-v .—I SPONSORED BY HARGRAFT T^ROM England come Ben Wade pipes Wade patented process. The pores of the J- . . . different from all others. From the wood are opened and kept open for per- first day on they are sweet, mellow, "broken- feet absorption! Precious moments of per- in." Breaking-in an ordinary pipe means feet pipe smoking are slipping by . . . don't smoking out the varnish, the stain, the wait longer. Ask your best tobacconist metallic coating inside the bowl. The Ben for Ben Wade pipes. If he can't respond to Wade inside bowl is unstained . . . the briar your demand write for the catalog of all itself is pumiced and polished by the Ben shapes in actual sizes. This sign identifies all llfiSBj Hargraft 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. ITT. No. 12 — August 27, 1927. Entered as second-class matter at the Post Office at Chicago, III., under the act of March 3 1879. THE CHICAGOAN Chi-CA-go It's a crescent-shaped town, 26 miles by 15, along a great lake that's begun to weaken and recede. No wonder. An unchallenged murder record — a splendid uni versity—hobo capital to the country — railroad ruler, corn baron, liquor king — and the finest of grand opera. Altogether the most zestful spectacle on this sphere Tie CWCAGOAN knows this town and likes it. To report it gleefully is our business. And our readers, who know and do something or other about the place, include: Mrs. Edith Rockefeller McCormick Mr. Walter Brewster Mr. James Houghteling Mr. Stanley Field Mr. Ike Bloom Mr. Paul Ash Mr. Parker Blair Mr. George E. Brennan Col. H. B. Hackett Mr. James R. Forgan Mr. Holmes Forsythe Mr. John V. Farwell Mr. Edward Kholsaat Mr. Max Balaban Mr. William Hale Thompson Mr. George Reynolds Somewhere, somehow your tastes coincide with those of one or more of our cash customers. To your right — the dotted Unci The Chicagoan 407 So". Dearborn St. Chicago, 111. Send "The Chicagoan" one year $3.00— two years $5.00. Name Address City : State 2 TI4ECI4ICAGOAN CURRENT ENTERTAINMENT OCCASIONS LABOR DAY — September 5 — quaint young American institution designed- to afford the laboring man an extra day of labor annually, without pay, and the non'laboririg man an extra day of rest. Excellent opportunity to stay at home and meet the folks. ROMAN FESTIVAL— August 29— open ing of Persian movie made in America by Swedish architect for Irish stock salesmen and plain Chicagoese stock' holders. The Avalon, at 79th, Stony Island, South Chicago and East End aves. DEBATE— September 22 — the Dempsey Tunney argument at Soldiers Field, head' line radio event of the period. RESPITE — September 9 — appearance on better news stands of September 10 issue of The Chicagoan. STAGE Song and Dance LE MAIRE'S AFFAIRS— Woods, 54 W. Randolph. State 8567. Fast moving song and dance business with the muffler off. James Hussey stars with "Since Henry Ford Apologized to Me." Mat. Wed., Sat. Curtain 8:15. Reviewed on page 27 of this issue. THE MADCAP— Great Northern, 21 W. Quincy. Central 8240. Mitzi in her last fling at a bright, tuneful evening. Wednesday matinee only. Opening September 5 at the same playhouse, THE DESERT SOHG, advertised as "The most brilliant operetta of all time." Music by Sigmund Bomberb. GAY PAREE— Garrick, 64 W. Randolph. Central 8240. Sophie Tucker grabs the show, gets everybody comfortably seated and tears the roof loose with her collec tion of parlor stories — pullman parlor. A sightly chorus described as "69 aphrodisiac allures" in current newspapers. A week of it left. TOURS TRULY— Four Cohans, 119 N. Clark. Central 4937. Leon Errol, cele brated total abstainer, does things with his humorous skits which guarantee a worthwhile evening. Remainder of the show is fair. Curtain 8:15. Mat. Wed. See also page 27 of this issue. GEORGE WHITE'S SCANDALS — Er- langer, 127 N. Clark. State 2162. An imposing cast including Pennington, Patricola, the Howards, Richman, Frances Williams, the McCarthy sisters. And 75 girls well worth seeing. Mat. Wed. and Sat. Special matinee on Labor Day. POLICEMAN— John Harrison Dempsey, recently made an honorary member of the Chicago constabulary, on view daily at the Lincoln Fields track in training for his coming set to with Tunney. Drammer THE BARKER— Blackstone, 60 E. Seventh st. Harrison 6609. A veteran play of the summer season with Richard Bennett leading in a role depicting tent show life with its various temptations. (Pretty close, eh, Markey!) Mat. Wed. and Sat. Monday nights omitted. Worth seeing. CRIME— Adelphi, 11 N. Clark. K** dolph 4466. A piece in which felonious goings on are played out right before your eyes. If you haven't a dark alley near your home, "Crime" will tingle your scalp for you almost as well. Curtain at 8:30. Mat. Wed. and Sat. THE SPIDER— Olympic, 74 West Madi son. Central 8240. Another mystery play involving murder, ushers, actors ic the audience and all the rest of it. Also a thriller. Mat. Wed. TOMMY— Cort, 132 N. Dearborn. Central 1009. Opening Aug. 28 after six months of it in New York. Produced by George Tyler and credibly rumored to be a com* petent comedy of youth. No particular star. To be scrupulously reviewed in our next. CINEMA* Downtown ROOSEVELT — 10 N. State — Camilk (providing interest in the Dempsey Sharkey pictures does not again postpone the date) beginning August 29 and run* ning until finished. As this is the Norma Talmadge version and "her picture for posterity," that should be quite some time. Good music; no acts. CHICAGO— State at Lake— John Gilbert in Twelve Miles Out for the week begin ning August 29. Glorified vaudeville and things in connection; continuous run. ^Commerce and censors being what they are, it is suggested that the above in' formation he chec\ed with newspaper advertisements before departure for the theatre. MR. BIGGS SACRIFICES A PRECIOUS MORNING TO THE INEVITABLE OFFICE TWE CHICAGOAN 3 a o ^nwrx^n—riKiiwi i»iHMi>uiimi«iiw MMi«iflHf«M*M«MMMMt IN AND ABOUT THE CITY McVICKERS— 25 W. Madison— The Way of All Flesh, first Asaeaaat-made vehicle for Emil Janmngs, beginning August 29 and running until further notice. Good music; no acts; continuous run. ORIENTAL— 74 W. Randolph— Framed, one of those things they contrive for the occupancy of Milton Sills, one week beginning August 29. Paul Ash, too, of course, and you can get into this place without waiting if you arrive at 5:15 or 8:15. PLAYHOUSE— Michigan at Van Buren— Potem\in, extremely gruesome and loudly artistic story of war and Russia, intro ducing an elaborate "little cinema" effort discussed in detail on page 26. North UPTOWN — Broadway at Lawrence — Beau Geste, about which everybody interested should know everything by this time, plus what picture theatre people call a band- show. Week beginning August 29. South TIVOLl — 63 25 Cottage Grove — Beau Geste, again, and another bandshow. CAPITOL— 7941 S. Halsted— The Missing Lin\, a comedy reported excellent slap stick, with stage acts, Vitaphone and what have you. Seven days beginning' August 29. AVALOK— 79th st. at Stony Island ave. and South Chicago ave. — grand opening (the one scheduled for Easter Monday — last!) with a picture, a stage band and the stockholders, August 29. In the Capitol architecture, but outside as well as in. Worth seeing. West HARDING— 2734 Milwaukee— The Un known, a more than usually terrible Lon Chaney masterpiece, week beginning August 29; Beau Geste the week follow ing. Band music and acts with each. SPORTS GOLF — ¦ Western Golf Association Open Tournament, Olympia Fields Country Club, September 8-9-10. Bill Melhorn, Espinosos, Jock Hutchinson, Laurie Ayton, Eddie Loos, Eddie Murphy and (if intervening events are decided properly) Mr. Robert T. Jones himself. Chicago District Golf Association caddy championship matches, Flossmoor, August 29. TENNIS — Women's Open Tournament, August 29'September 3, Beverley Hills. Chicago Veterans' Championship — Father and Son Championship — Oak Park Tennis Club, August 29'September 3. Annual Labor Day Tournaments, Oak Park, Hamilton and Park Ridge Tennis Clubs, September 3-5. Davis Cup Challenge Round, Ger' mantown Cricket club, Germantown, Pa., September 8-10. POLO— Oakbrook, 22nd and York Road, local team in action every Sunday. International Matches, Meadow- brook, Long Island, beginning Septem' ber 5. BASEBALL — August 27, Washington Senators vs. White Sox at Sox Park. September 1'4, Cleveland Indians vs. Sox. September 4-5, St. Louis Cardinals vs. Cubs at Cubs Park. New York Giants vs. Cubs September 9-12. TABLES ¦-,: Downtown LA SALLE ROOF— La Salle at Madison- Jack Chapman's extremely melodious orchestra in nightly harmonics. Couvert $.50 until 9:00, $1 thereafter. A nice place. STEVENS— 730 S. Michigan— main dining room, Roy Bargy's Orchestra (if you dial you know how good it is) in steady serv ice. Dinner $3. Luncheon $1.25. New est of the really good places. COHGRESS — Michigan at Congress — Pompeian Room, 6:30 to 8:30; 10:30 to 2:00. Balloon Room, couvert $1.50 week days, $2:50 for the Saturday night bulge. A show place. COLLEGE INN— Sherman Hotel, Clark at Randolph — Maude Sherman and Orches' tra until 9:00 except Saturday, then 1:00. After September 5, nightly until 1 :00. RAHDOLPH ROOM — Bismarck Hotel, 171 W. Randolph — Al Ponta's Bismarck Serenaders in rhythmic aid to digestion. Open until 1 :00. Traditionally good. PALMER HOUSE— State at Monroe— Vic torian Room Orchestra presides over dining and dancing. No couvert. Nor in Empire dining room, where the Petite Symphony cares for the classically in clined. The sort of place a Palmer House place should be. (More on page 4.) AND RE-ESTABLISHES A TOTTERING PRESTIGE WITH ONE STROKE OF GENIUS 4 TI4Q04ICAGOAN HENRICI'S— 71 W. Randolph— just food, but the "no orchestral din" place with the trick ad writer and therefore essential to any listing of Chicago filling stations. ATLANTIC HOTEL— 316 S. Clark— ex- cellent food in the German manner. Table DTHtote $1.50. No orchestra, couvert or other modern inconvenience. 11 a. m. to 9 p. m. ST. HUBERTS OLD EHGLISH GRILL— 615 Federal — no couvert, no orchestra, but genuine English cookery with English mutton chops and sirloin steaks featured and served as nowhere else. Closed Sun- days and holidays, but always worth the search it takes to find it. Out a Ways MARINE DINING ROOM — Edgewater Beach Hotel— Correct place, people and food. Entertainment and dance music. Marble dance floor (outdoors) closes Labor Day and should be utilized before. SALLY'S — 4650 Sheridan Road — good place to breakfast, at any hour, and of course other meals are carried in stock also. RAINBO GARDENS— Clark at Lawrence — showy place with outdoor show, noisy dancing, reasonable latitude in all proper directions and an extensive billing. Food, too. VANITY FAIR— Grace at Broadway — intime and all that sort of thing, includ ing entertainment and what would you. CHEZ PIERRE— 247 East Ontario— scenic and yet satisfactory under almost any and all circumstances; Good place to take the dropper'in so prevalent at this time of year. SAMOVAR— 614 S. Michigan— good eat' ing, music and entertainment in a room not too large for companionability. COLOSIMO'S— 2126 S. Wabash— Italian, traditional, otherwise quite usual. Phone calls are answered after 9:00. SUNSET— 35th at Calumet— mixed com' pany arrives in numbers at about 10:00 and gives attention to West Lewis Arm' strong, "World's Greatest Cornettist," and colored revue until closing, which is when the last guest leaves. ALAMO — Wilson near Clarendon — glass floor and that sort of thing. Call Mr. Davis after 5:30. MIDNIGHT FROLICS— 22nd off Wabash — most formidable of the last stand places, offering floor show, dancing, something new — usually unexpected — and a prac tical certainty of meeting the last person you thought you'd run into. An all' night bright spot. VICTOR HOUSE— 1 E. Grand Ave.— Italian food that gets near the ultimate syllable in that direction. No couvert, music or other disturbing element. A place to eat! For $1.50. THE CHICAGOAN PRESENTS Tennis, by Chris Marie Meeker Cover Chi'CA'go, a Sales Talk rage 1 Some Place to Go 2 Some More Places 3 Still More Places 4 Surveys of the Moment 5 Travel, Local 6 On the Boulevard 7 Nature, after B. 6? K 8 Football Prospectus 9 Gene Markey on Frustrates 10 800 Millionaires 11 Gambling in the Eighties 12 Paris Greets the Doughboy 13 Chicago Guide V 14 Chicago "Thou Shalt Nots" 15 Yachting Item 16 James Hamilton Lewis 17 Overtones, by G. C 18 Those Lions Again 19 Shelby Little's Book 20 Protection for Guests 21 Intended Murderees 22 Quiet Riots 23 Sports on the Horizon 24 Mons. Hack Wilson 25 The Playhouse Project 26 The Stage Season 27 Standard Discourse 28 Civic Service 29 Playboy of the Piano 30 Books About Byron 31 Letters from Readers 32 LE PETITE GOURMET— 615 N. Mich igan—Table d'Hote $1.50 and $2.00, 11:00 to 8:00. » JIM IRELAHD'S FISH HOUSE— 632 N. Clark — best of the finny foods, sans couvert, music, and continuously from 8:00 of a given morning to 5:00 of the next. PEARSON HOTEL— 190 East Pearson- competent food, well bred atmosphere, few transients, no couvert. Music after September 1. 'Way Out THE DELLS — Dempster nr. Waukegan— old'fashioned roadhouse atmosphere and lots of it. GARDEN OF ALLAH— & little further in the same direction — snappy revue and liberal additional entertainment by guests and guestesses. LINCOLN TAVERN— still further — still more of the same, in degree proportionate to its distance from State and Madison. HILLSIDE INN— On Roosevelt Road— a place you might drive past, but will find amusing if you stop. ART ART INSTITUTE — Annual exhibition Architectural League. Lithographs and etchings by Odilon Redon. Wood en gravings, etchings. ACKERMAN'S — Etchings and drypoints by Edmund Blamphied. NEW ARLIMUSC, 1501 N. La Salle. Between seasons exhibition of paintings, drawings and sculpture of Chicago mod erns. Open evenings. FIELD MUSEUM — Antique sculpture, painting, historical models. ITALIAN SHOP — Interior decoration and Spanish pottery. Italian handiwork. NEWBERRY LIBRARY — Books and prints indicating period costuming. KOULLIER GALLERIES — Durer to McBey in prints. 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. — Jazz bands from the Congress Hotel. W. J. ]. 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. «t — The Daily Hews, Hotel La Salle. Whitney trio. Songs. Music. V. T Civilization WO men from the cow country arrived at the Northwestern Station. Ten quart hats, boots, even the film of dust over their sunbrowned hands and faces, marked them as strong men from the West. Effete travelers with creases in their trousers and stacomb on their hair turned and stared. Boots and spurs and frontier appurtenances were not uncommon sights in Chicago fifty years ago. Even now rodeos and trips west make Chicagoans pleasantly familiar with chaps and bandanas. What attracted attention at the North western Station was not the spectacle of two cowboys, or even two grimy cowboys whose threadbare clothes, un like rodeo attire, were clothes only and not scenery. What attracted attention was the sight of two cowboys with a Red-Cap carrying their one suitcase. T. Celestial HE Knights of Pythias, A. A. S. A. E. A. A. and A., Uniform Rank, Supreme Lodge (colored) is a pussiant and pompous brotherhood at State Street near 22nd. Its con vention, unhappily concluded Aug. 20, brought four days of pageantry to a whirlwind close. Darktown, always a boisterous area, is subdued in contrast to its four days of glory— although still the gayest sector of this efflorescent city by several linear rods of nacreous smiles. In preparation for the Pythian fete neighborhood business houses were hung with scarlet and black banners. Pool rooms, shoe stores, clothing shops, barbecue stands (dear to the Afric heart) all fluttered with violent lodge insignia. All this is, or was, as it should be. Yet even if banners had been dis tributed with a fine unstinted hand, some business houses stood out as notable in the lavishness of their SURVEYS Our Western Guests The Recent Cloudy Spell Chicago Archery Neighborly Motormen Beauty in Building The Illinois Central Boulevard Psychosis Electric Drama Nature Faking The Town adornment. In particular, a laundry shone forth bedecked and bedizened over its whole facade. Crepe paper, banners, pennants — nothing lacking! Even a slogan "Welcome" bellied forth. And under the largest banner looped over the door beamed the welcomer. Something intriguingly wrong with the picture. For the well wisher's face —unless the window legend bore a glaring falsehood — was none other than the bland, ochre countenance of Mr. Charly Lee Wong, proprietor. T. T oxofrhilites ALL apartments build a wall of glass and stone along the lake. Boulc vards at their feet whine to steel and rubber. The village green has long since become a play area. Yet in Washington Park and Lin' coin Park, archers lay to the ancient long bow and heed their shafts after the manner of English villagers cen' turies gone. As practiced in Chicago parks archery is a cheerful out'door game played on green lawns with ar' rows shot against vivid targets. It is a graceful and a skillful business, this being a toxophilite. An uxorious pas' time, too, judging from the number of husbands and wives who shoot in com' petition with each other; their children duly furnished with miniature bows and arrows. The Second City claims two archery clubs: The Chicago Archery, an or' ganization over 50 years old, located in Washington Park, and the Lincoln Park Archery Club, a north side asso' ciation, organized July, 1925, by Miss Jessie Akester, now acting president. A tournament of mid'western bow men, held August 6'7 at the Lincoln Park butts, called together 70 shooters from 11 states. Mr. A. W. Lambert, who uses a peep sight on his bow, won the men's Mid' West championship; Miss Akester took woman's honors. Miss Virginia Fitzmaurice holds the 1926 Chicago and Illinois champion' ship, which she will defend on Sep- tember 25 at the final state tourney. Roy I. Case, Sr., was named presi' dent of the newly formed Mid' West' ern Archery Association, together with a Vice-president from each of the 11 states represented at the August meet. L. D. Pangborn is the Illinois' vice president. Innocent as archery appears in a quiet part, one„ learns astounding things about the power of the bow. Saxton T. Pope, one time member of THE CHICAGOAN the faculty at the University of Cali' fornia, now deceased, and Arthur Young, famous American bowman, have lion and grizzly, mountain sheep, and moose, to their credit, bagged with the bow and arrow. Statutes of Henry VIII prohibit any common fellows owning a long bow with a man killing range of over 400 yards. A stout Eng' lish archer was credited with being able to drive his shaft through four fingers of oak — a matter extremely embar' rassing to ill'natured barons. Modern bows for target work are perhaps less powerful than the yew sticks of medieval archers. Contend' porary weapons "pull" from 40 to 50 pounds for men, 25-30 pounds for women. The lion killing bow of osage orange used by Arthur Young requires a 90'pound draw. Yew wood remains standard after 1,000 years. Arrows are of seasoned