a It Plays By Itself" G^D THE great Rachmaninoff— Brailowsky, Goldsand, Levitzki, Lhevinne, Munz, Orloff, Rosenthal — these are but a few of the master pianists who have recorded exclusively for this marvelous instrument, which brings to your home the intense emotion and vivid imagination of great genius. In this accomplish ment the Ampico stands alone— whether interpreting the impressive magnificence of the great classics or the irresistibly infectious dance music of Zez Confrey, Vincent Lopez and Adam Carroll. TTiaiHmm A moderate deposit will secure immediate delivery of JL CO.OS any piano or Ampico in our Warerooms. The balance may be divided into small monthly payments extending over a period of two years. Your present piano will be accepted in exchange. Enatie Ampico £§>tubio* STEGER & SONS Steger Building Northwest Comer Wabash Avenue and Jackson Boulevard Chicago 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. iv, No. 4 — November 5, 1927. Entered as second-class matter at the Post Office at Chicago, 111., under the act of March 3, JS/9. TUE CHICAGOAN 1 © 0 THE greatest show on earth — at arm's length before you — your reading lamp a foot- light. And with the rustle of its pages CI4ICAGOAN presents the lines to the tremendous masque of its city. Here is the authorized script of the vast civic drama unfolding week by week against the blue back drop of Lake Michigan. Here is the main theme caught up and interpreted. The hoakum lovingly recorded. And here, too, are the asides nationally identified as the overhead thinking of smart Chicago. If the rec ord run of the mid-continent is worth watching, then surely the script is indispensable. Every newsstand a corner box office. And the dotted line forms on the right. 1 The Chicagoan 407 So. Dearborn St. Chicago, 111. Send "The ChicagoaiT one year $3.00— two years $5.00. Name Address. City....... .State. 2 THE CHICAGOAN em + P.D.P. Hint for Chicago Plan Commission TUEO4ICAG0AN 3 OCCASIONS OPERA. — The Winter Season in full swing. (Sec page 16). HORSESHOW— Chicago Riding Club's annual horse show November 22 to 26 inclusive. Mr. Otto Lehman is chairman of committee on horses and entries. Mrs. A. C. Thompson handles tickets. THANKSGIVING— Once a Puritan holi day. Now the official closing of the football season. ORPHAH'S DINGER— December 4— Prosperous citizens will eat a Near- Eastern orphan's meal and send the check for the usual Sunday dinner to the Near East Relief. Football NOVEMBER 5 Michigan at Chicago Northwestern at Purdue Illinois at Iowa Grinnell at Wisconsin Michigan State at Indiana Ohio at Princeton Minnesota at Notre Dame Harvard at Pennsylvania Maryland at Yale Dayton at Loyola (Chicago) XOV EMBER 12 Chicago at Illinois Indiana at Northwestern Iowa at Wisconsin Navy at Michigan Denison at Ohio Drake at Minnesota Franklin at Purdue Notre Dame vs. Army (New York) Holy Cross at Marquette Brown at Harvard Princeton at Yale Columbia at Pennsylvania Cornell at Dartmouth St. Mary's at DePaul DIAL LOG* Classical (P.M.) Wave Time Station Length 6:00 WEB-WJJD 365.6 7:00 WLIB 305.9 7:30 WLS 344.6 8:00 KYW 526 9:00 WENR 288.3 9:30 WMAQ 447 5 10.00 WBAP-WFAA 499.7 (Fort Worth-Dallas) 11:00 KGO 204 (Oakland) 12:00 KFI 468.5 (Los Angeles) Popular (P.M.) Wave Time Station Length Kilocycle 6;00 WMAQ 477.5 670 Kilocycle 820 980 870 570 1040 670 600 1470 640 7:00 WBCN 288.3 1040 8:00 WCFL 483.6 620 9:00) to [ KYW 526 570 11:00] 11:00 WBBM-WJBT 389.4 770 12:00] to \ WQJ 447.5 670 2:001 *This schedule, dispensing with ir\some "fishing" for stations and fumbling through newspapers, is correct for Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday of any wee\. Saturday jazz, Sunday sermons and Monday silence are obtainable at any point on the dial. STAGE* Musical Comedy THE DESERT SONG— Great Northern, 21 West Quincy St. Central 8240. QUEEH HIGH— Four Cohans, 119 N. Clark. Central 4937. RIVER BROOK ISLES— Eighth Street Theatre, Wabash at 8th. Harrison 6834. HIT THE DECK— The Woods, 54 W. Randolph. State 8567. Opening Nov. 7. THE COUHTESS MARITZA — The Olympic. 74 W. Randolph. Randolph 8240. Opening Nov. 6. Drama BRO AD WAT— Selwyn, 180 N. Dearborn. Central 1880. CHICAGO— Harris, 170 N. Dearborn. Central 1880. Closing soon. THE ROAD TO ROME— Adelphi, 11 N. Clark. Randolph 4466. THE DOCTOR'S DILEMMA — Stude- baker, 418 S. Michigan. Harrison 2792. Opens October 29. RAIN — Minturn Central, 64 E. Van Buren. Harrison 5800. HOOSIERS ABROAD— Blackstone, 60 E. Seventh. Harrison 6609. TOMMY— Cort, 132 N. 'Dearborn. Cen tral 1009. LULU BELLE— Illinois, 65 E. Jackson. Harrison 6540. HEARTBREAK HOUSE — Studebaker (address already listed). Opening Nov. 15. SATURDAY'S CHILDREH — Princess, 319 S. Clark. Central 8240. MINTURN PLATERS— Chateau, 3810 Broadway. Lakeview 7170. Week runs of last year's successes at popular prices and with a competent cast. *Pert paragraphs pertinent to current shows and showfol\s, by Gene Mar\ey, appear on page 25. For Tickets F. COUTHOUI, INC, 54 W. Randolph. Branches at Congress, Drake, Blackstone, La Salle, Sherman, Morrison, Stevens and Seneca Hotels, Hamilton, Chicago, Ath letic, Illinois Athletic, Union League, University and Standard Clubs; Mandel Bros. State 7171. H. H. WATERFALL, Palmer House, Auditorium, Bismarck. Randolph 3486. /. HORWITZ, 141 N. Clark. Dearborn 3800. UHITED, 89 W. Randolph. Randolph 0262. TYSON, 72 W. Randolph. Randolph 0021. CINEMA Downtown ERLAHGER— 127 N. Clark— Wings, a million dollars worth of plane war and good if you care for airy things. 