by old men pretend ing to read papers. . . . Two deaf men discussing the news of the day in a conversational pitch that might be heard on the Tribune Tower. . . . Home made bathing suits pieced to gether by mother for the children. . . . One made out of father's old Palm Beach suit. ... An old-maid dress-maker with a bathing suit reach ing nearly to her ankles, the vintage of 1906. . . . Bob-haired shopgirl flappers wearing as little as the police allow. ... A fat couple, tired of the water, lying in the sand asleep. . . . A life guard dragging to shore a boy who ventured too far out. . . . Gold Coast babies in expensive perambula tors being pushed along the concrete promenade by pretty nurse girls. . . . A sun-burned blonde with a figure that some day may win for her the "Miss Chicago" title: in a bathing beauty contest. ... A little girl, up to her knees in water, eating pop-corn. ... A wave knocks her down, she loses the tid-bit, bawls loudly. . . . A frowsy looking airdale tries to fol low a group of children into the wa ter and is chased away by the guard. . . . A couple of fresh boys get too familiar with a big eyed brunette and are shooed away by a police woman. . . . The bathers go in the water at this beach. . . . They do not walk miles through dusty streets in the hot sun for nothing. . . . And when they come they get their money's worth. . . . When the hour for closing ar rives, the guard has as much trouble getting the bathers out of the water as a bartender used to have in the old days ejecting his patrons so he could lock up and go home. The S' 1 he Linme NOT so many weeks ago we were pronouncing a requiem over the deceased theatre season of 1926-27; and now, with signs of autumn in the newspapers, if not in the air, we ad just our spectacles to glance, more or less eagerly, toward the theatre season of 1927-28, about to be foisted upon us. Randolph Street, which in the past two months has become nothing more than a tawdry thoroughfare of orange-drink dens, will soon dust itself off, switch on all its lights, and re- emerge as the incandescent alley of the ticket-scalpers' dream. And with what bright-eyed expect ancy we await the opening of the new theatre season each year. Verily, we are a race of incorrigible optomists. Homo sap, to be scientific. But why be scientific? As we search Mr. Don- aghey's informative column in the Tribune each Sunday, to ascertain the titles of forthcoming attractions, and the dates of their local premieres, we know perfectly well that not one in sixteen will reward us with an evening's entertainment. Yet we proceed, year after year, with a naif faith, a vast hope and no little charity, perfectly confident that the Messrs. A. H. Woods, Sam Harris, Abe Erlanger, the Chevalier Belasco, et al, will not fail us. And on that score it must be admitted that the Chevalier fails us less often than his fellow producers. We know just what to expect from the Belasco Art Theatre, consequently we are never disappointed. It's always a good show. The vanguard of the new season is Mr. Sam Shipman's dramatic master piece, Crime, sponsored by A. H. Woods, who has ever stood for the bet ter things in our theatre. It was Mr. Woods who gave the world those charming old plays, ?<Lellie, the Beauti ful Cloa\ Model, Bertha, the Sewing Machine Girl, Queen of the White Slaves, et cetera, and he is still carry ing on that fine tradition. Crime is a drama — well, you might almost call it a melodrama — in fact, we will call it a melodrama — done in Mr. Shipman's most subtle, satiric style, revealing all the secrets of the underworld that were not disclosed in Broadway, The TAG E at the Adelfihi ?S[oose and Tenth Avenue — and some of those that were. Among the sen sational features of Crime, you behold an actual jewelry-store robbery — right on the stage. Just think of it! Per haps we erred in bringing in that touch about Mr. Shipman's subtle, satiric touch. Perhaps, after all, Crime is a bold stroke of realism, done in a big way. But whether Crime is subtle satire or bold realism — and in these significant plays you can't always tell — the coupon-holders are going to file into the Adelphi to see it, for many weeks to come. OF the old New York successes that will be new to this frontier the most imminent is a take-'em-off-we- know-you mystery play, called The Spider, due in the Olympic August 14th. The borough of Manhattan has clasped The Spider to its shirt-front with shrill cries of delight. It will doubtless run eleven years there. In Chicago it will be played by the origi nal Paducah, Ky., company. The Spider is half drama, half magic-lantern show. It is one of those theatre-within- a-theatre affairs, and you find yourself at the