fir. Today's arrows are comparatively shorter than the old archer's, though the cloth-yard shaft was a "cloth-yard" long; i. e., 28 inches — one may be permitted to guess a Caledonian nativity for the middle- age clothier. Even the peace time bow wings a viciously rapid arrow to the target, and — -a guess — about as accurately as a pistol shot. Perhaps 200 Chicago peo ple are competent archers. Dr. B. L. Rawlins of the Chicago Archery Club is 1926 city champion. Stanley Spen cer of Los Angeles holds the 1926 na tional honors. A national meet at Boston, set for August 23-26, inclusive, will see a half- score of Chicago archers in competi tion with the pick of American bow men and bow-women. Incidentally, August 26 is the 581st anniversary of the affair at Crecy, in which a few hundred English yoemen cut down the flower of French chivalry under a mer ciless arrow storm — a battle which marks emergence of non-noble infan try as the backbone of armies in future wars of the world. But today, city archery is a pleas ant pastime, a skillful game played by the lake amid the docile greenery of city parks. Tooterville 1 ASSENGERS on a southbound street car the other evening (details are suppressed for obvious reasons) were jolted vigorously when the vehicle paused in full flight through dark- town. Paused is a mild statement of fact; it came to a clanking, install' taneous stop, so that heads jerked foe ward and downward, vigorously mis* sing seat backs. Good luck and pre dominance of African noses aboard kept the casualty rate at zero. Yet no tinkle of glass, no galvanizing crash followed by a rattle of virile nouns accompanied the supposed acci dent. Nor were there groans from beneath the heavy car trucks, nor screams, nor an ominous, chilling silence. On the contrary a cheerful clamor issued from the motorman's curtained stall: "Well, well, well," it was a hearty voice, "I thought it was you, George. Almost run by you. How are you, anyway?" "Fine," boomed the grateful George. "Just fine. Didn't know you were on the route. How's everybody, wife and family well?" "Great," averred the motorman, clasping George's hand through the now open door. "Drop out and see us, will you? Be sure, now." "I will," lied George. "Slong. Glad I saw you." Passengers readjusted their ver- tebrae to the cheery clang of the foot bell. The car moved on. Shyhne /AMERICAN love of royal trap pings, frustrated by lack of crowned heads, finds outlet in Chicago in crowning buildings. Some, like the Pure Oil Building, are crowned with little nodules. The Strauss Building boasts a bee hive — not, be it said, for stinging purposes any more than the squirrels were introduced into design of the elevator doors with a view to catching nuts. The tower of the Fur niture Mart has a sapphire tiara. The latest coronation is that of the Mather Tower. Once it was accused of stick ing up like a sore thumb. Now the simile must be changed; like a bad molar, it has acquired a gold crown. T, I.C. 'Par's we go" HE Lake Front proper, the gleam ing mile from Randolph Street to Roosevelt Road, presents an undaunted wall toward the lake, peaceful, power' ful, and secure. Across the boulevard Chicago*s front yard seems entoiled in battle, famine, and siege, at least on the northern sector where determined as- TOE CHICAGOAN saults pile up against the flank of Ran dolph Street. South, General Logan hoists a triumphant bronze flag over Grant park; the ground in his sector is won— not yet mopped up to be sure — but won for the moment against the advancing city. Of course no battle is actually in progress. It is only that construction work on the east side of the boulevard assumes a remarkably warlike aspect. The new Illinois Central terminal, now in process of building, is visible only as a gray concrete surf over a litter of churned earth where muddy transport vehicles move in a sort of sham melee; this concrete might well be a series of pill-boxes. An iron fence imposes its sharp points against a tangle of what might be barbed wire, in reality a skein of electric trolleys. Laborers move slowly against the skyline— sturmtruppen, to continue the illusion, or support companies moving into a threatened line. An occasional tank, disguised as a tractor, clatters over the naked ground. A confused hub-bub of men and machines drifts across the boulevard to complete the deception. Further south a series of new roads hacked out of clay lead to an imagi nary front over bridges so new that they seem the work of an army pioneer corps. But to the new station, the northern terminal of the Illinois Central subur ban lines: The building itself will cost some $2,000,000. It is designed to handle the loop traffic in suburban ites, a matter of 100,000 souls, over half of whom make use of the Ran dolph Street stop. Viaducts under the boulevard keep this daily migration un derground and hence out of the range of vehicles. The station itself will pro ject above the present horizon, though it will not obtrude against the skyline. The building is announced in prospect as being "architecturally pleasing." Re membering the company's 12th Street edifice, the reader may be pardoned for a tinge of skepticism on this one Garter <<] "Yoo hoo, Iceman" "Yoo hoo" point. But pleasing or not, the new terminal will facilitate passenger han dling into and out of the Loop, and thereby increase the presige of I. C. service, already a by-word in trans portation excellence. Even while the lake front is torn up by building operations the conse quent unsightliness is not without a diverting utility. That is to say, ef forts at honest labor as displayed by concrete workers prove immensely f as- cinating to the Grant Park hobo, a harmless gentleman now unfortunately set upon by the constabularly under the delusion that he is a radical. The hobo, when coppers leave him alone, clusters at each excavation and enjoys the arduous business of grubbing in the subsoil. He enjoys it vicariously, true enough, but he is altogether taken with the spectacle. When the office of watching hard labor becomes tiresome, or when the watcher finds even the suggestion of labor unbearably onerous, he retires to a shady spot on the alleged Grant Park grass and there takes his ease. IF garters were worn around the neck" — so runs a current advertise- ment. We hope it is no disparagement of any particular brand of garter to add that if they were worn around the neck, sooner or later some of them would be found slipped down around the shoulder blades. The exasperated fellow who stopped pedestrian traffic on the corner of Washington and the boulevard wore one around his right heel. But he was a cool and resolute man. Undisturbed by a demoralizing trickle of elastic from beneath his trouser cuff, this citizen calmly stopped, rolled half his pants well up to an unabashed knee, seized upon the malingering gar ment and bound it firmly where it should be affixed — a purposeful hero ism. And the act drew applause. A cluster of pop-eyed witnesses dammed up traffic as they shouldered in a circle. The male limb thus exposed claimed its share of ogling, and even a buzz of half-audible comment, most of it favor ably facetious. A moment later, heroics over with, the inadvertent tableau disintegrated, its individual components hurried along in the hobbling stream of late office workers. On the same corner, within the next few seconds, perhaps a half- dozen women, some of them disturb ingly feminine creatures, adjusted their garters before essaying a bus ride. The striding river of passers-by moved past them without a single eddy. Lightfilay v«J O one step beyond pantomime and you have drama not only without words but without even actors. Given modern stage equipment it is possible to put on a complete act with lights alone. At rise of curtain sunshine may be pouring on the dewy grass. It is 8 the morning of life. But the sunshine grows hotter; it streams pitilessly across the landscape. The desire to flee from it is only less strong than the inertia it produces. Now clouds gather; light ning streaks the sky. The necessity for flight becomes more urgent. The storm breaks. By the time it has ended night has fallen, a lowering, desperate night. But at last the clouds break. Comes the dawn on rosy feet. Wipe your eyes when nobody is looking and file out of the theatre. Or go back stage and congratulate the stage manager. In the case of the performance de scribed above, the author, producer, electrician and stage hand was Mr. Kenneth Croft, rehearsing the borders and spots and footlights in the new Jewish Peoples Institute of which he is director of the dramatic department. Mr. Croft's effects were produced on a stage quite bare except for one short strip of property fence, and that had its painted side turned to the wall. With sets and actors in addition to Mr. Croft and the lights, the Institute play ers expect to give some notable per formances. In the front of the house their audiences will find such up holstery, soft lights and pleasing effects as are rare alike in social centers and the little theatre movement. Theatrical V^HICAGO skies, when not greyed over by mist or purple and white with thunderheads, are seldom brilliant. They are typically pale blue, washed and laundered by lake-bleached air. As compared with skies of more color ful regions, sometimes poetically desig nated as velvet draperies spangled with stars, Chicago heavens are of the hue of an old and honorable work-shirt inadvertently starched at the China man's. Still our Chicago canopy has its one Maxfield Parrish moment. Cross the link bridge on its east side; keep your eyes religiously fixed on the Tribune Tower — all this about five in the after noon — until you are directly opposite the Wrigley buildings. Then turn quickly and sight between the gleam ing white truncations. There it is! A brilliant sky in lamentable taste, over done, and gaudier than a song cover. Still farther north, and later in the evening, on full moon nights nature slops over as flagrantly. Seen from the drive, say at Division, the lake shim mers like silk, a rolling bolt of B. and K. stage water. The Drake con veniently symbolizes Chicago. Oak Street beach adds to the illusion. Over across the water a crib or two appears against the back drop of sky. An in genious lighted ship floats airily across the set. It's a piece of staging loaded with every theatrical cliche in the world — blatantly overdone. Except that like the sky between the Wrigley buildings, it is absolutely true, gen uine to the last trick auto horn. Transportation 1 HE world is too small and it is shrinking daily. There was a time when Paris was ninety days from New York and New York was twenty days from the spot that was not yet Chicago. Now the distance can be reckoned in hours by airplane, minutes by Asso ciated Press, and seconds by radio. The long awaited visitor-from-Mars himself would create only a mild stir now. Even comparative stay-at-homes who don't take the air route to Europe, use transportation as satisfactory as die old fashioned seven league boots; and some body is always improving the service. One issue of the self-confessed greatest newspaper recently carried, in addition to the usual travel advertising, adver tisements for the swiftest and smartest motor coach service to Detroit and for a motor boat that does everything but sit up on its rudder and beg. The Golden Arrow Motor Coach makes a non-stop flight from South Bend to TUECUKAGOAN Detroit and includes in its equipment over-stuffed seats, an observation com partment and washroom facilities in side the coach. The Sea Sled is said to combine safety with speed and to serve equally well as a racer or a "marine runabout for women." It appears that the only thing we moderns are unable to do is to take it easy and see the country as we go. Desecration I HE veteran golfer, who braved the sneers and catcalls of plebians twenty years ago by daring to don knickers and knock the little ball around may be able to squeeze a tear out of the news that the old West ward Ho course on the extreme west ern edge of Chicago is to be subdi vided this Fall. The new Westward Ho club was located at Elmhurst three or four years ago — but it is a country club. North avenue, the southern boun- dry, was paved last Spring and Oak Park avenue, the western extreme, was paved a week or two ago. A bunga low already crowds in between the second green and the third tee. Probably no one will grieve more earnestly that the crews of the C, M. 6? St. P. freight trains, who for years slowed up at Gaiewood and grinned derisively at the unfortunate player who hooking off the fourteenth tee, dropped his pellet in the ever waiting flat cars. Dawn IT was one of the evenings given over to a discussion of Art, Music and the Drama (pronounced dray-ma) . But the little girl from Georgia was slightly out of her element. True enough, she had a soul, but a soul un trained in poesy. Consequently, when a tall, pale youth chanted "The Har lot's House" and wound up his declamation with: "And down the long and silent street The dawn with silver-sandaled feet Crept like a frightened girl," she squealed in ecstasy. "Who — " she demanded, "who wrote that?" "Oscar Wilde." "Oh!" a gasp of delight. "I know him— that funny looking fellow with the beard— but I didn't know his name was Oscar. " Everybody calls him the Yellow Kid." —the editors. TOfCUICAGOAN CRICKETS are trilling in die vacant -lots; leaves are turning crisp; and life-guards are buying tickets back to dear old Alma Mater. Therefore it is time to begin to listen for the thump of punts. As the season of the great college game approaches, one may safely make the assertion that Chicago is the foot ball capital of the United States. This is a statement of fact, not a collegiate boast. Week after week from the first of October until the close of No vember one can see bigger and better football in and around Chicago (if he knows how to get the tickets) than anywhere else in die country. Of course the region east of the Alleghanies, where many of our gilded or brass-plated youth go to school, still has the leading article in Spalding's Guide — the Harvard- Yale-Princeton complex takes care of that. The South has recently been developing candidates for the mythical national championship. There are conflicts of pig-skin titans on the Pacific Coast. First-class football, in fact, is scattered all over the land, caus ing many a professor to exclaim in high brow irritation: "Oh, temporal Oh, over-emphasis!" But every Saturday afternoon through the autumn Chicago leads the football census. The atmosphere of the game colors the life of the city that day. Every automobile seems to be headed toward a stadium. The number of Chicagoans who spend their week-end half -holidays on concrete terraces within their own bailiwick, yawping with exultation or groaning with dismay at the achieve ments of their gridiron favorites, ex ceeds similar statistics for New York or any other city. Our metropolitan area contains two great universities, Chicago and North western, each of whose stadia can accommodate 65,000 spectators. If in football importance and drawing power they do not surpass Columbia and New York University, then it is true that A. A. Stagg is not the dean of his profession. In addition we have Soldier Field, the free-lance tilting yard in Grant Park, which can engulf 110,000 people into its architectural maw. These three amphitheaters place Chicago in a class by itself during the football season. Foreshadowing Football An Informal Conference on the Conference This city, moreover, is the focal point of the Middle Western Confer ence, familiarly known as the Big Ten. Study the alliances in other sections and try to find football schedules of equal severity and dramatic value. It would be easy, of course, to name ten eastern teams to match the Big Ten, but they are individualistic in their choice of games. The Big Three are historic rivals, no doubt, but it takes eight games to make a football season. In organization, prowess and area of interested population, the Middle Western Conference is the major league of football. A forecast of the approaching sea- son from a Chicago point of view must necessarily dwell upon the home elevens, Purple and Maroon. (Growls and hoots from resident alumni of Michigan, Ohio, Illinois, Indiana, Pur due, Wisconsin, Minnesota and Iowa may be heard off-stage at this point.) They represent the Alpha and Omega of last year's percentage columns: Northwestern tied Michigan for the championship and Chicago tied Iowa for . the tail-end position. This fact alone gives a certain piquancy to the situation. Curiously enough these two teams, civic rivals for thirty-two years, will not meet this fall. Quietly and with out ill-humor the Maroon declined to schedule the Purple; quiedy and with Evanstonian dignity the Purple ac cepted the situation. This was a serious breach of old relationships, but the sporting editors failed to make a scandal out of it. The manners ex hibited on both sides of the fence cause the Harvard-Princeton squabble and break to appear like a sand-lot affair. There has been muttering, of course, but bad feeling has been tactfully averted. Out on the Midway one may hear rumors that Mr. Stagg believes that Northwestern went outside the Conference code of ethics to acquire a three-star backfield. Also, that since the Purple took on the sobriquet of Wildcats it has been playing the game with the undisci plined ferocity of its totem: — hence Mr. Stagg felt that a slight rebuke was in order. In Evanston, however, these whispers are waved aside, with the lordly gesture of champions, as symptoms of the old age of a puritan. Northwestern enters into the de fense of its half-claim to the title with a new coach, Richard Hanley, formerly field marshal of the Haskel Indians. He is a disciple of the Glenn Warner system, which is copiously explained in Mr. Warner's five-dollar book for the instruction of coaches and players. The team will be strong in spite of the loss of "Moon" Baker and Johnson, a veteran of the line. Gustafson, who ran the first Chicago kick-off back for a touch-down last fall, will be captain; he is a fast and tricky ball-carrier and one of the best forward-pass catchers in the country. Leland Lewis is a veritable Hector as full-back. Promis ing sophomores include a gangling lad named Calderwood, who runs as if he were designing cross-word puzzles, and Rojan, who shines at tackling in the secondary defense. Northwestern will play, in the order named: South Dakota, Utah, Ohio State (at Columbus), Illinois, Purdue (at Lafayette), Indiana and Iowa. This is a fairly easy schedule, when Northwestern's strength is considered It includes only two possible defeats in the games with Ohio and Illinois Chicago's team will show an im provement over last year. Only three of the old regulars will be missing — Marks, Stanley Rouse and McKinney. The others, who were green last fall, will be seasoned, and they will have a fighting captain in Kenneth Rouse, who deports himself at center like another Tim Lowry. Anderson, who caught Marks' forward passes to score the