2:30 and 8:30 at stage prices and without gilded accompaniments. WOODS— Randolph at Clark— The Patent Leather Kid, Richard Barthelmess in and out of the squared circle, closing Nov. 13. 2:30 and 8:30 at stage prices. McVICKERS—21) W. Madison— The Cat and the Canary, the stage mystery multi plied by infinity — if you see it from the first. Indefinite run. ROOSEVELT— 110 N. State— The Garden of Allah, as constructed by Rex Ingram for the tenancy of Alice Terry (Mrs. Ingram) and it's time Ingram made a good one. Indefinite run. CHICAGO — State at Lake — Figures Don't Lie, with Esther Ralston's the chief figure, Nov. 7-13; American Beauty, personified by Billie Dove, Nov. 14-20. Stage jazz, pit music and other items alongside, if not in connection. Continuous. ORIENTAL— 74 W. Randolph— Breakfast at Sunrise, the much-headlined Constance Talmadge in a demonstration, Nov. 743; The City Gone Wild, Thomas Meighan the probable cause, Nov. 14-20. (Mark Fisher batoning for Paul Ash). MONROE — Monroe at Dearborn — Seventh Heaven, worthwhile revival, with Movie tone accompaniment. Continuous. PLAYHOUSE — 410 S. Michigan — The Cabinet of Dr. Calgari, a hoary hoax, Nov. 7-13; Moana of the South Seas, excellent entertainment, Nov. 14-20. North UPTOWH — Broadway at Lawrence — The Way of All Flesh, Jannings' best, Nov. 7-13; A Gentleman of Paris, Menjou's and the town's smartest picture (see page 27), Nov. 14-20. Bennie Kreuger and Frankie Masters, with bands, also present. 4 TI4ECUICAG0AN TIVOLI— 6325 Cottage Grove— The Way of All Flesh, Jannings' last word, Nov. 7'13; The Magic Flame, Ronald Colman as two fellows in pursuit of Vilma Banky, Nov. 14-20. Frankie Masters and Bennie Kreuger in jazz didoes. Continuous. AVALON— 79th at Stony Island— What Price Glory, w.g. war picture, as the second good reason for seeing this last gasp in cinemas. Also Vitaphone and a sort of band. West HARDING— 2734 Milwaukee— Shanghai Bound, not much for Richard Dix, Nov. 7-13; The Way of All Flesh. Herr Jan nings, Nov. 14-20. Al Belasco and his band with the Dix adventure. SENATE — Madison at Kedzie. Reverse above notation. TABLES Downtown BLACKSTONE HOTEL— 656 S. Michi gan. A consistent high peak in service, appointments, food, and patrons. Excel lent all. Irving Margraff's stringed quin tette. PALMER HOUSE— State at Monroe. A Chicago institution commended by in telligent, gracious innkeeping. The Palmer House Symphony Orchestra (20 pieces) an Empire Room feature. CONGRESS— Michigan at Congress. Din ing and dancing in the glittering mileu of the Balloon Room. Hemp's Band- men. Peacock Alley. Couvert (Bal loon Room) $1.50 week nights, $2.50 Saturdays. STEVENS— 730 S. Michigan. An inn drawn to a tremendous scale yet scrupu- ously retaining the niceties of individual service and attention. Sig. Gallechio presides over the house musicians. Din ner (an excellent one) in the main din ing room $3. RANDOLPH ROOM— Bismarck Hotel, 171 N. Randolph. Al Ponta's band, and the pleasant usages of Teutonic civil ization. Dreimal Hochi HOTEL LA SALLE— The Blue Fountain room filled with the melodies of Jack Chapman's orchestra. Dinner modestly priced at $1.50, and dancing. COLLEGE INN— Hotel Sherman, Clark at Randolph. Morrie Sherman's band soothingly plays as adequate victuals are downed by young ladies and gentlemen alternating at dining and dancing. Good place. ATLANTIC HOTEL— 316 S. Clark. Ger man edibles wrought with painstaking care to breathtaking perfection. HET^RICTS — A good Loop restaurant where eating may be quietly carried on. No music. Good coffee. VILLAGE RESTAURANT— 61 W. Mon roe. Italian food in a native garden. Dollar and Dollar and a half table d'hote. Open till 1 a. m. A bargain buy. ST. HUBERTS OLD EHGLISH GRILL— 615 Federal. Finding the food, piously consumed to the greater glory of St. Hubert, is almost like clue-racing, but the reward is in proportion to the size of in credible and succulent lamb chops, each Showtime, by Albert Kopak Cover Confidential Admission Page 1 Editorial on Civic Utility 2 Current Entertainment 3 Your Orator 4 Topics of the Town, by Martin J. Quigley 5 Potential Aridity, or Succor 6 Automotive Pandemonium 7 Parties and Parties, by Gene Markey. . 8 Big Bill vs. Big Ben, by Samuel Putnam 9 Economic Study, Pictorial 10 Bang! Goes the Zuppke Myth 11 The Night Before "Here's How" 12 Oak Park Encounters a Birthday 13 Walgreen Etiquette Outraged 14 A Chicagoan, by Genevieve Forbes Herrick 15 The Opera Begins, by Aladjalov 16-17 Overtones 18 Ye Olde Stagg Legende 19 Dearborn Dream Book 20 Clubs Are Trumps 21 He Knew Them When— 22 A Journalistic Journey 23 The Road to Rome, by Carre no 24 The Stage 25 The Cinema 27 Page and Canvas 28 Earfare and Eyefare 29 Shopping Incident 30 The Chicagoenne 31 chop big enough to stalk under a Grena dier Guard's shako. Out a Ways LAKE SHORE DRIVE HOTEL— 1881 Lake Shore Drive. A Gold Coast cita del, with the 24 carat metal neatly crust ed over with diamonds. Well-bred, suave and wealthy. MARINE DINING ROOM— Edgewater Beach Hotel. A popular and proper place affording syncopated tunes and adequate nourishment. SHORELAND— Lake Michigan at 55th. A southside citadel. The Louis XVI Room available for refined dining and dancing. COLOSIMO'S— 2126 South Wabash. Ital ian cuisine served in the former baili' wick of Big Jim (deceased) John Torrio (departed) and Al Capone (eminent). Unexciting. SUNSET— 35th at Calumet. A loud and merry black and tan in a thoroughly un- habited