rise of the first curtain viewing a bona fide vaudeville performance, with a news-pictorial movie, a song- and-dance team, a hotsytotsy magician, etc. While the house lights are out a murder is committed in the audience. What do you think of that for goings- on? Well, you may be sure there are plenty of screams and commotion among the customers. Some ladies just love to go to the theatre so they can have a good scream. Solving the mur der mystery occupies a couple of acts, and things go from worse to bad — in fact they become terrible — until it is dis covered that the crime was committed by — you never could guess — none other than your Aunt Minnie, who came in from Evanston to see the show, and who has been sitting beside you all evening. Well, well. Who'd have thought Aunt Minnie would do a thing like that! But it only goes to show, you never can tell. And certainly you never can tell how these mystery shows will turn out. At least, you're not sup posed to. — G. M. 28 TI4ECI4ICAGOAN Norma Talmadge, in the inevitable "Camille" incites to lachrymose ex cesses, and how her sisters — thronging the refrigerated Roosevelt to see what a "picture for posterity " looks like — love it. Thus doth the cellu loid tragedienne achieve a Bernhardtian " farewell tour' without the aid of Time or a Pullman. TUE04ICAG0AN 29 IF nothing has gone amiss between I writing and reading of these lines, Norma Talmadge in Camille is doing a thriving business at the Roosevelt theatre. Miss Talmadge's version of the role that gets them all if they live (it is the fifth or sixth celluloid tran scription) is the most expensive and in many ways the best that has been brought out. Made available to Chi- cagoans after an engagement with the censor board settled in a new and highly commendable manner, it pos sesses the known attributes of a sus tained success. Even the "But I've got a book" ladies will go to weep with Miss Talmadge, with whom the records show our populace to be especially fond of weeping. But the picture is one thing, be it this or that. The star's gesture accom panying its unveiling is of greater significance. Miss Talmadge calls it "my picture for posterity." This seems an uncalled for visitation. It amounts to no less than a menace. If the idea catches on, as Miss Talmadge's ideas usually do, we may expect almost any thing. William S. Hart may come out of retirement to do an epic for the grandchildren, Chaplin may retake The Circus with suitable appendages, Mary and Doug may — but the prospect is too terrible. Better that Miss Tal madge be misunderstood, that the neigh bors attribute it all to manifestation of an advancing if wholly imperceptible hand of time. The rampant young art has no room for products of senti ment so labelled and its devotees are likely to accord them scant reverence. If the Talmadge gesture demonstrates this and fends off the inevitable era of "farewell appearances" it will be well worth the half million it costs. /"^THER pictures of the period are Vy of more than usual merit, a cir cumstance not at all justified by the theory that warm weather pictures need not be very good to fill air cooled theatres. Perhaps the supply of bad ones has been exhausted. At any rate, Pola Negri in Barbed Wire, Lon Chaney in The Unknown, and Lewis Stone in The Prince of Headwaiters are pictures well worth the time it takes to see them. Miss Negri's picture, quite plainly made for the European market, con cerns post-armistice bitterness existing between the French and German citizenry. The subject is a little flat The CINEMA Pictures far Posterity for this country at this time, but it gives the star a chance to act in the manner that no other star wears so well and this one wears so infrequently. It is excellently produced and ranks high as a composition. Mr. Chaney 's picture is a graphic demonstration of the man's remarkable physical ability, an ability I hold to be of less worth than his infrequently ex hibited acting powers, but one appar ently of greater interest to Chaney and his followers. It concerns a Gypsy troupe, the frustrated love which is always Chaney 's and the devices by which an armless man may work his will upon others more completely equipped. It is well thought out, con tains several unique incidents and it is Chaney. Lewis Stone's picture, about the type of thing the title suggests, is a little less competently assembled than the others but it does present Lewis Stone and that is a good deal to say for a picture. Childishly written captions get in the way now and then, but it is pretty good in spite of these and an ending that fairly drips sentiment. Mr. Stone should make his own pic tures. MR. POLLAK'S statement in the preceding issue