Maroons' Conference touch-downs last fall (they were only two, alas!) can be counted on for steady ground-gain ing if his slender physique stands the gaff. Leyers, a square little block of gristle, is a sound full-back. The sub stitute backs of last year may develop talent, and coming up from the fresh men to give them lively competition (Turn to page 22) 10 TI4E CHICAGOAN I F I MAY /AY SO The frustrate Has His Points A FEW seasons ago Mrs. Gertrude Atherton wrote a novel called Blac\ Oxen, which not only became a best-seller, but gave an extraordinary impetus to the f ace-lifting and re-mug ging industry. In the book Mrs. Ath erton invented a new word, "sophis ticate"; which means, anyone who knows his (or her) way around town, can enumerate the current literary and theatre successes, and boasts acquain tance with one or two liv ing writers, musicians or headwaiters. The term, so phisticate, in course of time became part of what we call our language. And now Mrs. Atherton's kins man, Mr. Ashton Stevens, of Chicago, has coined a word which, if I may say so, will likewise find its way into the language. Mr. Stevens' new word is "frus trate," meaning one who would like to have been something he (or she) isn't. For example, let us take Mr. X (no relation to Mme. X). Mr. X is a bank-president, but he has always cherished the belief that if he had not become a bank-president he would have made a dandy tenor for some opera company that was short its quota of tenors. Mr. X is, in con sequence, a frustrate. Not even the chill lack of appreciation from his wife and family has ever succeeded in dis couraging him from the idea that he is a tenor. It is what you might call a fixed idea. And it ought to. be fixed without delay. You can easily see how a situation like this can be very hard on the neighbors. But it is in the home that Mr. X really becomes a menace. Let anyone so much as approach a piano, and he is already leaning on it, and clearing his throat. Mrs. X, therefore, keeps their piano securely locked. The big moment in Mr. X's day comes not, as you might suppose, when he is in the bank, disbursing a flock of notes amounting to several million dollars, but when he is in the bath-room, disbursing a flock of notes amounting to his favorite Pagliacci MR. I. K. POND Awaiting the gay shout: Alley OopI number. Such a passion has he for singing that he sometimes shaves him self three or four times a day. It must be admitted, however, that not all frustrates are so difficult to deal with as the aforementioned Mr. X. I know of several mild cases, here in Chi cago; in fact some of them are friends of mine. And in the interest of science I consider it my duty to divulge the histories of such cases as have come under my observation. There is the case of Karl Edwin Harriman, a citizen of high repute, author of several novels, and for merly editor of the Red Boo\ magazine. Though perfectly normal in all other respects, Mr. Harri man is a frustrated cow boy. Each summer he makes a hegira to the mountains of Colorado, where he indulges his fancy to the extent of wearing "western" apparel that would bring a gleam of envy to the eye of Tom Mix : shirts of crimson, lav ender, g r e e n — and even some of the more clamor ous colors; high-heeled boots, embellished with pat terns of inlaid yellow but terflies, and spurs so large that they jingle like the "Chimes of Normandy." In the matter of ten-gallon hats, the ones he wears make President Coolidge in the Black Hills look bareheaded. It is related that William S. Hart once passed through Chicago, and upon being shown the Harriman collection of saddles, bridles, cartridge-belts and lariats, broke down and wept like a child. A few years ago, during the annual "Round Up" in Cheyenne, Wyo., I encountered Mr. Harriman, in full rodeo regalia, wearing a badge labeling him a "helper," and engaged in carrying a bale of hay into the arena. I have investigated this case thoroughly, and found it to be one of the most interesting examples of the cowboy complex (complexus cowboy orum) on record. The case of Charles Collins also presents many fascinating angles for research. Mr. Collins, as the reading' public knows, is a distinguished writer of fiction, whose tales are to be found regularly in Liberty and the Saturday Evening Post; indeed, he has been rep* resented in the 10- and even the 25- cent magazines. But is he content with his laurels? He is not. Bitterly he regrets that he did not become a Doc tor of Medicine rather than a Doctor of Literature. His frustration takes the form of prescribing for the inno cent bystander, and he will diagnose the ailment of anyone who will stand still long enough. You expect him to pull a stethoscope on you at any mo ment. Let a fellow club-member utter the gentlest cough, and Mr. Collins springs at him, tapping him upon the chest, requesting him to say, "Ah," and searching for symptoms of pneu* monokoniosis, phagocytosis or mela notic sarcoma. If you complain of fallen arches he will tell you in his best bedside manner that you are very prob ably suffering from a slight tetrapolar karyokinesis. And he is not above flinging a French or a German disease at you. One of the most remarkable cases I have come across is that of I. K. Pond, senior member of the firm of Pond (s? Pond, one of Chicago's celebrated architects. Mr. Pond is a frustrated acrobat. Though seventy years of age he still startles his friends by turning back-somersaults at the most unex pected moments; and he will perform a flip-flop or a hand-stand without any warning whatsoever. There are two main groups of frus- trates, and the above cases fall in Class B, or spare-time frustrates. Ex amples of Class A, or shoot-the- works frustrates, are more rare. Only one case has been brought to my at' tention in Chicago. He is Dr. Al bert Byfield, brother of Eugene and Ernest, the hotel barons. Until recent ly Dr. Byfield was a pediatrician, or children's specialist, with a large prac tice. But secredy he had always yearned to write music. A few months ago he suddenly decided that he would write music, so without further ado he closed his office and opened his piano. Today, devoting his time to symphonies rather than scarlet-fever, the doctor is immensely happy. And so it goes. You never can tell about frustrates — they occur with startling frequency, usually in the best- regulated families. No household com plete without one. —gene markey. TWt CHICAGOAN n Authentic Anecdotes For Club or Table Use ARTHUR ("FUZZY") BISSELL, JR., L now studying medicine at North' western, was dutifully giving his well-known father a Sunday afternoon drive. A Lincoln whisked out of line and swooped into the vacant place ahead of diem, carelessly swishing its tail against their front fenders and bumper. Bissell, Jr., moved up and heatedly asked the two sinister occupants of the Lincoln how they got that way. They replied with profane challenges to battle, but "Fuzsy," under instructions from his father, fell back in good order and Sabbath calm. Presently, beside the Grant statue in Lin coln Park, traffic came to a halt. The Lincoln braked up near the Bissell car. One of its occupants hopped upon the Bissell running board, and violently smote the un suspecting student upon the chin. "Fuzzy" slumped down under the wheel for a count of ten. Frank Lloyd Wright, Jr., in the back seat, dismounted to deal with the assailant, but because of the perils of traffic and the speed of Lincoks, he had no luck. The Lincoln's license number, however, was recorded, and the car was traced to its owner. But the Bissells' lawyer advised them not to take legal action. For the car belonged to an attache of the sheriff's office in Springfield, who was then attending a sheriff's convention in Chicago. HERBERT BRADLEY, the hunter of lions and gorillas, being unable to spend his week-ends in Tanganyika this summer, has taken up golf. He plays at Lake Zurich, a scholarly and historic course much affected by the learned and literate. Horace Oakley and Frederick Stock are often his companions. Lake Zurich happens to be suffering from a plague of gophers. Mr. Bradley learned from his golf-addicted friends that so far as greens and fairways are con cerned these playful rodents are more dan- gerous than elephants. Til fix 'em," said Mr. Bradley, in the masterful way with which he has often quieted a panicky safari when leopards were snarling in the jungle. At the next golfing rendezvous Mr. Bradley appeared with his bag full of shoot ing irons as well as niblicks. He dealt out a .22 rifle to Mr. Stock. He armed him self with a double-barreled shot-gun. He instructed the caddies in the African tech nique of gun-bearing, and urged them to stand firm if the prey should charge. The cry of "ForeP was an awful warn ing as the adventurers' twosome swept along the course that day. Bunkers and sand pits served as trenches for the other mem bers. Old gentlemen apprehensively clutched the seats of their linen knickers and for the first time in their golfing lives prayed for bigger trees. Mr. Bradley turned in a card scored in kills instead of strokes. When golf is the topic of table talk, he now speaks radiantly of that great day in his life when he got a gopher in one. — squire gossip. Eight Hundred Millionaires Or How Chicago Stole the Show from Shelby IT no longer seems reasonable to doubt that Shelby, Montana, Phila delphia, Pennsylvania, and New York, New York, have been successfully out- seated by Chicago. Whereup&n it fol lows that a select 152,000 of us are to be accorded the privilege of seeing Gene Tunney and Jack Dempsey push each other around a ring in Soldiers' Field on September 22 for something like a $2,000,- 000 gate. The details are vastly and vividly illumi native. Prices of the seats range from $5 to $40, with out the aid of scalpers. The boys in the $5 seats will be nearly half a mile from the alleged maulers. A slightly better location will be available to the chosen few in seats dubbed ringside and dis pensed, if at all, at the top figure. But 152,000 people will be enabled to state truthfully that they attended the fight and surely that is worth two million dollars. Look what Shelby paid. According to report, Tunney will receive something over $400,000 for his brief physical exertion, while Dempsey 's share will amount to a lit tle less than $300,000. In the old days champions fought 75 and 100 rounds for a few thousand dollars in defense of their title. That was before fight ing became a big business. Tex Rick ard, the promoter, will pocket $1,000,- 000 for his trouble. Chicago was given the fight because it offered the most fertile field for profit. Our city is being congratu lated. The crafty Mr. Rickard must have laughed long and loud at the terms he put over on the local committee. It is reported he is to pay the lump sum of $100,000 for the use of Soldiers' Field, which is five per cent of the $2,000,- 000 gate confidently expected. Local baseball clubs leasing their grounds for ordinary ten-round fights have charged the promoters 15 per cent of the gate, while theatres playing trav eling shows exact 50 to 75 per cent of the gross receipts for their share. But the big ballyhoo in the press is on and everybody seems satisfied and it is not for me to utter a word of complaint. Tex, in his talks to our big business men, stressed the great benefit it would be to Chicago. He evidently convinced the local promoters that this fight was all Chicago needed to be come a really great city. Of course, Chicago had the World's Fair back in 1 893, and many thought it a pretty good show, but times have changed. Tex probably never heard of that, and Tunney and Dempsey were not born un til years later. You see, Chicago never has had a heavyweight championship fight, and Big Hearted Tex feels like it is coming to us. He wants Chicago to take its proud place in the hall of fame of American municipalities. Yet money is not everything, thank God, even to Big Hearted Tex Rick ard and the unsophisticated local pro moters. Tex has solemnly promised us that he will bring 800 (count 'em) New York millionaires to Chicago for the fight. Think of that! Chicago is to be accorded the rare privilege of seeing in person (not a motion pic ture) 800 real millionaires. He has not said just what kind of millionaires they are to be. Are they to be as sorted as to variety, including samples of all the popular brands? Or are they to be just "mine run" million aires taken as they come, stumbling out of night clubs? Are they to be new ones or old ones? I sincerely trust they will not all be identified di rectly or indirectly with the bootleg ging industry. Then, again, Tex promises to bring a long special train from Hollywood, stuffed with motion picture actors, actresses, puttee - wearing directors, cameramen and writers. Think of that! Imagine the joy of seeing with our own eyes these great personages, after looking at them and their works on the screen through the years. Maybe it's all for the best. — G. c. w. 12 TI4CCI4ICAGOAN Gambling in the Awful 80's When Games of Chance Were That IN the late 80's, when Nicky Arn- stein and Tim Murphy were incon^ spicuous if present members of the community, Chicago was what might be described as a wide open town. In the downtown district gambling houses and poolrooms were permitted to run without interference and the first thing a man did when he opened a saloon was to throw away the key to the front door. The gam bling house dis- trict was lo cated in the sec t i o n bounded by Randolph, D e a b o r n, Clark and Monroe streets. In this district there were per haps 100 games of high and low degree and the places were liberally patronized by all classes. There was no Anti-Saloon League then, no Anti-Vice Society or Lord's Day Alliance and — police records show — there was considerably less crime per capita. In the old wide open days every known gambling game was operated and they were all run pretty much on the square. There was little cheating. The owners were contented with the usual percentage favoring the house. There was faro, roulette, chuck-a- luck, craps, klondike, keno, stud poker and many other methods of permitting the citizen to speculate. There were places luxuriously appointed for the highrollers with big bank rolls, where one might win hundreds of thousands of dollars at a sitting, providing he was lucky. And then there was the "din ner pail" games for the poor working man where "piker" bets were grate fully accepted. As proof that there was less crime in that particular district than today, I respectfully cite the experience of the late "Big Steve" Rowan, a city police man who patrolled the gambling dis trict beat every night for twenty years without making a single arrest. This should be pondered by the reformers. "Big Steve" was not an inefficient policeman, for at the end of his long and honorable service in the gambling house district he was promoted1 by being appointed private bodyguard for Mayor Carter H. Harrison, the second. In those halcyon days when public gambling reigned unmolested, one could walk down Randolph or Clark street on a summer's night and hear the dulcet tones of the game keepers, and the soft click of the chips float out of the windows to the sidewalk below. At some of the cheaper games there were "cappers" politely inviting the public to step in and try its luck. The "s w e 1 1 e s t" house in the district was in Randolph near Dearborn street, con ducted by Curt Gunn and Cy James. You had to be known to get in there, as the place catered exclusively to wealthy business men or professional plungers and star actors with fat pocket-books. Here the stakes were al ways high and big winnings or losings were registered nightly. "Betcha Million" John W. Gates was a regular patron of this place in the days when he was a high salaried salesman. Later, when he was made president of the corporation, he stopped visiting public gambling houses, but he retained his personal friendship for Curt Gunn until the latter's death. Gates .and Gunn often would play bridge whist for high stakes at the former's office in the Rookery Building, the sessions frequently con tinuing for 60 hours or more. Curt Gunn was a, superior sort of person in many respects and was the aristocrat of the Chicago gambling fraternity. He was noted as one of the best card play ers in the country. Once, to settle an interesting argument, he organized a bridge whist tournament in Chicago between professional card players on one side and amateurs recruited from the ranks of the leading whist clubs of the country on the other. Richard Canfield, the New York gambler, who was considered one of the best card players in the world, was one of the professionals chosen to play with Gunn. The tournament was for a side bet of $5,000 and the amateurs won and gave the money to charity. Gunn left a large fortune when he died. George V. Hankins, who was known as Chicago's boss gambler, ran a "din ner pail" game in Clark street near Madison and amassed a large fortune. Later he built Harlem Race Track and owned a large stable of race horses. He died years afterwards in Kansas without a dollar. Al and Jeff Hankins, brothers of George, had a game across the street. Harry Varnell operated a big game next door to George Hankins. Watt and Charles Robbins con ducted a high class place in Clark street near Monroe, patronized by highrollers of the day. Billy Wightman, Lawrence and Martin, and "One Arm" Sdiimmel were the owners of other well known gambling houses. Mike McDonald, afterwards power ful in Democratic politics, conducted one of the largest "piker" games in town at Clark and Monroe streets and retired wealthy. Later he lost a large part of his fortune in unsuccessful busi ness ventures. Then there was Gamblers' Alley, which ran from La Salle to Dearborn street between Washington and Madi son streets. It was lined with pool rooms and bucket shops. "Silver Bill" Riley, a picturesque figure, conducted the largest of the poolrooms and there one might bet any desired amount on a horserace, presidential election, the weather or anything else on which there might be a difference of opinion. — GEORGE COLLIER WHARTON. Rondeau Chicago Of a Timid Lover With guns and gats! Chicago maid, I'd visit you but I'm afraid. I have no armored motor-dray,' No vest of mail, and so I'll stay In less exciting marts of trade. Don't blame me if my ardors fade At thoughts of gory streets to wade, Where constable and bandit play With guns and gats. I am not keen for nerves all frayed By siren's scream and bullets sprayed About most carelessly all day. I love you but I'm far away From where e'en funerals parade With guns and gats. — w. c. E. THE CHICAGOAN 13 \A/HEN the American legionnaire, doughty doughboy that was, sets foot once more upon the scene of his famous Last Stand, an encounter in which there was no gas nor shrapnel, but much profan ity, where the enemy was the M. P., and the best way to fight was to run when you saw them coming, when this impressive Custer of ours, now prob ably a successful radio salesman or tire- manufacturer, comes back once more to the crimson poppies of