district. A great place to revive a lagging jubilee. MIDNIGHT FROLICS— Wabash at 22nd. Also a raucous and amusing inn, lately — alas! — set upon by prohibition agents. Its patrons continue to have faith in its joyfulness. Worth an exploring trip. A BIT OF SWEDEN— 1011 Rush. Reso lutely nordic in food and furnishings. Parties a specialty. And Swedish Hors- d'Oeuvres. Worth experiencing. Open till 9 p. m. CHEZ PIERRE— Ontario and Fairbanks court. Dining, dancing, looking in a smart, somewhat Bohemian atmosphere. From 6 p. m. on. Good place. BAL TABARIN— Hotel Sherman. Well- bred hilarity from 10 p. m. to 4 a. m. Dancing floor show, and the rest of it. A good night place. ANSONJA CLUB— Chicago Avenue at the Boulevard. Mike Fritzl's demure entertainment from sometime early until another time very late. KELLY'S STABLES— 741 Rush. A most raucous establishment with dining (a little) and dancing (a lot) to a biege orchestra while waiters sing for tossed silver. *Who can tell — with the Volsteddily in' creasing variety of rulings~^-where a pad' loc\ may occur between press deadline and newsstand delivery? ART FIELD MUSEUM— Artifax : from varied civilizations. The Ayer peweter collec tion. ART INSTITUTE— Fortieth yearly ex hibit of American painting and sculpture still on view. Beginning Nov. 16 a week's showing of negro art by local artists in the Children's room. CHESTER JOHNSON GALLERIES'— Modern French painting and some por trait pieces from the 18th century. An extensive and important showing of impressionism. NEW ARLIMUSC— 1501 N. LaSalle St. (in the alley). Showings by local moderns, and some more advanced than modern, on the theme "Chicago." Inter esting. ALMCO GALLERIES— An exhibit of lamps showing the range and artistry of modern lighting implements. Antique and modern fixtures beautifully displayed. Worth seeing. ACKERMANN'S— A good collection of English oils and color prints. CHICAGO GALLERIES ASSOCIATION — Local themes by local artists. M. O'BRIEN AND SON — Americana from 1870 to the present. ANDERSON'S— Oil and water colors exhibit by H. Dudley and Nelly Little- hale Murphy. topics of the Hown Ttvisting Lions Tales OFFICIAL Chicago's display of -wrath toward the British Crown is not without certain definitely dis turbing elements. It is quite true that Washington will continue to busy itself with other and more important matters and Downing Street will do nothing more than smile indulgently. But all the while people here, there and everywhere will laugh out loudly at Chicago in a manner that will con tribute no little discomfiture to the ob ject laughed at. The genesis of Mayor Thompson's profound annoyance with England and all things English would involve a long and intricate tale which would at this moment be of very little interest to the reader and, possibly, of a few degrees leas to the writer. At one time the Mayor was quite generally regarded as being pro-German. In reality, how ever, he was only excessively pro- American. Now he stand* in a brightly illu- mined position as being anti- English. As a matter of fact, his position has not changed at all; when Europe resumed its traditional first order of business he was not pro- German. And now he is not y^ anti-English. In both in stances he is simply exces sively pro-American. It might be lightly argued that to be excessively pro- American is quite all right, or one might go further and say that die full-blooded, one hundred percent (ad Lib.) citizen of these United States can no* really display an excessive amount of pro- Americanism and, further still, that, even though he could, such a display would be a virtue and not a fault. But, it may here be declared, displays of excessive patriotism account to a very considerable extent for what's wrong with Europe and the practice, under conceivable circumstances, might become just as deadly on the west bank of the Atlantic as it has been on the east bank. In order to dramatize and make understandable a patriotic outburst one must first select and then attack an enemy people. Here in Chicago prac tically all the peoples of the earth are represented and the advantages are great for any one hundred percent American who wants to make a per sonal selection of his own particular enemy people. However, in the profession of poli tics one must be discreet if nothing else. When the Mayor of Chicago selects an enemy people he must not be car ried away with the wealth of oppor- ^*SkkJ$A&' "The coach is urging Horace to go out for the varsity. "Well, what's he holding out for?" tunities for selection. A private citi zen might indulge generously in the opportunities for selecting an enemy people which Chicago affords, but if one is shouldering the burden of public office, and has any familiarity with what the boys at the Hall speak of as the "foreign vote," then the theoretical prospect of broad opportunity nar rows down severely. One single word spoken hastily and unwisely about the Germans, the Swedes, the Poles, the Irish, the Serbs, the Lithuanians or any of the other strains that comprise the symphony that is the American people, and City Hall would become a torture chamber for even the most devoted and self 'sac rificing public servant. But then, there are the English — God help them! — who do not squawk loudly and whose votes do not count heavily. Their navies are no defense; the range is too great for their armies and their diplo matists neither speak nor understand the language. So the English it shall