of this journal, to the effect that the picture theatres may drop the musicians from their scheme of things, is a ray of hope. If the dismissal does not occur, as it prob ably will not while the jazz kings con tinue to draw the crowds they are drawing, I offer a substitute suggestion, to- wit: That half of the theatres be given over to the exclusive presentation of orchestral music, with dancing in the foyer and a soda fountain in each aisle, if necessary, and the other half of them be given over to motion pictures. Then eye and ear, which practically no theatre owner has been able to satisfy simultaneously, could be satisfied indi vidually. If this natural division of entertain ments works out profitably, as it quite obviously should, the idea might be developed. The jazzicians might be stationed in one chain of judiciously located playhouses, with the musicians grouped in another sequence of thea tres situated at properly separated points of accessibility. On the film side, certain houses might be devoted to the exhibition of cartoon comedies, others to historical epics, still others to domestic dramas and a final group — no doubt the most successful of all financially — to news reels. The news reel people, alone among picture pro ducers, stick to the business of making pictures and their product is unfailingly interesting. w. R. weaver. Sweet and low, boys — it's a drammer." 30 TWECUICAGOAN MU/ICAL note; The Muse Murderous WE offer "Fedora," opera in three fat acts, by Giordano, as the ripest quince in the Ravinia repertoire. As presented by the expensive squadron under the guiding genius of Herr Eck stein it seems to rouse an Italianate audience to a perfect frenzy of joy. Its one particular tenor aria, stained with ravioli, can always be found on the rickety piano in the back-room at Joe Ambo's. And, issuing from the silken throat of Martinelli, it invariably evokes a mighty storm of bravos, hoc\s and banzais. Aber warum? There is not from first to last one in spired passage in the entire score, not one snippet of melody free from the curse of an abysmal banality. Nor does the thing have the virtue of a good libretto. One Fedora, member of the Russian upper-crust and star female de tective, falls for one of her prize vic tims. She marries him to make the arrangement permanent. And so we come upon them in the third act, in their villa in Switzerland, Anna Ros- elle and Martinelli in the roles, honey mooning in a nifty horticultural set ting. The audience was painfully rude in this act, but after all, despite the virtues of Miss Roselle's soprano, she is not constructed to sit on Martinelli's lap. Tragedy stalks up in the shape of a letter proving that Fedora has played hob with most of Martinelli's (Count Loris Ipanov, swank, what?) relatives. For fifteen minutes he regis ters the considerable number of emo tions necessary to the tradition of Ital ian acting at its worst. His voice quav ers and semi-quavers, he sobs, he gestic ulates, and as he stamps off the stage she swallows a whole bottle of Cicero Bourbon and collapses in a tony wicker chair. From there she sinks slowly to the floor and the orchestra tremolos as Martinelli leans despairingly over in a last minute change of heart. But Fedora is dead. Long live Borsolino! THE fortnight saw the temporary decease of another important Chi cago musical institution, the Allied Arts. The fatalities become appalling. If Miss Kinsolving and Bertha Ott go into the bond business now, we shall hit the ties. From Bolm and his troupe and from DeLamarter and his little orchestra we had last season the most curious and vital investigation of what is going on in contemporary music and ballet, sure ly in the West and perhaps in the en tire country. But rumors of financial troubles have been in the air through the spring and summer. It is said that the principals in the Allied Arts got little or nothing in coin of the realm for their efforts last season, and that the financing of choreographic concep tion and orchestral equipment was about all the backers of the organiza tion were able to manage. And so the corpse of the Symphony slowly rolls over and makes way for the remains of a budding institution of real signifi cance and promise. And we relegate to the catalogue of pleasant memories Mina Hager singing Carpenter and Stravinsky and Schoenberg, De Lamar- ter presenting Casella, Milhaud, and Satie, and the wizardry of Bolm, the brain behind the decor and ensemble of Tansman's "Tragedy of the Cello" and miscellaneous ballets of Zymanow- ski, and Vaughan Williams. The Symphony deadlock at this writ ing continues, although more efforts have been made to break it. We hear rumors galore; a report that one Mae