Flanders and the warm mammas of Paris, he will find the entire French capital waiting to receive him with open arms — and open hands. There was a day, back in 1917, when every arriving khaki-clad hero was hailed as a LaFayette. In September, 1927, that same LaFayette will find himself greeted as a prospective cus tomer with good American money to spend. All this is to cast not the least reflection upon the French. It is not to be taken as implying that our one time Gallic allies have lost their affec tion for us or anything of the sort. Pas du tout! Nor are the French es sentially a greedy nation. Observa tion, the truth is, has taught me that they will, speaking in American terms, take the dime and let the dollar go. But they want that dime — or rather, the franc, even though it is worth just about four cents in our currency. And even if they were a bit— well, what with all those debts to pay and Gen. Dawes being so stony-hearted and everything — What I am getting at is that the gar- cons in the Cafe de la Paix and else where, the shopkeepers along the Ave nue de rOpera and the Grand Boule vards and the showmen (themselves American, many of them) in the vicin ity of the Place Pigalle will be among those who will extend the warmest palms to the returning champions of Mont Blanc and the Marne. So long as he doesn't forget that little ten per cent on the addition, and assuming that KJ Paris Greets the Doughboy With 0$en Arms, Hearts — and Hands the addition (which is French for bad news) is sufficiently formidable, the dis tinguished guest may even be permitted a little sotto voce remark or two about somebody or other's winning the war. After all, what's a little thing like the war now? Let's have another Kirsch or — attendez, garconl Make it a Quetsch. Then there are the shops in the Cook and Sons sector. Your Parisian shop keeper is a wily bird and knows he will have to get up early to catch the Legionnaire— before some one else does. Now what is the best way to snare this bold, brave Yankee? Why, on his soft, his sentimental side, of course! Woman, the home, the fire side — but above all: Woman. Hence it is, the present observer has noted of late an increasing anxiety on the part of the boulevard boutiquiers to acquire an extra supply of feminine help. Here, for example, is a flossy shoe-store with an unobtrusive little notice in the cor ner of the window: On demande une vendeuse qui parle anglais. Why do you think Monsieur le patron is so bent upon securing une vendeuse qui parle anglais? With whom do you suppose she is going to "parley" anglais? With the widow of the Tub Works and her daughter, who never get far away from the Grand Hotel and the American Express? Maybe so. But I, person ally, am inclined to doubt it? For the very good reason that by this time the Old Lady and her daughter are cash ing in on their return-trip coupons. In other words, the tourist season, as such, is waning and one actually begins to hear French spoken once more in the Place de l'Opera. The tourists are going and the Le gionnaires, those lusty-throated cam els from the Land of Prohibition, are coming. This being one of those phenomenal years with a bona-fide sec ond harvest. No. The picture I see is something like this. The strapping young fellow — at least, he was "strapping" ten years ago, though he may be putting on a few pounds now — who once went over the top at Chateau Thiery, or wher ever the top was, and who now sells receiving sets — this by no means hypo thetical young chap chances to pass a vitrine with a swell line of "kicks." He pauses, as one always does — not that it means anything — it doesn't — but — well, perhaps he thinks what a grand present that little pair of high- heels would make for Maisie back home. He just thinks it, that's all. The next thing he knows, he feels a pair of eyes upon him. They are black and vivacious; he knows that without looking up. "Ah, Monsieur! He search the chaussures?" Monsieur, if the truth were told, is "searching" anything but chaussures. He may be searching for a place where he can procure a drink of real imported Scotch without paying 14 francs, or ap proximately 56 cents in United States. He may be "searching" — then he looks up and beholds Mademoiselle. It is that same vendeuse qui parle anglais whom Monsieur le Patron was "de manding" some while back. And does she "parle anglais"? She does! With the cutest little accent in the world. And she is so chic, so parisienne! Does our hero friend accept her invitation to "entrez"? He does. Tout de suite. And does he buy? He does. Beaw coup! The result is — Maisie back home gets that pair of high-heels. And then, there is Montmartre. Ah, but that's a story in itself. Montmartre and the Rat Mort and the Bal Tabarin and the Folies Bergere and the Moulin Rouge and the Casino de Paris. Not c '¦^Jhi *& W 14 TWE CHICAGOAN to speak of the most important person in Paris, Josephine Baker, her danse du ventre at the Folies and her elitest of elite night-clubs. Josephine and all the rest are getting ready to receive the martial visitors; and the ladies are not in the least worried by the fact that they haven't "a thing in the world to wear." From all of which, it may be de duced, this second Battle of Paris is going to be a terrific affair. It would really be funny if, in the midst of it all, some stray Legionnaire should hap pen to see Paris! — SAMUEL PUTNAM. Chicago Guide V. After Baedeker The Left Bank 7^. Michigan Boulevard (Cont.) Michigan Boulevard crosses the Chi cago River on a handsome bascule bridge known as the link, or, in its more active moments, the missing link. Across the bridge lies the near north side, but this is not at once apparent. Having leaped the chasm that divides the north and south sides of the city, the avenue continues in the even tenor of its ways with very little to indicate that it has entered a new world unless it be the increased hauteur on the part of doormen. It is best to see this sec tion in the day time, as some of the buildings are not illuminated at night. While Michigan Boulevard is the main artery of this portion of the left bank, it should not be inferred that the street is part of the Quarter. Some of the tea rooms are frequented by Bohemians, however, and the artistic touch is found in the names of favorite rendezvous, such as the Bright Shawl, the Amber Pie and the Dutch Grill. •The first ediface n. of the bridge on the w. side of the street is the Wrig ley Building. This is not a factory, as its name and gleaming white terra cotta exterior seem to indicate; but like most office buildings it is a center for high consumption of Wrigley products. No one really knows America who has not seen an office girl keeping time with her chewing gum to the rattle of her typewriter keys or the clash of her adding machine. An interesting fea ture of the Wrigley Building is the clock in the belfry which has unfor tunately been the subject of many jests. To tell the time, take one of the num bers on the dial, double it, multiply by three and subtract your own age. The great American Family smell which permeates the street at this point emanates from the Kirk Temple of Cleanliness (if soap is next to Godli ness), erected on the spot where early white settlers used to mop up the floor with the Indians. (See model in n. Kirk window showing how this site looked fifty years ago when no motor vehicles were allowed and the only man-made adornment was a block house.) Opinions differ, but many persons believe that the street has been improved for the worse. In the old days a man who loitered there was in danger of being shot by an Indian; now he stands a chance of being cat apulted by an automobile. The Tribune Tower, cathedral of the newspaper plants (with apologies tft Marshall Field and Company) rises to an observation platform (admission fifty cents unless you have friends in the building). The builders of the tower failed to order enough material for it and had to accept stones from numerous buildings, some of them ex tremely old. Close inspection of the exterior walls shows blocks of stone that were taken from Notre Dame, Westminster Abbey, Edinburgh Castle, Cologne Cathedral, and the Great Wall of China. It is possible to travel all around the world via these inserts. The tourist atmosphere produced by the presence of these souvenirs is aug mented by the quasi-hot dog stands on the opposite side of the street. AUNT Mary's Pie Shop, the Bbde-a-wee, and other lunch rooms in the sand dune school of architecture lend a touch of informality to the scene. The summer resort effect is further enhanced by the gay parasols used by the traffic police. — RUTH G. BERGMAN. Poetic Acceptances An Unknown Writer of Cowboy Songs Accents an Invitation to a Can-Hieing Contest I'm a poor lonesome cowboy, And I live o'er on the flat, Though I killed Joe McClosky Don't think me bad for that. I accept your invitation, Though I killed John Herman Cruik- shank I am none the worse for that, So I'll — * I used to roam in Texas, So I'll come to your contest, Though I killed Mandeville Glenden- ning, Though I killed Uncle Willy Ausen- baume. I'm a poor lonsome cowboy, Though Bob Stanford died in Au gust. Everybody says I killed him. * regal and august. *Tou \now how words get lost. The Smith Brothers look to their fences — DONALD PLANT. TI4E CHICAGOAN 15 OME to think of it, the sit uation is appalling The citizens of Chicago, going along their merry way, have actually no more inkling of those important fiats which issue forth from aldermanic councils than they have of the names of drummer boys in the War of the Roses. To our knowledge, about the only local law of which the citizen is aware is the one which declares igno rance of the law to be just so much folly; always excepting the edict on prominent display in all telephone booths forbidding the use of lifesavers, curtain rings, and peppermint patties as phoney phone slugs. And inas much as our civic body is, after all, a government of law rather than a gov ernment of men, we felt that this field might, with a mild chance of profit, be made the subject of inquiry. Our researches disclose that some things are, oddly enough, suffered to be done. But these are generally so beset by regulations and restrictions that the doing of them is anything but the act of a free, untrammeled will. A window cleaner, for example, must obtain a license before he can fall out the window. And any person who has it in mind to carry on the business of woolpulling must also first obtain official permission. Woolpulling, how ever, being the profitable prank it is in our higher commer cial circles, has little need to be dismayed over this slight pre requisite. Restaurants may, of course, serve food, but even here the ordinance is explicit in requiring that every dish shall be thoroughly cleansed after each use by one patron, and before any further use by another patron. Motor coach operators must get a permit to trim trees on city ; ~r streets, while permits ' ' - for barber poles are given only upon the endorsement of the alderman of the particular ward to be adorned by them. And while we do not lift our voice in a yodel of remonstrance at the requiring of per mits for storing inflammable liquids, we do rather resent having whiskey and brandy put in the same class with kerosene, amyl alcohol, and turpentine. "It Shall Be Unlawful" Within the Precincts of the City of Chicago In the main, however, the bigwigs of the City Hall, men presumed to meditate upon the welfare of the townsmen, busy themselves in filling page after page of official scribbling with out and out pro hibition of all manner of urban activity. The magic words "It shall be unlawful" scorch the parchment at the first scratch of the official pen. Countless swords of Damocles hang over our heads. We are forbidden to do things we would never think of doing; and in the pursuit of things that we feel is our privilege, yea, even our Constitutional right, to do, we are thwarted (if we only knew it) by the omnip otent decrees of the local Senators. Look, for instance, at the curb put upon our taxicab life. One quaintly phrased ordinance states that no per son shall solicit passengers for a taxi whirl "except the driver of such vehicle while sitting upon the driver's seat thereof." Another one flatly prohibits whisking people into such a vehicle for the purpose of visiting one's wicked will upon them. In the matter of city parks, we find it is thoroughly taboo for "any persons to play any games likely to injure the grass." Likewise is it forbidden to leave bottles on or about any athletic field, — designed no doubt, to promote our com fort at football games on raw Saturday after noon. These prohibited activities are, of course, such as none of us would ever dream of doing. Let us direct our attention now to the things we constantly itch to do. So sacred are the city streets that we are actually forbidden to use them for flying kites, building bonfires, per forming acrobatic stunts, flipping ba- H. nana peels or roller skating. As to the horse, we are for bidden, anachronis- tically, to drive them into tunnels, or to permit them to stand near enough to any tree to bite it. Further, no person can go for a sleigh ride without attaching consider able bells to herald the event. Or take the bicycle. . If one thinks he can go out on a pedaling party, and take a friend along on the handlebars, he is much mistaken, for it is not allowed. Some business enterprises are rather proudly ostracized by the lawmakers, and scant impetus is given to the modest craft of salesmanship. A citi zen cannot, it seems, pick up a cigar or ciga- ret butt and offer it for resale; nor is any encouragement doled out to the seller of street car transfers. There is, be it known, proudly em bellished upon the records of our council proceedings, a solemn admon ishment against«the display of cabbage heads within the city walls. In this it would seem that the solons had either wilfully or carelessly shut their eyes to the full import of the words ram pant upon the Corporate Seal of the City, the motto reading "Urbs in Horto." And while we are about this lamentable business of lifting the cur tain on our senatorial show, let us re veal, as worthy of passing mention, the precept against anyone appearing, in the Kgbt of day or night, "in a dress not belonging to his or her sex"; the mandate against killing birds by the use of "fireams, slingshot, or bow and arrow"; and the pronouncement pre cluding the carrying of a lighted candle into any barn in the city, — thus in suring strict privacy to all hayloft pranks. There seems to be no reaching the saturation point of acts forbidden. The local Senators get no sleep. There is even now pending in City Hall archives an embryo ordinance re inforcing the Police Department with one additional Dog Catcher, and an embryo ordinance requiring all saddle horses to cut their night capers with tail lights. — Joseph p. pollard. ¦ 16 TUECUICAGOAN The yachting gentleman who buih his mast exactly three inches too ta.11 for the bridge THt CHICAGOAN 17 CHICAGOAN/ THE scene is a fashionable opening night at a Michigan avenue play house. The usually expectant and placid sea of dinner coats and decolle- tes stretched before the curtain is suddenly disturbed down at the left in the fourth row by one male member bowing and nodding to a great num ber of acquaintances, who gladly bow and nod in return. Each greeting is a little private show in itself, for public consumption. The man is faultlessly attired in evening clothes, but a distinct, al most vibrant air of jauntiness pen etrates even the austere and for mal front of stiff shirt and tuxedo. A shock of hair, once reddish, now sprinkled with threads of grey, falls in waves on each side of the part down the center of his head. His chin is entirely camouflaged by a proud and generous beard, parted at the center also. The two parts, if connected, would be found to be in exact alignment, making the gentleman a perfectly balanced man at all times. "Why Mrs. Whoosus!" he sud denly exclaims. "Really, my pleasure knows no bounds at this most happy greeting! It seems ages since we last met! I trust your health has been as superb as ever!" Or, to some man, with the exuberance of a Roman candle, "Aaaah! My good man! So happy to see you here this evening! Such pleasant surprises make life worth while. Indeed they do! So happy to see you again!" Thus the barrage of bouquets. Each greeting is accompanied by a nod or a bow, depending on the personage, a warm handshake, beaming eyes, and a broad smile. The rapture of each greeting is so pronounced that all with in earshot (an extensive circle you may be sure) crane their necks to see the expected osculation that really should follow such torrential salutations. But who is this salubrious sower of such seeds of affection? You guessed it the first time. It could be none other than the Hon. James Hamilton Lewis, former U. S. Senator from Illinois, lawyer, statesman, Man About Town and Prince of Fashion Plates. Chicago Chesterfield A walk down Chicago's Boul Miche, or Fifth Avenue or the Riviera for that matter, is like a tour through the Hall of Fame with all the statues coming to life and bowing. At least every other Senator James Hamilton Lewis person knows the Senator and the Sen ator promptly knows them all right back again. The Senator really does not walk. He sweeps majestically along, nodding, bowing, flashing his bearded smile serenely here, deftly there, as he wafts forward on the airy wings of fame, his precisely tailored trousers and bespatted shoes cutting a swath along the sidewalk, his extremely "chic" hat, whose brim has a sort of Napoleonic flair, adding to the aura about his head. ' Though the Senator will be formally listed for posterity in the historical journals as a statesman, another niche must certainly be preserved for him in the Official Style Book of this period under caption,. "Prince of Fashion Plates," for no man dresses more per fectly than the Senator. Mere busi ness regalia suggests a festive day at Deauville rather than the smudgy bustle of the Loop. A typical outfit sounds almost like the trousseau of a Spring bride. It includes a suit of elegant ma terial, frequently unique of pat tern or color, fancy vest cut very low, exquisite tie, conspicuous black cord for his pince-nez which are appropriately swept out, up, and finally onto the crest of the nose on appropriate occasions; trousers creased like a cleaver, cane, colored gloves, and afore mentioned dashing chapeau, felt or straw, depending on the season. For fall or winter add a ponder ous coat and gay muffler. Lothario were a rag picker, Lord Chester field a drug store cowboy in com parison. Is there a reason for this? Well, the answer may be gleaned from the following sketch of his career. Though the Senator is one of our most unique citizens, he is also one of our most distinguished. He hails from Georgia. This in itself gives him license for something or other. After attending Houghton College down there, the Univer sity of Virginia, and three other universities for the study of law, he began to