be. . . . Against the insidious Brit ish literary propaganda which Mayor Thompson is now so stoutly opposing he has enlisted as field general Mr. U. J. Hermann, whom the boys along Randolph Street affectionately refer to as "Sport" because of the strikingly effective sartorial display he was wont to ex hibit on state, and even State Street, occasions. Now Mr. Hermann has long been known as a distinguished im- pressario, running a theatre^ as a great hand with a huge schooner mainsail when the wind is out of the northeast and also in dealing with pugnacious persons who are 6 TUECI4ICAG0AN most quickly influenced when ad dressed in terms of right hook and left jab. But, in truth, bookish tendencies have not stood out clearly in the rec ord. However, the Hon. Mr. Thomp son may feel that there is no telling what might come up in a matter of this kind and there is nothing like having a good, two-fisted person about. A Serious Note THERE are indications that the Constitutional injunction against the use of intoxicating liquors for bev erage purposes may any day now assume a serious aspect. For the infor mation of those who find things of greater interest to think about and talk about than the Big Public Questions of the day it may be recalled that, strangely enough, there happens to be a law against the use for beverage pur poses of intoxicating liquor. And, it may be added, with "intoxicating liquor" defined by the courts as any beverage containing more than one-half of one percent of the vital element, there is, in reality, little doubt as to how matters stand legally. The serious turn in events is threat ened by recent court decisions which empower those engaged in the Great Cause of drying up America to intrude themselves into any and all places where intoxicating beverages are being consumed, whether they be the club locker room, the private home or what not, and forthwith put a stop to the practice by ways and means which already are quite familiar to the citi zenry generally. This would seem to lead eventually either to that miraculous thing — the Mary and her little lamb Start gaily off to public school Untaught that subtle heresy Pervades the evil animule enforcement of the Act — or to an amendment} of the Act. In other words, if the authorities now proceed along ways which they are empowered to go, then the question will have to be pushed along to some settled state and thereby lifted out of its present status in which folks who want to drink simply proceed to do so, leaving academic contemplation and discussion of the matter to those who are bent in that direction. But supposing — just supposing — if persons who want to drink find Mr. Yellowley capping their bottles and escorting bottles and persons from clubs, homes, offices and other places where one heretofore has been able to enjoy asylum from the ravages of the Act, and landing them before the bar of Justice, then — we wish to declare — a serious day will be upon us. With such circumstance crowding Szveet Mary moves discreet along _ (The wily beast pretends to frolic) The while a patrioitc song Chimes from the school house red, bucolic fast upon the life of Chicago it would become clearly a case about which Something Must Be Done. Considering the inconveniences, if not the hardships, which are outlined in the Volstead Act it is surprising that the Land should continue to be bathed in a spirit of contentment. The obvi ous explanation is that one has felt that the Act perhaps concerns his neighbor but certainly not himself. But if such a distressing thing should happen as for all people to discover that Prohibition was to mean prohibition — then the question would have to come in for some serious attention. Stofi THE lighted traffic signals in the Loop district seem to call for an explanation. ... It is true that these signals permitted of dispensing with the savage cry of the officer's whistle, TWECUICAGOAN 7 upon attempting to apply 1910 me thods to a distinctly 1927 requirement. The obvious improvement of permit ting right-hand turns into moving traffic has never been adopted; like wise the absurd practice of halting until a change of direction takes place a motorist who wishes to make a left- handed turn is continued. In this lat ter case traffic behind the halted motor is allowed to pile up until the point of stagnation is reached and traffic in all directions becomes snarled. The obvi ous solution of this latter difficulty is, of course, to halt approaching traffic momentarily, thus permitting the motorist making the left turn to clear out and an orderly traffic movement to be resumed. Some pretty dull heads must be re sponsible for Chicago's street traffic regulations and this dullness is accu rately reflected in the conduct of the officers on the street corners. Every act of these officers reveals that they are impelled with the notion that they are not there to keep traffic moving but to stop it. ? Chicago Fire Engine Company No. 4 has established a world's speed rec ord for the handling of fire-fighting apparatus. With the world's speed championship now safely within its grasp the department, without sacri fice to its standing, might soon consider the proposition of forbidding its offi cers while abroad, on such missions as going to lunch, calling on friends on another side of the city or just simply out for a ride, from charging about madly with sirens blowing, as if they were in a perpetual race against time. MARTIN J. QUIGLEY. But hold! A hero