cenas has offered to endow the orches tra so that its monetary troubles will be over for ever; that a strong faction on the Board of Trustees is set against the idea of any endowment at all; that the Daily J<[ews has appeared with a forceful editorial offering to start with a substantial subscription any concerted movement for financial assistance. One more parley with the unions, held this time in New York with Stock sitting in, has failed and as the Ravinia sea son draws to a close the veteran mem bers of the orchestra begin to cast around for new and, in most cases, un congenial employment. As for Frederick Stock he probably has no worries about the future, judg ing from his reception as guest con' ductor at the Lewisohn Stadium in New York City. Taking over the baton from the hand of Von Noog' straaten he has aroused great enthu siasm with a series of programs, includ' ing, as symphonic bread and meat, Bee thoven's Seventh and the Second Sym* phony of Brahms. If you are starved for orchestral music tune in on WGN at 7:30 every Sunday night, flee sev eral room away, and listen well. THE tonic chord of E flat major asseverating that if you "Sing Hallelujah" you will "Shoo the Blues Away," seems to have everybody con- vinced. Its simple rhythm statement has taken hold as fast and as firmly as the same Mr. Youman's "I Want to Be Happy" and the long-deceased (thank God) "Valencia." Youman wrote "Hallelujah" for "Hit the Deck," a recent New York musical show. — ROBERT POLLAK. Book/- Lindbergh at Last THE book of the day, in Chicago at least, is undoubtedly Colonel Charles Lindbergh's "We" (Putnam). It was promised some weeks ago, but when he came to write it Lindbergh found that he could not write an autobiography and an account of his transatlantic voyage in a few days, and produce a decent book — and it is characteristic of him that he should sacrifice some of the royalties that would have accrued from immediate publication in order to write a book of which he need never be ashamed. Needless to say it is a thrilling story, although Lindbergh never exploits the thrills. He speaks of the trans- Atlantic flight not in such terms as you or I would use but in such terms as these. "... it would not only be possible to reach Paris but, under nor mal conditions, to land with a large reserve of fuel and have a high factor of safety through ; the entire trip as well." His account of the actual flight is short ana factual — with no heroics. It was By no means clear going — fog, clouds and sleet had to be TWE CHICAGOAN 31 reckoned with. And here is one phenomenon which most people asso ciate with deserts rather than with oceans: "On several more occasions it was necessary to fly by instrument for short periods; then the fog broke up into patches. These patches took on forms of every description. Numer ous shore-lines appeared, with trees perfectly outlined against the horizon. In fact, the mirages were so natural that, had I not been in mid-Atlantic and known that no land existed along my route, I would have taken them to be actual islands." But the big thing about this book is not the physical adventure but the spirit which the book breathes. A spirit which has been allowed to droop in America— that of the amateur. Amateur in the true sense of the word, of course — for as a flyer Lind bergh is very much of a master. But he did something for the sake of do ing it and not for the sake of profit. His flight was made to advance air navigation, to show what was possible — and the world knows how he has refused to let his achievement be com mercialized. And "We" is a book that may well enkindle the spirit of disinterested achievement among us. BEFORE another issue of The Chi- cagoan comes out a new prize- winning novel will be on the market and one in which may Chicagoans will take a special interest. It is "The Grandmothers," by Glenway Wescott, which has been awarded the Harper Brothers Prize for the best novel submitted in their biennial com petition . for 1927-28. Mr. Wescott comes from a small Wisconsin town, was educated at the University of Chicago* and his first novel, "The Apple of the Eye," was published in 1924, and, in the opinion of a number of critics, should have been given the Pulitzer Prize for that year. (Interest ingly enough, Mr. Wescott was a fel low-member in the University of Chi cago Poetry Club of Elizabeth Madox Roberts, whose "The Time of Man" was the choice of the critics for the Pulitzer Prize for 1927— but in the award of that prize professorial rather than critical voices have the last word and every award for some years now has been a subject of adverse criti cism.) The chief character in "The Apple of the Eye" was a woman whose old