exercise his eccentrici- .ties early by jumping to the other extreme of the country and getting elected to the Senate from Wash ington Territory. He also became a candidate for governor of Washington. This was in 1892. Then he became congressman at large from Washington, 1897-99, cau cus nominee for U. S. senate, 1899, candidate for Vice-President, 1900, on the staff of General F. D. Grant dur ing the Spanish- American war. In 1903 he swept triumphantly into Chi cago. Here he became corporation counsel for the city, 1905-7, ran for governor, 1908, and served as U. S. Senator, 1913-19. In 1914 he became United States Commissioner to London to exe cute treaty laws for safety at sea. He was chosen as first "whip" of the Sen- 18 ate and was one of the right hand men of President Wilson. He did special war work in France in 1918 and was knighted by the King of Belgium and the King of Greece. He served at In ternational Conferences at Genoa and Lausanne as one of the American rep resentatives on American claims. Member, Paris Geographic Society, au thor of several works on politics, his tory and law. Quite a legitimate claim to distinction after all! With such diverse activities, from society to politics and law, and all of them urgent, it is to wonder that he manages to keep in what is almost lit erally the pink of condition. Has he secretly discovered the long sought fountain of youth? A visit to his office discloses the answer. Behind his desk, which is deluged with letters from admirers, patronage seekers, and clients, stands a sort of commode, sev eral drawers high, topped by a small rectangular mirror. In the top drawer are kept combs, brushes, and other intimate tools for keeping the grizzly senatorial contour in perfect trim. As Napoleon used to pace for hours to and fro, threshing out his problems, just so Senator Lewis now stands before his mirror, ^thresh- ing out not only his problems but his beard into the perfect alignment which it, ever enjoys. The part must run ex actly north and south, the hairs pre cisely east and west. The slightest hirsute disarrangement upsets the aes thetic balance and ruins the day. When the Senator wearies, there is a wicker chaise longue close by his mir ror and his desk, so that when he is overcome with some acute problem he can quickly rest his judicial frame thereon and cast himself into a sort of official twilight sleep in which count less brilliant plans and speeches have been hatched. Thus does our Senator keep himself ever young, ever suave and ever smil ing. The conclusion is: If you would be famous, part your hair in the middle, invest in a reddish beard and mustache (even if you can't grow them yourself) and comb them a dozen times a day with geometrical accuracy, using a sextant to obtain perfect alignment if necessary. Fame, or Something, is sure to follow. Who knows, perhaps our Prince of Fashion Plates and Car nival of Good Manners may nod you a cheery "Good day," which will as sure you a seat on the right hand of Jupiter, at least. — fritz blocki. Overtone/ 4* J INDY" has departed, leaving in lw his wake the usual number of stiff necks and unautographed note books. ? Vice-president Dawes found on his return from Canada two policemen guarding his home because of the Sac- co-Vansetti demonstrations. He asked that they be removed. What are a few demonstrations, more or less, to a man who has presided over the U. S. senate? ? Now that the naval conference is over we suggest a conference for the limitation of speech making. ? A Chicago paper has started an "Aid to Motorists" department. The one who really needs help is the pedes trian. ? The big drawback in these books on how to raise and train a pup is the fact that they're not written in a way the pup can understand. ? We don't know who will be the next president, but we are sure there is only one possible candidate who could have the whole-hearted support of Wayne B. Wheeler, and that's Wayne B. Wheeler. ? Simultaneously with the announce ment of the Rubber Association of America that importations of crude rubber increased in July comes an an nouncement from the packers that hereafter quality fresh beef will be branded. ? Chicago's gunmen are to be rounded up and turned over to the psychopathic We must remember the camaraderie of the sea" TUECWICAGQAN laboratory for observation. We would begin the observation with careful at tention to the hip pocket. ? Liberia, according to the Treasury Department, has settled its war debt in full. Now to find out where Liberia is and what they owed us. ? Have you as yet received your ring side seats for the fight? — G. C. Any Monday In Any Office * * I KNOW I just won't be able to do I a thing for months, I had such a good time. Perfectly marvelous! Look, I've got some snapshots here we took. I don't think a vacation's complete un less you have something to remember it by. Just about all we did at Craboil Point was take pictures. You don't have to go yet, do you? Here they are, right here — "This one ... let me see .. . That's a view of the lake, I think. . . . Oh no, it's upside down. It's Aunt Mattie in her bathing suit. . . . Do you see? Her head didn't get in the picture, but the rest of it looks exactly like her. "This is Lou Paff, from the South Side. That's a very bad picture of her; she's really the cutest thing. Yes, her nose is a little big, but I think it's mostly the light. She has the prettiest eyes; of course you can't see them be cause she is squinting so. "This next one is the lake on a calm day. No, I know you can't see any thing but a line, but that's exactly the way it looks. "Now, this one is really a scream. It's Junior Lyndon, with his girl's hat on. Did you ever see anything funnier in your life? Well, yes, I guess you do have to know him to appreciate it "This one was taken twice, I guess. . . . There's one of a sailboat and one of Bill. ... Do you see Bill's face, there under the boat in the water? It's not very plain. ... "I think the light was wrong here. . . . That great big white spot. . . . I can't imagine what it is. . . . What! Have to go so soon? "Well, anyway, don't you think they're pretty good? They'll bring back old Craboil Point to me just as if I were there! Honestly, I don't think I'll ever get back to work." — WALKER EVERETT. TI4ECI4ICAGOAN 19 As You Were Saying jAk. Or As I Think You Were ^ THE Noise Research Specialist was escorting his friend, an out-of- town guest, about Chicago. "Chicago is noisy," he said, as he strolled along Wabash avenue, "but for real bedlam, there is the airplane." "What say?" asked the friend, cup ping his ear. *Take a ride on the elevated train, for instance. A passenger absorbs only seventy-five units of noise, as compared with the aviator who absorbs ninety units." "You'll have to speak louder — " began the friend. "However," the professor resumed, "the noise of the airplane can be re duced to the mere purr of an auto, provided a muffler is installed." "For Heaven's sake," interpolated the friend. "And did they rush him to the hospital at once?" "Airplane mufflers, you must know, are not popular. They reduce the speed of the plane at least 12 percent." "That's too high a rate of interest. No bank could stand it, year after year," commented the friend. "You may be interested to know that lady's powder puffs are much in de mand to protect the aviator's eardrums. What science must now produce for aviation is a silent engine that has all the speed of the noisy one." "Just as I said to my wife yester day," shrieked the friend, "any chap who tries to play a serious game of bridge in a mixed foursome — " "However, for the average citizen's capacity, the Loop noises are enough to turn him stone deaf within a hun dred years, provided he lives that long. If he dies, of course this rule would not hold good, and science should not be too severely criticized." "And you can say it again," inter posed the friend, as they hesitated under the roar of the elevated at Van Buren street. "The Cubs are the greatest baseball machine in the country." "Aesthetically, noise is not to be dis credited. Noises of the down-town district are the oral expression of com merce; the roar of a mighty lion of finance and achievement. Chicago's noise is cohesive, a unified gesture — " "I can't," began the friend des perately, "I can't hear a word you're saying. This damned racket. . . ." — LEIGH METCALFE A Howling Shame Distraught City Athrob Over Lions "I XL name those lions," maintained i the wild-eyed gentleman before the ambulance came. "I'll name those lions or go to the asylum" "Make it snappy, then," rumbled the copper, "the nut hack is due now. When it gets here, name or no name, you go anyway." The ambulance ar rived. The wild-eyed gentleman left. Inside. "He's the seventeenth," panted Officer Reilly, "and not a name for 'em yet." The crowd before the Art Institute jostled closer. Yes, it was that same pair of bronze pussies, guardians of the Institute, sculptured by Edward Kemeys in 1893, presented by Mrs. Stanley Field in the same year — and nameless. A stigma which has cast its blot darkly on the respectability of the boulevard itself, to say nothing of the innocent animals. Not that palliative measures have been unattempted. From the first hint of the predicament made public in The Chicagoan for August 13, everything from mass-meeting to silent prayer has been tried and tried again. The first mass-meeting was broken up by the police, who called the assem bly a "red" congress and quieted its roars with tear bombs and the shille lagh. The last prayer meeting dis solved when T. Lucus Piddle said "darn" after three hours of unavail ing effort at his counterpane. Still no names. Three inquiring reporters represent ing this astute magazine were declared missing at a late hour last night. A fourth was found treed in the Grant Park Pergola' at the foot of Randolph street; police saved him from the mob which was already collecting wood for a bonfire. A fifth reporter was re moved from the Logan Square monu ment by a hook and ladder company after his pursuers had been beaten off by militiamen hastily ordered out by Governor Small when Sheriff Graydon declared he personally favored mild discipline as extemporised by local citizens. Still no names. Sections of the Twentieth Century Limited are reported stopping at every whistle station on the road for late returns from the naming orgy. Traffic is still jammed on the boule vard. The Art Institute has thrown open its door to the public on Wednesdays, Saturdays and Sundays. Not a name in sight. From the deluge of correspondence received at these editorial offices we select three letters offering sugges tions. The letters follow: A Wide Variety Editor, The Chicagoan: Before complying with the invitation implied in your August 13 issue — i. e., to suggest names for the Art Institute lions — let me vote the ticket straight- for the Gr-r-r and Br-r-r suggested by one or an other of your interviewees. This done, and quite seriously, I add as possible alter natives : Rip and Roar — Fitter and Patter — Sniff and Snarl — Up and Attem — Win\iri and Blin\in — Harum and Scarum — Damon and Pythias — Paris and Hector-r-Dantel and Androcles — Bamum and Bailey — Mi^e and I\e — Romulus and Remus — Fran\ie and Johnnie — Matthew and Mar\ — Lu\e and John— Hans and Fritz. Yours in the interests of the community. —J. S. Prudence, 233 E. Walton Place, Chicago. A Brave Idea Editor, The Chicagoan: Let me congratulate you on your noble enterprise in attempting to find a name for the two lions which have for lo these many years stood patiently, and with such admirable dignity at the portals of our Art Institute. Would that some of our politicians, and public servants, not to say state officials had displayed such remarkable dignity and firmness in the stand they have made be fore the public. (Continued on page 31) 20 THE CHICAGOAN The jobless tattoo artist becomes a guide at the Field Museum That Book of Hops An Exclusive Disclosure NOW that you've read it (for who hasn't?) and chalked your score to at least your own satisfaction, it may as well be admitted that Shelby Little's This to That is no more nor less than the result of a purely domestic and not at all uncommon situation. It fell out something after this fashion.: In an earlier issue of The Chi cagoan, it was hinted with some force and authenticity that her illustrious husband, Richard Henry Little, could not be dissuaded from taking his vocal exercises in the bathroom. After re peated but futile explanations to thoughtless neighbors that the "Can ary" wasn't being murdered all over again, Shelby Little (so saith rumor) in her extremity, bethought herself a mode of deliverance from the dilemma. The compilation of This to That stands as the glorified result . . . and with what dispatch did the scheme work? Immediately the tenants went from Discontent to Happiness in one hop (sans Complaint to Janitor) and Dick's melting bathroom arias continue to lull and lure the guileless Michigan mari ners upon the Rush Street rocks. For the express benefit of the two elderly ladies whom we chanced upon in Miss Butcher's shop, we shall for the moment pose as an information bu reaucrat. It would seem that they had come to the place for books, although their actions belied the assumption. Said the more intellectual — at least she read less haltingly — as she scanned the jacket of the word — change book — "This to That by Shelby Little. In troduction by R. H. L."— "Why that must be the Line's brother." "Non, non, non, Madame," inter posed we, speaking rudely out of turn. "Closer than a brother. If you insist on being Victorian and all that, Shelby isn't a he at all, but the devoted wife of the Line; like jolly old George Sand or George Eliot, if you know what we mean." The sale seems to have amounted to really nothing, for the ladies left the stalls in what they call a high dudgeon. Anyway, Shelby Little as is ap peared some three years ago in the Line O' Type or Two as "Helen Hen na," with other pseudonymic attach ments for variety. From time to time her terse and caustic commentaries upon varied subjects — and often of some literary worth — made the Line. Always these had the stimulating ef fect of a correctly gauged uppercut, with now and then a horseshoe care fully packed in the wallop where it would do the most good. Invariably her stuff dispelled that verbose coma to which any and all "columns" are heir. And so there are those who, duly aware of the lux mentis of Shelby Little, were not a little amazed when she brought forth this rather fascinat ing book of a popular pastime. Yet, withal, one instinctively sensed that it would be done with a nice point of difference — a mild dash of savoire faire. And it is. The author points out that the scheme is old, and a truly simple one but most effective in appeal. It is the metamorphosis of a certain word to its antithesis by means of internal sur gery upon the vowels as well as "lift ing" of the general complexion of the word victim. To resume the chase: the contestant who arrives at his goal with the fewest number of word- changes on his debit sheet receives, in all probability, the ranking Intelligence Quotient or a D. S. C. After indulg ing in the righteous business of gloating over his opponent, he is likewise ac corded the same satisfaction as though he had just solved the most intricate cross-word or had landed on the green in one. (Docevans avers that this ex ercise elevates the blood pressure in the same ratio of a chess tournament to an overbid hand of bridge.) By far the most attractive feature of this little book is to be found in the "Who's Who — and How," in which the stock has very noticeably been re duced from the "400" to a most ex clusive "180." Each celebrity is most skillfully characterized in so many hops. We cite a drollery that was graciously submitted by the opinion ated Mary Landon Baker: WILL — wilt — wint — WON'T (we object to the handicap). With a bit of adroit maneuvering with scissors and paste-pot, one can contrive a most convincing and price less guest book from the jacket gener ously sprinkled with autographs. After your hammock reading has soured on cross-words or the vast category of question books, one gladly owns that ". . . there is a certain relief in change, even if it be from bad to worse. . . ." — COBB HALL. Chicago — and How Points of Interest THE Palmer House. Here is to be found one telephone booth, — the third from the end, — in which no trace of cigar smoke has ever been detected. The Drake Hotel. Deftly plying his clippers in the regal barber parlor is one barber who, while drying your hair after a shampoo, steadfastly re fuses to flip the corner of his towel in your eye. The new building where Sheridan Road turns west. Although this edi fice now pierces the sky in. more or less finished form, no flag has yet been run up from its topmost point. The Palace Theatre. The back drop, Lo and behold, pictures not Times, Herald, or Washington Square, but our own blessed boulevard. Doc Schulte's Michigan Avenue spectacle shop. In the window is a mammoth portrait of John Gilbert, he of the blistering eyes, smiling, as if he enjoyed it, behind a huge pair of many pointed glasses. The living room of a friend of mine. There is always an ash tray on the player piano. — J- P- P. 21 S. P. C. House Guests The Line Forms at the Left TUE CHICAGOAN ARE you one of the summer's casu alties? I am. Compared to the atrocities to which I have been sub jected during the past summer, the life of a missionary under fire of Chinese war lords is as restful as the Meditation from "Thais." I am an habitual victim of invita tions to week-end parties at summer homes. Convalescing in peaceful Chicago from the summer's week-ending, I have conceived a plan to mitigate the suf ferings of week-end guests in summer resorts, homes and cottages by the lake. I have decided to foster an organiza tion to be known as the Amalgamated Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Summer Home Guests. Let me briefly describe some of the punishment to which I have submitted since Deco ration Day. I have mowed nine and one-half acres of summer home lawns at the gentle but firm suggestions of hosts who say, "Some exercise will do you good be fore dinner." I have tramped 718 miles before breakfasts to see glorious sunrises, with out ever having seen one sunrise. With polishing cloths I have mas saged 9,543 square feet of tarnished brass on boats belonging to my week end hosts. Newspaper reports state that the water level in Lake Michigan has risen nearly one foot this summer; this rise is due to the water I have coaxed, with the aid of hand-operated pumps, out of the bilges of the here inbefore-mentioned boats. For two weeks I have been unable to work at my trade of writing because of stiff fingers, blistered hands, a strained back, and a dislocated shoulder resulting from being drafted by a sum mer camp owner as a common laborer in the building of a rock dam across a "mere brook" as wide as the Mississippi at flood tide. The rocks used in mak ing this dam were carried half a mile and carefully placed in position, as directed by the host. The dam formed, when completed, a swimming pool «A«d» I am told by subsequent visi tors is "perfectly charming." As each week-end approached I told myself that everything that could hap pen to me, as a summer home guest, had happened. I faultily reasoned that surely some summer home owner in all Chicagoland would own a boat, the bilge of which was not filled with dirty water, a boat which had bright and shiny brass, clean decks, and was equipped with some sort of a power- driven anchor hoist. It seemed within the realm of possibility that I would eventually visit a summer home where there were no guests intent on break ing the non-stop bridge playing record. As each ogre nailed me for a week end I hopefully accepted, and with great optimism prayed for a quiet, rest ful week-end such as we are led to believe exists. I admit overf aith. My proposed Amalgamated Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Sum mer Home Guests will have a Deca logue printed on an eight sheet poster and securely fastened to the walls of every summer home. Copies of it will also be posted in every boat, and also on billboards at intervals of every half mile along all roads leading from Chi cago to any real or alleged summer re sort. The Decalogue follows: 1. Thou shalt not permit thy cook, thy man servant, nor thy maid servant to play golf, visit the neighbors, or otherwise ab sent themselves from the kitchen until six p. m. when dinner is served at six- fifteen p. m. 2. Thou shalt not claim to own a cot tage "by the lake" if said body of water is a mere half-acre pool of muddy, stag nant liquid. 