scents the ruse J™ in the lamb's demeanor skittish— It hints the lamb chop's vicious use And lamp chops (Heaven Save!) are British ! but, as desirable as this is, it still does not seem sufficient to account for the elaborate— and expensive— system of street traffic signals. At the time these signals were in stalled — at no small item of expense- City Hall proclaimed that by means of this unified signal system traffic in the Loop would be substantially speeded up and that thoroughfares would again become thoroughfares. It was pointed out quite convincingly that the system would eliminate the block by block halt as a similar arrangement had done on Michigan Avenue. But, it would now seem, after the signals were installed City Hall promptly forgot what they were for, because traffic continues in the Loop to be handled precisely as it was before the appearance of the light posts and the net advantage gained is merely the elimination of the police whistle. Now the elimination of the police whistle is no small blessing and we do Thus Mary leaves the school disgraced, The patriot counts a battle won: May guile and treason be erased! May we, each day, foil Albion! not want to appear ungrateful, but why, Oh why, have a synchronized sig nal system which is not permitted to synchronize. . . . The same old block by block halt is in effect and there is no semblance of an effort being made to permit vehicular traffic to swing un interruptedly on its way. It requires no scientific training to appreciate that two-way movement will not solve the problem of four-way traffic, but also only a little common- sense should enable our experts to realize that the time now being lost in needless stops and starts would do much toward unsnarling the Loop traffic jungle. The handling of Chicago street traffic is as old-fashioned as the Chi cago Avenue Water Tower. Our ex perts — and in this case all of the popu lar suspicion that applies to the term, "expert," is well-merited — are supplied with every modern contrivance for do ing the job but they stubbornly insist TME CHICAGOAN I F I MAY /AY SO There Are Parties and Parties TO a scientific mind such as my own the American Scene presents no more absorbing study than the phe nomena of its parties. To be sure, parties take on various characteristics due to geographic location, altitude, activity of federal officers, et cetera. For example, there is a wide difference between the soirees that take place in, let us say, Hollywood, Denver, Des Moines, Chicago, Boston and New York. After many years of research I have succeeded in classifying Chicago parties into four main groups: I . Bohemian 2. Suburban 3. Fashionable (a) Hoity-toity (b) Common, or garden* party variety 4. Catch' as- catch- can (Note: This classification does not include brawls, jamborees or bachelor dinners.) Class 1, the Bohemian party, is found in large numbers around Chi cago, particu larly in that effete vicinity north of Chi cago avenue, 'That payment on the washing machine, Madame?" 'But my dear man — you said it would pay for itself in a few months." known as Tower Town, where so many studios abound. To create the proper atmosphere this type of party should be held (given or thrown), in some body's studio, and to make it really Bohemian it is preferable to have pres ent, in person, at least one architect, interior decorator, flute-player or lamp-shade designer. One is enough — if not too many. The principal re quirement is that there shall be no ven tilation whatever. Given these features, plus an inadequate lighting-system and a jug of that sort of gin which is used to fill cigarette-lighters, and you have a genuine Bohemian party. I must tell you at the outset (if this is the outset — and if it isn't, I must tell you any way), that there is one infallible test for proving whether a party is Bohemian or not. If 62J/2 per cent of the guests are sitting on the floor — no matter how many comfortable chairs crowd the place — then you may be sure the party is actually Bohemian. After twenty minutes every insurance salesman in the room will have become so Bohem ian that you can hardly stand it. They just go on getting Bohemianer and Bohemianer as the evening wears on — and out. Class 2, the Suburban party is a species indigenous to Evanston, Kenil- worth, Winnetka and points north. This is a land of peace ful homes, nursemaids, peram bulators, Airedales, Buicks, flat-heeled, athletic wives and completely married gentlemen who come home on the 5:15. Ordinarily the Suburban party is found in small groups of four, lurking around a bridge- table. On Saturday nights, however, larger groups may often be discovered in some body's fairly Early American house, gathered about a was sail-bowl and making the wel kin (as well as the chande liers) ring. On a clear night you can hear them for several blocks. But the Suburban party, in the main, falls into the class of Just Good, Clean Fun. Class 3, the Fashionable party, offers a more complex "Whaddayu mean your dentist's a humorist?" "He just pulled a good one." field of investigation. New York de rived its illusions of grandeur from Europe, and Chicago, so one might surmise, sits up late of nights trying to give an imitation of New York. Phonetically, Chicago "society" is fas cinating. You hear every sort of vocal affection, from early Bloomsbury to late Mrs. Vanderbilt. There is a fami liar type of Chicago hostess who, as soon as she is able to trace her ancestry back as far as the