ACE HIGH" WITH THE YOUNGER CROWD! RDINARILY, this modern generation scorns precedent. History is nevertheless re peating — in a way which we find interesting and gratify ing. Something about Fatima — its greater delicacy, its more skillful blending of flavors — has made it, as in other days, an outstanding favorite with the younger set. FAT QUALITY that makes friends everywhere! LIGGETT Er MYERS TOBACCO CO. age was beautifully depicted, and in "The Grandmothers" we also have sympathetic and even profound de lineation of old women — and Glen way Wescott is still under thirty! - — SUSAN WILBUR. Birdies and Lies The Chicago Epidemic (Concluded from page 21) with high powered cars and Florida golf course stock, have a right to take the game seriously. It's bread and butter and diamonds to them. They earn all they get. What with trying to keep up their game, teaching the dumbest of big business men the proper stance with out losing a hasty Scotch or Irish tem per, pushing one line or another of golf balls, and operating an indoor schol in the winter, they are busy boys Follow Bob MacDonald, Joe Roseman, Jock Hutchinson, Eddie Murphy or Jack Daray for a year and you'll cover the ground. But some' times I see a well concealed tongue in a fresh shaven cheek. A pro is thrifty, but often wise. But of course there are some golfers, especially the "old boys" who belong to the Illinois Seniors, who can take their golf or leave it. "Cap" Carter, Sam Hastings of Old Elm, Judge Cut ting of Hinsdale and Irving T. Hartz of Exmoor might be mentioned. They play a lot and like it but they don't take their game too hard. Maybe the 32 TUECI4ICAGOAN The Opera Club may be obtained, with or without cuisine service, on afternoons or evenings, for Private Dances, Teas and Banquets, with the exception of Wednesday and Saturday Nights. By reason of its ten years of service to many of Chi- « cago's Smartest Social Func tions the Opera Club is the accepted place for affairs necessitating excellence of service and appointments. 18 West Walton Place Tel. Superior 6907 &&0$ The Resort of Fashion and the Epicure 18 W.Walton Place Opera Club Building For Reservations Phone Delaware 2592 Luncheon Dinner Reopening September 5 years will do as much for some of the others. I think that Joe Davis' story about the rich old department store owner, a Mr. Crowley who lived in Detroit, expresses the idea. This old boy, ac cording to the yarn, was about to drive off close to a road one day when a de livery wagon stopped nearby. The driver leaned out and yelled — "Hit it, fossil!" The merchant prince looked. It was one of his own wagons! And he dashed to the clubhouse and 'phoned his store. When the wagon got in, an other young man joined the army of the unemployed. We assume that Mr. Crowley missed. But if Chicago golfers take their game so seriously, why aren't they win ning more tournaments? Ah, there you are. Glancing over the top row of the National Open players we reach thirteenth place before a local name appears. He is Eddie Loos, one of our best pros. We didn't send many, nor score any, in the Western Open at Seattle. No Illinois shooters were mentioned in dispatches from St. An drews. But back in the old days, when 'twas not such a serious game, Chi- cagoans used often to win the big tour naments. Our women also do not seem to be winning many big cups. But there are some who are always very good. Miss Edith Cummings, of the dazzling smile, of Onwentsia, Mrs. Melvin Jones of Olympia, Mrs. Lee Mida of Butter- field and Mrs. J. F. Horn of West moreland played from scratch in the classy events. Our public courses bring out stars like Miss Florence Beebe, who is winning often this summer, Vir ginia Feltman, Edna Hierman, who plays basketball all winter and golf all summer, and others. Let one of the girls win a big match and out come the pictures of her at the age of six months screaming for a mashie. Like Robert, who is better known than John Paul, she was weak and delicate at seven until prevailed upon to golf. Chicago must take its sports seriously — especially golf. But our ideal golfer, as well as column conductor, was Bert Leston Taylor. He often played, but never kept a score. — dick smith. fltfc*S ^ *# fc**^tititofcfc6i Where Fine Cigars Are Smoked Tom Palmer Predominates Wengler & MandeQ, Inc. Chicago - Tampa ¦ ¦'¦' '- " '" ¦¦'¦¦ ' ¦-'¦¦¦«¦ - ¦'"¦' ' ' '— K) r \ \ /^l L UCKY STRIKES are mild and mellow -the finest cigarettes you ever smoked. They are kind to your throat. Why? All because they are made of the finest Turkish and domestic tobaccos, properly aged and blended with great skill, and there is an extra process in treating the tobacco. 6* It's toasted. Your Throat Protection