3. Thou shalt guarantee that not more than eighty per cent of the total food in any one meal shall have been prepared with a can opener. 4. Thou shalt not advise any guest to wear only old clothes and then drag him or her, by force and violence, to a coun try club dinner dance. 5. If the partitions between the walls of thy summer home do not reach the ceiling thou shalt agree in writing to shoot any guest who habitually throws wet and dripping bathing suits over the said partitions. 6. Thou shalt not patronize, nor per mit thy guests to patronize, farmer boot leggers. 7. Thou shalt not, under pain of eternal punishment, persuade guests to participate in moonlight marshmallow roasts near bodies of water surrounded by weeds in fested with mosquitoes. 8. Thou shalt suffer no guest to earn his dinner by operating any lawn-mower for more than one hour before the said dinner. 9. Thou shalt invite no guests to visit thy boat if the hull leaks, unless the boat is equipped with an electric bilge pump; nor shalt thou welcome guests on the boat with a can of brass polish in one hand and a mop and deck brush in the other. 10. Thou shalt prohibit thy small chil dren, thy pet dogs and thy golf fiend friend from awakening guests at five a. m., unless breakfast is to be served before unless breakfast is served before nine. — EUGENE WHITMORE. "She D-I-D?" "She D-I-D?" "She D-I-D?" 22 TWE CHICAGOAN 'Women Spending More Time on Links" — Headline Backgrounds By One Who Knew Them When— "Doc" (O. L.) Hall studied medi cine before coming to Chicago from a small town in Indiana and getting a job as reporter on the old Chicago Inter'Ocean. Later he turned dra matic critic and, despite this fact, be came one of the three owners of The Chicago Journal. ? Richard J. Collins was a butcher in Fulton Market on the west side and reported for work at 4 a. m. ? George E. Brennan, Democratic boss of Chicago, worked in an Illinois coal mine and later taught a country school. ? United States Collector of Internal Revenue,, Mabel Reniecke, began her career as a stenographer in a Mon roe street law office. ? County Recorder Joe Haas was a hat salesman. ' ? United States Senator Charles S. Deneen was a country school teacher in a small town in southern Illinois before coming to Chicago to study law and take up politics. ? United States Collector of Customs, Anthony Czarnecki, sold news papers at Madison and Wells streets and later was a reporter on The Chi cago Daily TJews. ? Louis Eckstein, impresario of grand opera at Ravinia, started his career as a clerk in the office of a rail road in Milwaukee. ? Sam Katz sang illustrated songs in a little store show movie in West 12th street. Intended Murderees When Next Encountered 1 PERSONS who, when you have • successfully lighted your fag with a mechanical lighter, invariably say, "My gawd it worked." 2. Vaudeville comedians who, when acknowledging a burst of applause, say, "I expected more." 3. Hosts who say, when you are leaving, "Now that you know the way, come often." 4. Insurance salesmen who expect you to buy because they say, "Statistics show that four out of five men at sixty are dependent on their relatives, the poorhouse, or other charities." 5. Solicitors for the Civic Opera who begin their visits or telephone calls with, "Mr. Insull asked me to call and let you know that we have some choice seats left for a few selected patrons, such as yourself." 6. Bank loan officers who say, "And, may I ask, what do you intend to use this money for — if we let you have it?" — e. w. Football Forecast A Mixed Prospect (Begin on page 9) are Mendenhall and Burgess. To put good Staggman beef into the line there is a sophomore named Weaver, a tackle whose 240 pounds are spread over 6 feet 4 inches of frame. He is believed to be the big' gest man that ever wore a Maroon jersey. This team will not lose all of its Conference games, but it will not win the title. Championships are not be ing thought of at Chicago until 1928. The schedule Stagg has arranged for 1927 sounds like the last heroic gesture of a samurai preparing to be gathered to the abode of his an cestors. After the worst season in his thirty-five years at the University of Chicago, he has prepared the most arduous series of games in his career. It runs: Oklahoma, Indiana, Purdue, Pennsylvania, Ohio State (at Colum bus), Michigan, Illinois (at Urbana), and Wisconsin. Oklahoma was a formidable con tender in the strong Missouri Valley Conference last year. Although it finished fifth it defeated the title-holder and was always dangerous. Chicago thus takes a chance in its opening game. The game with Indiana may be counted as a victory, but that with Purdue, which still has the brilliant "Cotton" Wilcox to carry the ball, is doubtful. Pennsylvania almost always beats Chicago. Michigan, renewing an old rivalry, has already counted its Chi' cago game as won, but when Yost and Stagg match teams upon the gridiron, then comes the tug of war. Illinois and Wisconsin, as ever, will prove hard nuts for the Maroons to crack There is nothing for Chicago alumni to do about this schedule except to hold their breath, make no boasts, and pray for the breaks. The battle of Waterloo, said the Iron Duke after he counted his dead, was won upon the playing fields of Eton and Harrow. There was, no doubt, some obscure skirmish in the battle of the Meuse-Argonne that was won upon the gridirons of Chicago and Northwestern. With this comforting thought to cherish when the academic hiss of over-emphasis on football be gins to sibilate again, let us sit back and hope we draw seats on the fifty* yard lines. Whatever happens, it's going to be a great season. — CHARLES COLLINS. TI4ECI4ICAGOAN 23 THEY don't quite come off, these radical riots. One has the sus picion, in spite of the screaming head lines and flaming phrases used to de scribe them in the papers next day, that the average "red" meetings and parades in Chicago would spend themselves and disperse peaceably except for police interference, just as college victory celebrations work themselves out of steam if let alone. No better case could be found than the recent Sacco-Vanzetti protest meeting and parade, with its subsequent "rioting," to illustrate the point. The accounts of a "red" menace, in the shape of several hundred howling radical fanat ics, marching through the streets bent on destruction, somehow lacked a ring of conviction. The stories probably would have commanded little notice and stirred less comment had it not been for the romantic touch provided by the arrest of an 18-year-old girl, later described as "the fiery Joan d'Arc of the reds in Chicago." Her part in the affair was perfectly made-to-order for the news writers. Even her name— Aurora d'Angelo— added zest to the romantic picture. From a city editor's deskpoint, her pic ture, revealing a slim, gracefully curved, pretty young thing with a boyish-bob, was almost too good to be true. So often a good story of the kind is utterly ruined by the cruel truths of the camera. So, taking it all in all, the news writers may be ex cused the burning language they used to describe the little gal and her ex ploit. That the demonstration itself was no more than a nondescript pa rade, largely composed of hoodlums out for a lark, we must admit and con template sadly. Even the "rioting," which followed the appearance of police squads sent to break up the dis turbance, hardly approached the pro portions of an old-time Saturday night brawl. Even this intelligence could not have smashed the illusion com pletely, though, if the little girl hadn't been permitted to speak her mind from the darkness of a police cell the follow ing day. One feels, dejectedly, there ought to be a law or something to pre vent delightful newspaper heroines from saying anything for print. 1 left off being a child five years ago when I heard a few hundred peo ple cheer Ralph Chaplin for making a protest speech. I dedicated my life right there to being a radical," she began. JOURNALI/TIC JOURNEY/ Police Dispersed the Rioters" "Give me credit for knowing what it's all about. I know exactly what it's all about. I'm not dumb. My parents have nothing to do with my comings and goings. For five years I have slipped out and gone to radical meetings. "Your so-called flappers who go to sissy parties and spend their time be fore the mirror are too dumb for me to consider. It isn't schools that are educating me , but meetings of the people." Instead of a bitter threat to blow up the city hall as soon as she was re leased, we get a mild history of her life. Instead of a fiery Joan d'Arc, we see a little girl who knows exactly what it's all about, whose parents have noth ing whatever to do with her comings and goings. In other words, a girl as different from her sisters as one pea is different from the others in the same pod. How frightfully disappointing. Of course one could lament indefi nitely on the failure of persons and things to measure up to expectations, especially when considering the radicals and their activities. We go to a great deal of trouble and waste a lot of time carefully stamping and labelling a cer tain group of people with the word "menace," expecting them to live up to the title, and all we get in return is a two-penny parade. One is almost forced to the con clusion that if no attention whatever were paid to them, the reds and other radicals amongst us would soon change color or disappear for want of notice. The leaders of their movement would lose interest in the game and turn to something else. They might even go to work. What fun, I ask you, would there be in holding secret meetings, getting out lurid newspapers and pamphlets, being watched by govern ment secret service agents, if nobody cared a whoop one way or the other? There would clearly be no sense in calling your friends Comrade Smith, or Comrade Jones if your organization had no more significance than the Poetry and Culture club of Bingville Center. A look at any of the recent demon strations by organized reds is quite enough to convince anyone the job could be much better done by the undergraduate body of any fair sized college or university. College boys, when they start out on a rampage have a way of doing things which puts the average soviet "riot" to shame. And it might be recalled, in passing, that more than one of our sedate captains of industry took prominent parts, dur ing their college years, in many of those spontaneous outbursts which ended in the wrecking of the college town's movie theatre, or the stripping of a statue from its pedestal and paint ing it pea green. Residents of Evans ton and in the vicinity of the Midway are not without recollections of cer tain incidents revolving about the campuses of Northwestern and Chi cago universities. What outrage directly traceable to radicals can match such splendid flare-ups of uncontrolled deviltry? If the reds can show us nothing better than the futile, weak-kneed at tempts so far revealed by them, I vote we pay them no more respect. Instead let's turn the rioting and Roman holi day business over to the undergraduates entirely, setting aside certain days, let tered in vermillion, on which howling mobs of students may be let loose against the police. Such jamborees, the chances are, will occur now and then anyway, so why not organize the thing for Bigger and Better Riots? It might be well to mention, inci dentally, that as this is written, the final decision in the Sacco-Vanzetti case has not been handed down. If by publication time events have occurred which are contradictory to the general complaints listed in this protest, if, for instance, the postoffice or the Michigan Boulevard bridge have been blown up before you read these lines, everything previously contained herein is uncondi tionally retracted and reversed. — JOSEPH DUGAN. 24 TUE CHICAGOAN /PORT/ REVIEW Events on the Horizon TRUE sportsmen of this windswept region are looking towards Sept. 5 as a bright red letter day in the realm of American pastime. On that date at Meadowbrook, Long Island, will begin the long awaited and breath lessly contemplated international polo matches between the very ultimate best players representing these United States and Great Britain. Although most of us here must watch the classic from a distance and through the medium of our newspapers, magazines and news- reels, we'll no doubt feel some of the thrill of it. Interest in the impending matches has been simmering up to the boiling point in the east all summer. In fact the enthusiasm did boil over a bit with the arrival of the British team, which has, as you no doubt are aware, no less a personage than a Maharajah as a member. Considerable surprise was evidenced over the country when the personnel of the American team was announced several weeks before the date set for the first match. Few, how ever, could find much fault with the choice of the Polo association. It is safe to say the standard bearers, Mr. Frederick Winston Churchill, Mr. Thomas Hitchcock, Jr., Mr. J. Cheever Cowdin and Mr. Deveraux Milburn, have the unqualified best wishes and united moral support of the nation in their coming effort to prove the su periority of American polo. Golf HUMMING with activity is the phrase to use when speaking of the golf situation. Instead of falling off, the number of important tourna ments grows each day until it would seem even the experts and fanatics must be in a quandary as to just which way to turn next. Such events as the Women's Western championship at Lake Geneva and the Junior Amateur championship at Indian Hill must be mentioned, and almost in the same breath as a prelude to the stellar at traction, the National Amateur, which opened this week at Minikahda, Min neapolis. Too bad we are not to get a closer view of the incomparable Bobby, but it is not too unlikely to suppose he may stop off here on his way home for a few extra rounds. The prognosticators, by the way, shook their heads and predicted dire things of Bobby's chances. They said the course at Minikahda is so full of queer quirks and things the Atlanta marvel would bump up against his Waterloo. The temptation to snicker audibly at such drolling is too great. Not, you under stand, to predict his winning the cham pionship, but to state rather definitely that he who does win will be required to dispose of America's foremost ama teur by a little better than decent golf. Football YOU may have missed it, but with out the slightest doubt the first tang of autumn was in the air last week. It left its mark on the sport pages of the daily prints in headlines, several of them, about football. Most noticeable of the latter, perhaps, was the account of the coaching school which opened at Northwestern. Sev enty-five lesser mentors from over the middle west had gathered to absorb the advice and learn the favorite tricks of such gridiron masters as Kenneth "Tug" Wilson of Northwestern, Jess Hawley of Darthmouth, Knute Rockne of Notre Dame, Arnold Horween of Harvard and others. The professors of tackle, kick and run gave regular lectures and demonstrations on such programmed subjects as "Psychology of Football," 'The Value of Scouting," "Hidden Ball and Spin Plays," "Back- field Plays" and "Forward Passing Offense." Other harbingers of the com ing rush for tickets were stories dis cussing the probable effects of the new rules.y Within a week or so we will begin to get the dope on the new ma terial and the big season will be on. Tennis LIKE golf courses, the tennis courts * in and about the city have been literally cluttered up lately with tour naments of one sort or another. The racquet wielders are working overtime, many of them in preparation for the United States Amateur matches, to be held here the latter part of September, the date changed after the original schedule for the latter part of August As it was sagely remarked and- noted several days ago by Westbrook Pegler, the big shows in tennis are still monop olized by the east. No tears need be shed, however, on that score much longer. Leaders of the game in Chi' cago report such progress this past sea' son in gaining attention for the sport throughout the middle west that soon the net capital of America .may no longer be claimed by Forest Hills. In the meantime, with remarkably good grace, we can send from these prairies a ringing message of cheer and congrat ulations to the Wightman cup team, and particularly to Mrs. Mallory and Miss Wills for their splendid victory over the English ladies last week at Forest Hills. Interest in the big things of the ten nis world is, of course, centered just now in the coming Davis cup fracas. Archery CHICAGO archers are now busy with the initial rounds of the National Archery Tourney, August 23-26, inclusive, at Boston. Ten lead ing bowmen — and bow-women — from these flat-lands will compete with na tional stars for American honors. No tice of tourney results and the Illinois meet scheduled for September 25 in this city will appear in our next issue. — SPORTSMAN. TME CHICAGOAN 25 Lewis Robert "Hack" Wilson, matinee idol of Cub fans, whose re sounding base thwacks are more acceptable to his public than any number of high operatic notes. "Hack's" homers are the biggest guns in the artillery of the league leading northsiders. 