Chicago Fire, at once acquires an English accent (A good thing that Hizzoner the Mayor holds forth at the Fish Fans Club rather than at the Casino. If he ever heard those English accents the ladies would be banished from town!) At a hoity-toity dinner one beholds an array of shirt-fronts and glittering ladies around a table: sound, solvent, middle- west husbands, and wives who, each summer, make a pilgrimage to Paris. The gentlemen are impressively finan cial, or, in their lighter moods, golfish. But, alas, very middle-west as to ac cent. Not so, the ladies. They coo and twitter (like ardent subscribers to Hay per's Bazar and Vanity Fair) of the great Outside World — Paris, Chanel, Vionnet, the newest Russian refugee seeking shelter along Lake Shore Drive, the recent Broadway plays, this and that. The visiting foreigner, if such there be — and there usually is — would never imagine from their conversation that these ladies dwelt in Chicago. He might be reminded of an actress from Peoria playing Lady Velvetbum in an English comedy — but never Chicago. Such dinners usually end in a riotous TI4E CHICAGOAN 9 evening of bridge. But there is an air about them. In fact, several airs. Of the common, or garden-party variety, it might be remarked in passing that here is the haut monde of Chicago caught in the act of being itself. And, if I may say so, the hospitality of Chi cago, when it is being itself, is a grand, if not glorious, institution. Class 4, the Catch - as - catch - can party, is frequently a merry interming ling ' of Astor street and Randolph street. Society, with its stays off, hav ing a lark with the Stage, and a good time being had by all. It takes an actor to be the life — or death — of a party. And how Society clamors after actors! When Miss Ina Claire or Miss Bea trice lillie is in town her telephone rings as incessantly as police-patrol gongs on Halsted street. And small wonder. Society yearns to be amused. Now that we are down to statistics, there has never been, on any continent, such a gifted entertainer as J. M. Ker rigan, at present playing in The Road to Rome, matinees Wednesdays and Saturdays. As a ballad-singer and story-teller this waggish Irishman is un surpassed, but no hostess will ever capture him. His matchless perform ances are revealed only at the most ex clusive of catch-as-catch-can parties. The subject of parties is so vast, and so unimportant in a large way, that something ought to be written about it. — GENE MARKEY. Poetic Acceptances /. Houston Minnerly, Bowie '09 (cOT**4°ser °f the famous "Bowie "M.0it to the Front ' march), answers the Alumni Committee's invitation to return for Home Coming. Ill come back to Bowie, The fairest college, ZOWIE! And meet all my classmates Back at Bowie U. YOU ASKED ME! And then we'll Cheer for old Bowie, boys, And raise our glasses high, Hi, hi, hi! Well ral-ly in the val-ley, For BowIE we'd gladly die, Aye, aye, aye! Then well cheer for old Bowie, boys, Lord Chesley Bowie's crew. ITl be right there when we play O'Daire, For dear old Bowie U. — DONALD PLANT. Big Bill vs. Big Ben A Chicagoan in Venice Makes Comparisons THE warm Venetian sun is a bril liant haze upon the pazzetta, the pigeons of San Marco are having the best time in the world, feeding from the hands of pretty American tourists (superfluous to specify the sex), and the old gentleman who sells the corn with which to feed the pigeons is do ing a land- office business. Seated upon the terrazzo of the Floriano (if you know your Venice, you will know that it could have been only the Floriano or the Quadri), sipping my morning's cioccolatte and nibbling at my pane burro, I am suddenly impelled to inor dinate and ingrowing chuckles. The elderly cameriere nearby is so moved that he spills a caffe nero all over the pantaloons of the old party in a gold- headed cane and a cosmopolitan man ner. My chuckles, by this time, have assumed a degree of audibility, to such an extent that the young lady two tables away, who really ought to be sitting in the Cafe des Deux Magots in Paris, looks up with a reprehending frown from her copy of Geography and Other Plays. But I don't care! I am reading, in The Chicagoan, how Big Bill settled the theatre (was it a thea tre?) strike, and I, like the pigeons, am enjoying myself. It is all so like our Grandiloquent William — and so like Chicago! And then, some while later, gon- dolaing down the Canal Grande, I catch sight of certain posters, arranged always in a triple crescendo, flaming from the walls of the embankment. One bears the inscription : Viva il prin- cipe ereditario! (for the Heir Apparent has just done Venice and the Schneider Cup the honor of a visit) ; the second, in letters at least a foot higher, reads: Viva il fascismo! (an inscription that hardly stands in need of translation); while the third, in characters that seem about three feet higher yet, is: Viva il ducel "11 duce," of course, being none other than Big Ben, who tells all Italy, and the strangers within her gates, when to get up in the morning. Where upon, my mind at once starts working upon certain analogies and fortunate lack of analogies. But first, let's have a look at this country, which does everything except make love (and per haps that, too) to Signor Mussolini's timing gesture. You are riding in a railway carriage, when fatigue or boredom inspires you to lift your feet to the seat opposite. Instantly, a black-shirted figure pops in the door of the compartment and di rects you, in perfectly good Tuscan, to take 'em down, take 'em down quick and leave 'em down. (If you don't happen to "capeesh italiano," that is your funeral.) Now, you may think this is a dubious little pleasantry on the part of a flunkeydom that is more or less the same the world over; in other words, you may not take the black shirt seriously, and your feet may find their way back again. Woe 10 TWE04ICAGOAN to you! Before you know what has happened, you have been fined on the spot, and what is more, you have paid your fine, like a good little tourist. By this time, you have begun to suspect that Mr. Mussolini means business. He does. With an upper-case B. Or, it may be, you are strolling through a museum or other public place, when you come upon a bust or other likeness of the sainted Benito. You pause before it, in an effort to make out, from a smattering of phy siognomy, what there is about this lit tle man (little, like Caesar and Napo leon) — when another of those ubiqui tous black shirts steps up with a mean ingful remark anent "il cappello." You had better take it off, and that prestis' simo. If you don't — well, biffs on the dome have been known to follow: I myself have heard of them. And it is not only the black shirts, who correspond roughly to our war time self-appointed hundredpercenters ¦ , . .¦ ¦¦.... ,-.-<' \ ' • and to our contemporary Ku Kluxers, save that they actually are vested with police authority — it is not merely this amateur constabulary which sees to it that Italy and the Italian visitor keep step to Big Ben's tickings; there are also soldiers — and soldiers — and sol diers. Soldiers everywhere. Every street is full of them; every train is ridden with them — more military, it sometimes appears, than passengers; every railway platform is patrolled by them. And such uniforms, such cha- peaux! Girls, oh, girls! If you could see those green doublets, those black plumes. I recall my own first impres sion of a carbiniere. Brilliant blue uni form, Napoleonic cockade, broad crim son leg-stripes. I thought he must be, at the very least, a major-general; but I discovered he was simply a super- policeman. Mr. Mussolini is some modiste, and some milliner: I will say that for him. And in this, as in many other things, he is wise. He is a genius at regimen tation, and he has stolen and is stealing the very best stuff of our own kleagles and spread-eaglers. And it goes over as big as Rudolph Valentino did with us. A lot of Italians today who might have been bomb-planting communists are blithely occupied in yelling their heads off for a Greater Italy. They've got something to yell for: that's the main thing, and Mussolini knows it. But meanwhile, my thoughts tristfully revert to Chicago and Big Bill. "Trist fully," did I say? — - Ah, there's a man's town for you! Our police force may not be, precisely, "Times are hard, Floyd Common is way off." Steel -<£zz> sartorial models. Mr. Markey, I fancy, might find more flaws than one with them on this score. But at least, they don't go around fining visitors who put their feet on the seat and slugging un conscious ones who fail to take off their hats before a photograph of His Honor. You can put your feet any place you blame please, and you don't have to take off your lid to nobody, by heck! Big Bill wears no man's collar, and no man wears his — in fact, nobody could wear his. Any more than they could wear his Greater- Chicago trousers. But otherwise, .... Otherwise, it seems to me, Big Bill and Big Ben are not unalike. They get the same results. The in structive point to me, as I floated down the Canal Grande, was the wide ly diverging methods by which they achieve the same sentimental ensemble. The Big Stick versus the Big Pat. The latter is certainly pleasanter to live with. Even in Venice. You can't get properly weepy over the loves and deaths of the poets, over Byron and Shelley and Georges Sand and Alfred de Musset, when you know that if you yourself tried to jump in the lagoon, some black shirt would not only stop you, but would pinch you, as well. Gone the romantic cry of the gondo' Here by moonlight. The lights on the water are electric, while the waves lap to the tune of piccola moneta. The tourist is tolerated so long as he pro vides the piccola moneta, but he must watch his step while doing so. Viva il fascismol Not to mention the mosqui toes, which are even thicker than the black shirts and the soldiers. Back in Chicago, out where the west begins, where men are men and wom en— I took out my Chicagoan, and I read once more how Big Bill settled the theatre strike. And my laugh echoed from the C'a d'Oro to the RialtO. — SAMUEL PUTNAM. Recovery Vv&wh* IT is an indubitable fact that a woman experiences a fillip of pleas ure when she encounters The Man She Might Have Married with the unmistakable beginnings of a paunch, but there are no words in the English language to adequately express her gloating satisfaction upon espying her blond ex-rival of the baby face, her once-beguiling curves developed into rotundity, her dimpled chin now shar ing honors with two others. — L. D. TMECMICAGOAN n Balloons An Airy Little Item POOR old Louie has gone crazy. And it's all my fault. I went back to the old school for Home Coming without a ticket for the big game and all the tickets had been sold. "¦'Well,'" said Louie, "there's one plan left. I have my 'B' button and, an idea.'1 Louie was a letter man, you see. "There's a fair south wind," con tinued Louie. "I'll get a