26 TWECmCAGOAN <The CINEMA The Pictures at the Playhouse I SHOULD like to send up rockets in behalf of the effort at the Play house, where Fred Mindlin and his associates are to enshrine the motion picture with proper absence of cere mony on September 2. In fact I do send up rockets — !!! — and I shall do everything reasonably expectable of an honest and upright respecter of the cinema to bring into support of the project that recondite few whose in terest in the "better pictures" is essen- tion to success of the project. I begin herewith, by stating the proposition in some detail. It is convenient but not completely accurate to describe the Mindlin effort as a "little cinema" movement. The theory advanced makes use bf the premises that (1) intelligent people ad mire the motion picture as an art form, (2) gaudy decoration, elaborate or chestration, military service and glori fied vaudeville furnished by the financially successful exhibitors of mo tion pictures constitute extraneous and annoying distractions, and (3) artis tically meritorious photoplays unattrac tive to the bourgeoisie can be shown to a tutored few in a small theatre with generally satisfactory results. In sup port of this theory the Mindlins plan non-militaristic usher service, chamber music accompaniment and tea, coffee and cigarettes (gratis) in the lobby. The prospectus is attractive and I should like to see the effort succeed (more rockets — !!!) but I cannot sup press the facts. They are: 1. That intelligent people admire the motion picture as an art form, as a pastime, as entertainment, as what ever the motion picture may be most conveniently admired as at a (and any) given moment. 2. That gaudy decoration, elaborate orchestration, military service and glorified vaudeville have come to be part and parcel of the motion picture and objections voiced against this phenomenon — while quite effectively indicative of smartness — are wholly, whether or not conciously, insincere. 3. That artistically meritorious photoplays are not unattractive to the bourgeoisie but, on the contrary, do very well in the Roosevelt or McVickers on the rare occasions when Balaban and Katz — who have first call for Chicago on all motion pictures produced — can find any of the damn things. Other and more definite reasons for a pessimistic view of the Playhouse proceedings are: The utter non existence of producers willing to donate the cost price of artistic pictures lack ing popular appeal. The we-can-go- any-time attitude toward the motion picture theatre, deadly in box office ef fect upon a small theatre. The disincli nation of Chicago censors to permit ex hibition of any picture they do not understand, which in itself practically decimates the supply of Playhouse en tertainment. But there is yet one ray of hope. (More rockets — !!!) It emanates from an obscure line in the excellently de vised announcement of the project which ends, after naming several pic tures to be shown, "and a lot of Ameri can films that you never knew were good because you never had a chance to see them properly presented." What is meant, no doubt, is that good pic tures missed in their initial exhibitions because shown in overcrowded or otherwise untenable theatres will be re- exhibited at the Playhouse. If this line of endeavor is followed, if pictures like John Barrymore's Beau Brummel, Ernst Lubitsch's The Marriage Circle, Charles Spencer Chaplin's A Woman of Paris and the collected works of Adolphe Menjou and Florence Vidor are brought into visibility under proper auspices and the fact is made duly known to the intelligent, I should not be surprised to see the Playhouse well filled throughout the winter. It would be a rather nice thing for the town. Another Demfisey Knockout IF my comment anent Norma Tal- madge's Camille in the preceding issue of this magazine, or Mr. Car- reno's excellent caricature of the same, sent you scurrying to the Roose- vent on August 15 only to find Messrs. Dempsey and Sharkey doing their exercises all over again on that screen — please direct your fire at the Balaban or Katz whose decision, made between press deadline and issue date of this impeccable compendium, deferred ex hibition of the Talmadge picture until the populace should (or maybe shall is safer under the circumstances) have had its fill of the fistic spectacle. It is as well that Balaban and Katz did not manage the Lindbergh exhibition. Extreme Cruelty SPEAKING again of Mr. Menjou, I have his loosely titled Service for Ladies as the single picture seen during the fortnight which is worthy of recommendation. It has Mr. Men' jou as a headwaiter with aspira' tions and the entertaining little story wrapped around his characterization is quite ably worked out. The picture is far superior to "The Prince of Headwaiters," recently mentioned as current hereabouts with Lewis Stone portraying the prince, but I object on behalf of Messrs. Menjou and Stone to further explorations in this direc- tion. It is regrettable enough that headwaiters the world over should de vote their lives to learning how to act like these gentlemen. To ask these gentlemen to act like headwaiters is quite too much. — W. R. WEAVER. Newsprint The Daily Situation CHICAGO supports two morning and four evening newspapers of' fering in aggregate something like a minimum of 200 printed pages — oc casionally much more — for a pittance in copper. Yet it is conservative to estimate that 75 per cent of the regu lar purchasers buy and read the same paper morning and evening, year in and year out. When it becomes further apparent that there is not a newspaper in the city without some item worth a few pennies, and few if any issues are worth reading thoroughly — if the read er's time is as valuable, say, as a brick layer's — a guide or review of news sheets is as necessary as a theatrical critique. In the rough it's not a bad idea. More people have looked at the papers in a valorous attempt to read them than attend sports, theatres, movies and as sorted spectacles taken together. • A single issue of the Chicago Daily ?{ews, for instance, when its advertising men are hitting on all twin sixes, is likely to run 100 pages and weigh two pounds. A Cooks tour through such a colossal pamphlet is urgently called for. In view of all this The Chicagoan proposes a series of newspaper reviews something after the manner in which H4E CHICAGOAN 27 7#e ST A C E W^ Have With Us Tonight it now glances at movies, sports, books, and the stage. There is, of course, a Hearst aspect of the present situation. Twenty-five years ago, Hearst flared across the hori zon as a "yellow journalist." In the following quarter century his competi tors have resolutely grabbed his fire: the eight-column streamer across page one, the unprintable parts of divorce and murder testimonies, such trick phrases as "cat bandit," a half hour's reading for grown up children in car toon form, and the pictures of one or two personable females in bathing suits, negligee, or less, on the back page thriller. What paper today a member of the Audit Bureau of Circulations doesn't do all of these things? Yet Chicago people who haven't purchased a Hearst organ since the days when the Messrs Trust in cartoon form anticked over half the editorial page re cite their abstanence from "yellow" journalism as a virtue. It is to laugh! Certainly the Hearst willingness to spend money lavishly insures his prints a leaven of hangup copy. And for the modern paper any lack of in terest in the news matter itself is at least partially offset— for a certain type of reader— by the jocosities of a Walt, Barney Google, Gump, or Dinty Moore. Coming back to the Chicago Daily Hews, a paper which does much public service through free lectures and band concerts, a few nights ago the Hews band gave a concert in Oak Park. A lad of nine heard his first band music and was enraptured. His evening prayer was: "Our Father which art in Heaven, fallowed be Thy name; [Thy kingdon come, Thy will be done On earth as it is in Heaven. "Give us this day our Daily News—" It was a slip that brought laughter, from the boy and his mother, who postponed the prayer for a few minutes until the proper mood was restored, but the incident leads to a reflection that public service and effective adver tising can go hand in hand. — EZRA. WHAT with straw hats going out, and new shows coming in, it looks very much as if autumn had arrived. The trees are beginning to take on gayer colors and so are the electric signs along Randolph street. Soon it will be open season for shoot ing actors, and then the game-wardens will be kept busy. But no matter how hard the critic's heart or arteries may be, there comes nevertheless a certain old-time circus day thrill with the opening of the theatres each fall. The first platter of hors d'oeuvres to be served to Chicagoans included: (a) Crime, the greatest realistic drama since Ben'Hur; (b) The Spider, one of those noth- ing-up-my-sleeve mystery plays, with a large cast, including ushers and audience; (c) LeMaire's Affairs, the loudest, if not the funniest musical show of the season; (d) Tours Truly, a sprightly ar rangement of words and music for Mr. Leon Errol. Of the first two, I should say at a rough guess that they will remain in our midst until frost appears on the pumpkin and the box-office. Chicago audiences never fail to take this sort of police-whistle entertainment to their hearts, though they will shame lessly neglect more coherent drama. However, there is no use sighing over the taste of Chicago's theatre-goers. They know what they like, and care not a snap of their suspenders what anybody else thinks. Tours Truly provides a perfectly good reason for making an excursion to the Four Cohans. For over a decade I have beheld the antics of Mr. Errol and his osteopathetic knee, and I have yet to see his superior among the clowns of our more-or-less Ameri can stage. His buffoonery in the letter box scene is the highest point of com edy he has touched since that famous shower-bath pantomime in an old Follies. Tours Truly itself, judged as a production, would never shatter any records, and deprived of Mr. Errol's expansive and expensive services, it would probably last three weeks if the competition were not too strenuous. It represents the top-note of Mr. Eugene Buck's talents. But I hazard the opti mistic opinion that he will not be gnashing the Buck teeth over any paucity of receipts at the Four Cohans. The second version of LeMaire's Affairs moved into the Woods with all the subtlety and delicacy of a brass band. Of the revue material, its music will never haunt you, but many of its sketches will. Some of the jokes would empty a Pullman smoker on the M. K. & T. in two minutes. But fortune is with Mr. LeMaire — and with the coupon-holders — for early in the proceedings that extraordinary young man, James Hus- sey, walks on, and carols a curbstone chant, entitled: "Since Henry Ford Apologized to Me." Then the show is "over" with what might be called a bang. Mr. Hussey's comedy, taken from the Hebrew (not without a struggle) ranks among the world's best. Miss Winnie Lightner, as lively a gal as ever shouted a song, contributes her usual gusto to the proceedings and Mr. Harry Fox comes third of the head- liners, though he is on the stage almost continuously from 8:15 to 11:30. Somehow I prefer to remember him the way he was in Oh, Loo\! in 1918. There is likewise, a platoon of lesser featured players on view, for whose identity, with the exception of Harry J. Conley, you feel no violent urge to search the program. During the eve ning one charming interlude occurs — which seems as odd as a Maxfield Par- rish painting in a window-full of Mutt and Jeff pictures. That is the "Eenie Meenie Minie Mo" nursery number with the incandescent marionettes, and it is completely charming. One might add, also, that there are babes in the Woods! And they are babes who please the eye: a large dancing chorus, and a bevy of Ziegfeldian ladies who know how to walk, balancing archi tectural head-dresses. And there is, too, an Albertina Rasch ballet. (All these summer shows seem to break out in a Rasch ballet.) In the matter of taste (which we are perhaps silly to consider) this extravaganza displays very little. And what taste it does dis play is not too good. I can't help but think that one of the Ringling Brothers must have selected the colors for the costumes. }. M. 28 Shopping Incident Containing a Warning «"7UM LAUTERBACK hab' ich JL* mein Strumpf verloren, und ohne Strumpf geh' ich nicht Heim." But it was not her stocking that the lady had lost. Anybody can go home without a stocking or two now that the Hollywood houris have set the bare leg fashion. The lady had lost her dress. Walking about in her blue silk princess slip she told everybody the sad story. "I've lost my dress. I've lost my dress." Saleswomen looked sympathetic but preoccupied. Other customers heard of the lady's plight and came to look at her. "Poor thing! She's lost her dress. D'you think this green will go all right with my red hat?" Purple cows and ladies in distress are always worth a glance, but it takes more than a mere curi osity to distract a bargain hunter from her quarry and a saleswoman from garnering commissions. This was the day of the semi-annual sale when the French models and copies thereof not sold during the cur rent season at Rena Hartman's, on the boulevard, are offered at west-side-of- State-Street prices by the Boston Store. Ladies in the luxury of severely plain imported frocks rub shoulders and share dressing rooms with ladies trim med in the yards of machine-made lace indigenous to fifteen dollar dresses. Both know adventure and opportunity. Saleswomen wait upon several custom ers at once, fitting rooms overflow to a corner where a few screens serve more as a sop to the conventions than a means of securing privacy. No mat ter. Everybody has worn her best pink crepe de chines and even they are wasted on the linty air. Fellow cus tomers are far too busy to look at any thing but blue georgette, tan crepella, rose jersey, white chiffon and beads and ribbons and buttons. Women clutch the dresses they want. While fitting them, they keep one eye on the mirror and one on their second or third choice, repeating sternly at intervals, "These on the chair are mine. Sorry, but I'm trying these." The lady who lost her dress ne glected to do this. By the time she had discarded the orchid satin as too tight her own dress had disappeared. "It was a fifty dollar dress," she said, "a fifty dollar dress." Whether a cus tomer had captured it or whether it had been gathered up by a stock girl and hung on one of the racks, nobody knew. The lady walked up and down in her blue princess slip. All around her women slid into frocks and wrig gled out of them, silk, wool, linen, in sizes from fourteen to forty-two and colors that went around the spectrum and came back again. Dresses, dresses, everywhere and not one she could call her own. She rummaged through heaps of silks, peered under chairs, pulled at hangers, walked up and down. "A fifty dollar dress. I've lost my dress." Some times the manager supplies an acceptable substitute. — e. v. p. Not Jacob Astor! A Chicagoan Asks E like the story of the Chi cagoan who is — as the yarn opens — sitting on a New York curb in urgent need of repairs. A fellow townsman sees the sufferer and minis ters to him. The story of the debacle, in dialogue, is as follows: "I was riding a sight-seeing bus," explains the bruised mid-westerner, "and I wanted to get things right. The guide says: 'We are passing the pala tial home of Mr. Rockefeller! "What, John D. Rockefeller?" "No, William Rockefeller." "And here is the splendid mansion of Mr. Morgan." "J. Pierpont Morgan?" "No, J. Pierpont Morgan, Jr." "And now the opulent abode of Mr. Astor." "John Jacob Astor?" "No, Vincent Astor." "We are next passing Christ's Church." "And mister, I believe I'd a stood the strain and stayed on the bus if some guy hadn't leaned Over and said, 'Go on — there's your chance!' " TI4ECUICAGOAN Standard Discourse What to Say and How to Say It [The following conversation is appended for the use of stenographers, secretaries, 'phone girls, file clerks, ad infinitum. It is to be used from the meeting on any street corner — whether pre-arranged or not is im material — to the portal of any theatre, movie, dance, dinner, party or entertain ment of whatsoever kind. If run through rapidly it is standard and effective. Notice particularly the delicate personal touch. Repeat indefinitely if necessary. Talk as rapidly as possible.} Oh, hello, Eddie. Did you wait long? I'm so sorry. I hurried as fast as I could. But that office was just a fright today. Honestly, it's a mad house. That's what I told Marj; it's a madhouse. Mr. Greene was so cranky. Yes he was. Just unreason able. You should have heard the way he spoke to me when I brought in his letters. I'll bet — I know you'll think Fm awful for even hinting it — but I'll bet his wife has been giving him — well, the dickens! Ha! Ha! Ha! Well I don't blame her. The way he's been carrying on with that new switchboard girl. Believe me there some things that are out of place in a business office. And if you only \new what we girls have to stand for. Well, as I was saying, there are some THIJ<[GS. Oh, let's not go here, dear — I mean Eddie. Please forgive me for calling you dear, won't you. Let's go over to the boulevard. I know the jolliest place — Hillyer's is it — or Hyer's. Of course, Huyler's, e-emagine me forgetting it. Why I lunch there every day. I know I'm spoiling my self, but I must have nice things. Oh, ain't those stockings swell. I mean aren't they — Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! You know Marj's boy friend buys her all kinds of things. Just lovely. Am I hinting? Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Well, you never can tell. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Try me and see. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Huyler's should be along here some place. Two blocks more? Well, e-emagine me forgotting like that. I'll bet you think I've never been there. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! And as I was saying, Mr. Greene was just terrible today. Grouchy. Mean. Oh awful. I'll tell you men don't know what a girl has to go through sometimes. And of course I'm just out of a convent school and I was never in my life used to the least impoliteness or anything. That dirty bum. And there are, you know, there are things — — GONFal. TI4EO4ICAG0AN 29 Civic Service For Guests of the Citizenry [NOTE: The Chicagoan herewith in augurates a series of adequately personal letters by employment of which the notori ously busy guest within our gates may keep home folks duly notified of places visited and things seen without the trying incon- venience of visiting and seeing them. The series opens in the feminine gender affording vast relief to the Marys lured to town by the rodeo. John will be cared for in the next issue.} Chicago, August 24. Dear Molly: Here I am at the Chicago rodeo. Some roundup, but I'm not going to tell you about that. Jeff has done him self proud, as they say, and you'll hear the details from the rest of the outfit. You and I have seen plenty of round ups, but Chicago is something new, and that's what you're wanting to hear about. Well, I've taken bus rides all over and seen more buildings, I bet, than there are altogether between Denver and San Francisco, but this is the way I figured: They say, "Show me your friends and I'll tell you what you are," so why not "show me your stores and 111 tell you what kind of city you've got?" That's why I lit out for the shops, as they call them; and boy! the things I've seen! At first I thought they didn't wear anything but fur coats and silk underwear in this town, but that was because the August fur sales were going on, and I was scared to do more than look in the windows. After I got up the nerve to go inside the stores I discovered every kind of clothes I'd ever heard about, even down to bungalow aprons, but the sale on them seemed to be kind of slow. Well, if you want details, this is sure going to be a velvet season, as the fashion papers say. It comes in all colors and it's not a bit like the velvet on our old red sofa pillow, but it's soft and shiny and as light weight as silk. Boy! I saw a dress in the Blackstone Shop that was black velvet with a real lace collar studded with rhinestones. I bet even a frump like me would look swell in that rig, and there was a dress you'd have gone loco about at Le- schin's. It's the latest thing—em broidered velvet. That is, the waist has pink and blue flowers embroidered on it and the skirt— get this!— is pleated! Down the avenue at Tay lor's there was a sleeveless two-piece dress, black velvet skirt, white geor gette blouse, brocaded in gold, with a little black velvet flower at the shoul der. Another swell combination that boneheads like you and me would never have the nerve to try, was a suede belt on a velvet dress. That was at Mandel's. The dress was in three shades, brown, rust and burnt orange, and the belt was brown. You do see some flannel sports things — printed flannel, if you please! — and at Martha Rahl's there was a beauty of a home spun tailored dress. But mostly you have to hunt for the plain things. It's only the velvets that stand around everywhere and just hit you in the eye. And the shoes! Reptile skins, as they say, are holding their own. I saw them at Ruby's and Martin and Mar tin and almost everywhere. O'Connor and Goldberg have dark blue slippers in kid and suede. Stevens showed some swell black suedes. I've heard that women who like black shoes are tired of having nothing but patent leather and satin. And while I'm thinking about shoe stores, I must tell you about the stock ings some of them have. At Wolack and Bauer I saw some with a picot edge at the top. And at another store — Well, you know how proud we were when we had stockings with pointed heels, but say, you don't know the half of it dearie, as they say. At Hanan's, instead of a point, the heels have a design of fleur de lys. They're imported from France. I've seen some negliges, too, that would make your mouth water. At Milgrim's there was one made of peach colored silk with flowers of blue and coral velvet appliqued on it. Gosh, it would be a pleasure to be an invalid if you could sit around all day in that. I started out to write you about Chi cago and all I've done is tell you about clothes, but as I said, show me your clothes and I'll tell you what you are. So I think I've got a pretty good notion of what these Chicago women are like. The only thing that pussies me is how to tell a society matron from a stenog rapher. They all wear chiffon stock ings. — MARION. Four Blocks West A Saint Passes A VIRGIN of wood and gilt carried through the streets at mid night under a canopy of antique vel vet, followed by a procession of black- shawled women with the faces of old- world madonnas and the figures of new ones — hard-shell crabs cooking in charcoal braziers in gay fete booths on the curbing — and all this within four minutes from the Drake Hotel and Lake Shore Drive. It happened a month ago, because Santa Marie della Croce had a birth day. Santa Maria della Croce is the patron saint of Triggiano, Italy, and when she has a birthday, the proper procedure is to carry her miraculpus image through the streets from church to church, and hold a grand festival in her honor. Thus, in Triggiano, Italy. And in Little Italy, Chicago, a duplicate miraculous image is feted in the same manner — an old-world cere mony of centuries of precedent, incon gruously performed near a Gold Coast filling station. Nothing of the hectic, sticky blatant American fun-seekers here. Intense pleasure shows on every face, but the pleasure is taken in leisurely fashion. Crowds flow through the streets with out justling, stopping at the booths that line each curb to purchase an endless variety of strange nuts, or clams heaped in tubs of ice, or hardshell crabs roast ing in the open stoves, or small chick ens turned on long iron spits over live coals, or peppers, green and red, with just a dash of garlic to pep them up. These booths are lighted by colored globes, and do a rushing business. Here a brass band of at least fifty gentlemen of Latin tendencies play the entire opera of Cavalleria Rusticana, voice parts included, to an immovable, entranced crowd that packs the square. Hours they stand with upturned, eager faces, listening. The band fin ishes, and stops a moment for breath, and then starts the whole opera over again, and still they stand, and listen, and enjoy it. Surely this is Mascagni in his element! And on the following day the miraculous image is again taken from the church, hoisted upon a golden standard, sheltered from the noon sun by a canopy of softest blue velvet, em broidered with silver stars, and is car ried in state along the streets. — RUTH FRANK. 30 TI4ECUICAGOAN MU/ICAL NOTE/ The Playboy of the Piano MANY years ago, well perhaps only a decade, Edvard Grieg was scheduled to play his own Piano Concerto at the Leeds Festival. Death rudely interrupted him, bringing to an abrupt end a charming and honorable life in music. And when the managers of the Festival looked about for a substitute to act upon a rather im portant occasion, their choice fell on Percy Grainger, who had been a pupil and friend of the Master. The in terpretation of that Concerto has since been largely the interpretation of Grainger. The connection of Grainger and Chicago and the Chicagoan is not at once evident. Most of us are not aware of a rapidly growing cult, frayed word, of his in our midst, most of us not even cognizant of the fact that he has been toiling with students *of the piano on and off since 1919 as summer guest, paying and paid, of the Chicago Musical College in the Stein- way Building. He is even now just gone, leaving a host of budding vir tuosi, largely recruited from our town and the prairies around us, slightly stunned from the impact with new and curious musics and stimulated by the everlasting experience of contact with one of the most unique and delightful personalities of this generation. You find the last a little hyperbolic, perhaps. Our only apology can be one based on the evidences of that per sonality that we found as a member of his class a few years ago. He was then even more youthfully enthusiastic than he appears to be now. The familiar tawny mop of hair that gave Huneker the chance to dub him "the Young Siegfried of the Antipodes" (Grainger is an Australian) stood away from his brow, as gleaming and vital as his piano playing. The aureole is a more sober russet now, and the face a little less youthful. The playing too has been tempered with the advance of the years and, while it has no less vitality, it is fuller and more magistral. In ensemble class he is all over the place at once, a brightly hovering and dominant spirit. He retails anecdotes of his experiences with Grieg or traces the origin of some British or American folk-song that he has set for piano. He expounds with wit and friendliness his emphatic doctrines anent the use of the sostenuto pedal, that badly neglected device, or his theory of tone-strength differentiation. He calls up for em ployment the works of a host of com posers, Delius, whose beautiful Dance Rhapsody he has arranged for two pianos, Balfour Gardiner, Cyril Scott, Rontgen and John Carpenter. Of his own compositions and arrangements he makes free use and rightly so, for in his folk-song settings he is doing for English music what Grieg did for Scandinavian. Hence the cheery or doleful presence of a score of mock- morrises, Irish tunes, sailors' chanties, and country dances, calculated to open up a new and fascinating world for the star conservatory lass from Keokuk. We saw him for a moment a fort night ago at the close of his summer season with Mr. Witherspoon's well- known institution. He had boasted an ensemble class of over a hundred, had organized a symphony of sixty students whom he had conducted regularly through the summer weeks. On the night before he left he went on a musical orgy and from seven to eleven on his grand piano in the Steinway Building gave the girls and boys a treat that made the size of the tuition fade into oblivion. The following morning we attended his last student concert here. He bustled about the stage, the same blithe young man of forty odd, adjusting the soap-box that served as conductor's dais, briskly ap plauding some first rate student inter pretations, pausing here and there to chat, for he seems to know and like everyone. And rushing away with quick, cordial goodbyes he just made the Century at noon. A singular kind of genius. Left with a huge personal fortune, he teaches, plays and composes on three continents with no seeming thought of the attendant drudgery. In every corner of the world he hunts for musical origins. His recitals and orchestral appearances are musical events and his own compositions of considerable significance as contem porary music goes. He has none of the egomaniacal fascination of De Pachmann, the legendary halo of Paderewski, or the pompous conserva tism of Rosenthal. Peculiarly un spoiled he remains, the sorely-needed and invaluable Playboy of the Piano. — ROBERT POLLAK. Book/- About Byron T 1 HE Byron centenary was a long time getting started. So long that by April 19, 1924, the exact anniversary, only one Byron item had come in for review, and that one a "Selected Poems" with preface by Mr. Grierson. It was almost as though the pros pective celebrators had been standing on the brink in their bathing suits waiting for someone to demonstrate the temperature, and although Mr. Grier son did no more than put one foot in, the centenary from then on began to gather force. Within two years there appeared E. Barringtons "Glorious Apollo," Drinkwater's "Pilgrim of Eternity," Nicholson's "The Last Journey," as well as a number of scholarly works dealing with this phase or with that of Byron's career. And having gathered its momentum, the centenary still goes on. Two of the most recent additions are a full length "Byron," by Albert Brecknock (Appleton) , and a one- volume selection from the eight vol umes of letters made by V. H. Collins (Scribner's) , the latter arranged so that it too becomes a biography. As proof of an expression that was in use in 1924 or thereabouts — "the first hundred years are the hardest" — the Byron centenary could scarcely be bettered. It had been preceded by two events that ought to have caused con sternation. In 1921 had appeared the general edition of his grandson's "Astarte," insisting upon the accusa tion made by Harriet Beecher Stowe IU£ CWICAGOAN 31 IV T THE YOUNGER CROWD HAS PRESERVED ONE TRADITION! OTHING gratifies us more than to point out that Fatimas are an outstand ing favorite with today's younger set— rounding out the prestige of a blend famous for quality since 1903. FATMA QUALITY, yes — twenty- four years of it! MYERS TOBACCO CO. ; back in the sixties — that accusation which gave rise in the London serio- coroics to a picture of Uncle Tom say ing: "Lor' a massy, Miss Eva, after .painting a nigger like me so white, : how could she paint one of her breth ren so black." Then in 1922 there had been the two volumes of new let ters, among them the Melbourne cor respondence, which includes besides other indiscretions a day by day ac- * count of the progress of an attempted seduction. But after a hundred years even such things as these do not lower die temperature of the water. If any thing they have the effect of raising it just enough. Mr. Brecknock's biography is neither wise nor scientific, but this fact does not prevent its being excellent gossip, and the author shows a pleasing inti macy with Byron places and with the Byron material in general. His pic tures, too, of houses that Byron lived in, and of women that he loved, serve further as an answer to curiosity. "Lord Byron in His Letters" is of course the more seaworthy volume of the two, and it is really the more enter taining as well. For Lord Byron in an epistolary mood is undoubtedly his own most vivacious biographer. A new travel book, not quite out as I write, though it will be out by the time you read, gives promise by its title of the sort of thing one gets from Harry A. Franck, or from that other Harry whose last name I always forget except when I happen to be re viewing his latest extraordinary wan derings. "An Asian Arcady," by Regi nald le May (Houghton Mifflin) turns out, however, to be a travel book of an other sort, an orderly account of the lands and peoples of northern Siam, as the author has come to know them over a period of some fourteen years. Yet of travel adventures it contains a plenty, for back in 1913, when Mr. le May first travelled to Chiengmai, he had to do the last hundred miles or more on foot, and recent years have yielded such adventures as his visit to old Chieng Sen, a Siamese Pompeii still untouched by the archaelogist, to a cave of Buddhas, and to many a lovely temple well off the tourist highway. It is perhapsTnjudicious to recom mend the second volume of Howard Carter's "Tomb of Tutankhamen" (Doran) to anyone who may have chanced to accept our recommenda tion of Merezhkovsky's new novel "Akhnation." For the Tutankhamen of the tomb discoveries in no way re sembles the Tutankhamen that Meresh- kovsky has used for his villian. None theless, the Howard Carter is some thing that you will not wish to miss, for like his earlier volume it has a way of conveying the excitement of the work itself, which here reaches its climax in the examination of the mum mies. There are 153 illustrations, the work of Harry Burton of the Metro politan Museum. Still another new Egypt book of some moment is the second volume of Arthur Weigall's "History of the Pharaohs" (Dutton). Mr. Weigall, too, has the gift of writing excitingly and his book, like Mr. Carter's, repre sents discovery. — SUSAN WILBUR. The_Mail Letters of general interest to Chi' cagoans will be published when signed with full name and address. (Continued from page 19) Considering the countless and tiresome parades which have passed before these noble creatures we wonder why they have not reverted to type and gone on at least one rampage. But be that as it may, we must now turn to the more serious business of the day, and suggest a name. With characteristic astute ness we thought of other lions of Chicago and first decided to suggest that one be named Tim Murphy, and the other Michael Kenna. On serious second thought, however, I come to the preference, as you must if you 32 THE CHICAGOAN >,H „„MUIIMllllMII>ll»mulHIIIMIIl"ll»M""llM«>»"«'; SEPTEMBER— with its thousands of Chicago youths returning to another year of study. Many of these have availed themselves of the resources of Sundell-Thornton, the men's shop with the com plete understanding of youthful needs. Sundell -Thornton Jackson Blvd. at Wabash Kimball Bldg. TEL. HARRISON 2680 itiiiiiiiiit are as seriously thoughtful, Krenn and Dato. — E. Morewhite, 1142 South Michi gan Ave., Chicago. The Resort of Fashion and the Epicure 18 W.Walton Place Opera Club Building For Reservations Phone Delaware 2592 Luncheon Dinner Reopening September 5 That Stigma Again Editor, The Chicagoan: Like most editors, you are all wet — wet as a place I know on Wilson Avenue. (Name furnished on request.) Here you start a campaign to name the Art Institute Lions, when that isn't what those two Leos need at all. Do you ever stop to look at them. No of course not, for if you had, you would have noticed that hungry, longing, expect ant look in their faces, and the way their nostrils are always turned to the wind. Say, these two old boys need a pair of female playmates, and that's what they're constantly looking for. And then you start a campaign to give them names! But this Edward Kemeys, what sort of a nut was he? I believe even an editor would have had more sense than to make both of them males. He gave both of those lions lots of sex appeal, and here it's been going to waste all these years. I'll bet those boys have more suppressed desires than there is in all of Evanston. However, Editor, to ease your pain, here are some names. I believe they fit like dumb fits Coolidge. Monk and Coeleb, am I right? — Adam Caster, 1249 Wilson Ave., Chicago. Suggestion Editor, The Chicagoan: The police department should be con gratulated on its incorporation of the men tality test as an instrument of peace. It is a good work, but it should be extended to include the following group of suspects: 1. Everyone who really believes that "four out of five have it." 2. All who believe the well known words, "now, boys this is the pure stuff — the real old pre-war stuff." 3. All who believe the taxicab adver tisements that tell us, "all our driver are per fect gentlemen." 4. All motorists who talk back to traffic cops, or argue with them. 5. Everybody who thinks Chicago is go ing to have that subway in the next few years. 6. All who believe the musical comedy advertisements that say, "Forty beautiful girls, all under twenty." 7. Everybody who thinks that prize fighters, tennis players and movie stars really write the articles which appear in the papers under their signatures. 8. All those hordes of people who stand out on the sidewalk in wind, rain and snow waiting to get inside the picture theatres. 9. All wives who believe implicitly that their husbands are in love with their stenog raphers. 10. All parents who think that flappers are as tough as they are painted. Can not something be done to bring about this happy state of community safety? — John Garth, 5436 East View Park, Chi cago. Where Fine Cigars Are Smoked Tom Palmer Predominates Wengler & Mandell, Ids. Chicago - Tampa Don't jam her growing foot -*^ into a nest of tacks! M "ANY children's shoe-soles are full of dangerous tacks, thinly covered by leather. Play safe! See that your children wear shoes hav ing smooth inner surfaces without any tell-tale humps. Kinder-Garten Shoes are that kind. Honestly made in Chicago for twenty-one years by Fargo-Hallowell Shoe Company. Sold from $1.75 \to $5.00, according to age, by your NEIGHBORHOOD DEALER-by L. KLEIN, Halsted and 14th Street — in the Loop by THE FAIR For your protection — this trademark on every sole. "Kinder -Garten" on every lining. WBEB^SHfllS Phone Humboldt 0199 or write us at 1701 N. Robey St. for a folder PROVING, by X-Ray photographs, the amazing hidden differences in children's shoes.