rifle from the armory and some ammunition. I used to be a fair marksman. Balloons will be loosed at the first score. You wear my button, buy a balloon, enter the stadium, take a seat, tie the button to your balloon, let the balloon slip away from your grasp. When the balloon floats over that stand I'll bring it down with a shot or two. Then 111 join you inside, in the lB' section. Simple?" I thought it was. I carried out my part of the plan. I let the balloon drift away, Louie's button on the string, JU8t as the opponents were kicking off to us. It was all pretty great for the old school during the next two minutes, but it was unfortunate for old Louie. One of our half-backs received the kickoff and ran the field for a touch down. Then the balloons! Old Louie went crazy on the north side of the stadium trying to shoot down the balloons. He was doing pretty well, the police said. He was picking them off as fast as he could reload. He seemed to have plenty of ammunition, but the gun jammed. Anyway, poor old Louie has gone quite mad. He really ought to have had a better gun. — DON CLYDE. Write Your Own Paul Ash. Does Ev'nin* dew heaves sigh Me*n'y°u youVl 'Neath a tree stars shine Merrily sunny clime Birdies sing moon above you 'N'ever'thing how I love you. CHORUS: Come bringin' solitaire Bells ringin ni be there Bungalow yeS) forever Roses grow any weather You croon three or four Sleepy tune maybe more. — R. G. B. "Migawd — what a Faux pas." "Fox pass? — / thought it was a fumble." Bang!— Goes the Zuppke Myth Just a Plain Citizen Trying to Get Along IN view of the current hurly-burly over the matter, it may be well to state at the outset of any discussion of Robert C. Zuppke that he has never conceived his primary function to be that of building a fine type of young American manhood. He has won three football champion ships for the University of Illinois and tied for a couple more by adhering to the principle that if his quarterback wants to enter battle with a portion of eating tobacco in a left cheek, his only concern is that the vile weed shall not get down the fellow's throat and burble up the signals. In fact, Zuppke had recently a berserker guard who berserked best with a dab of Copen hagen snuff tucked under his lip. Zup's only contribution to success slogans, coined a good many years ago, is: "What counts most is guts." Strangely enough, students and alumni of the state university overlook his oversights in the field of character building and quite cheerfully admit that Zuppke is the best football coach in the country. So does Zuppke. His essential egotism needs no apology. It is the weapon with which he has bludgeoned a football world built on a six-foot standard gauge into recog nizing genius in a five- foot-six frame. The tale that Zuppke failed to earn his letter in four years' toil on the Wisconsin scrubs has been told often before. Players were picked on a ton nage basis then, and the 140-pound Zuppke bled for alma mater on Mon days to Fridays — inclusive. It is not so generally known, however, that he was a genuine star in basketball; the teams on which he played even travelling* east to meet some of the great professional outfits which flourished at the begin ning of the present century. Eligibility rules were not so strict then, and not only did college teams play against pros, but Zuppke has confessed, on in formal occasions, that sometimes the college stars dropped out of town over a week-end and associated with the vile pros themselves. Zup left school and set out to be an artist. Painting today is the avocation which takes most of the time he does not devote to football. He specializes in skies and marines, which he sells regularly, and not to football fans at that. "But," he once admitted, "after a couple of years I got tired fooling the models." He started coaching at Mus kegon, Mich., high school. Later at Oak Park, the introduction of the for ward pass and the ten-yard first down rule gave him his chance to make a mark as an exponent of the new open game. His record there includes five 12 TUEG4ICAG0AN championships, trips to both coasts in which his team defeated the best in foreign regions, and the famous team on which seven future college captains played. He went to Illinois in 1913 and won the school's first football title the next year. He tied Minnesota in 1915, won clear championships in 1918 and 1919, and was tied with Michigan in 1923. His teams hold the margin of victories over every other Big Ten school except Michigan, whose victory last year broke a tie. Zuppke is a football fan all of the time except during the football season. An august Madison hotel clerk once found two maniacs pushing davenports, andirons and sundry bric-a-brac about his lobby at 6 o'clock on the morning after an early season Wisconsin foot ball game. The maniacs were Zuppke and Fielding H. Yost, demonstrating how Illi nois and Michigan pro posed to stop the Badger attack. Zup took up golf a few years ago, and has been accused by scurrilous persons of stopping a foursome to sketch a triple pass for mation in a sand trap. But during a cam paign the artist-golfer- psychologist resembles a hip pocket tor nado seeking to burst on the practice field, while between sessions his gloom is such as would, in comparison, make the gravest mortuary attendant pass for a Rotary organizer. Zuppke did not originate the bear story, but he is one of its most enthusiastic propagators. He stood one summer day and all but heaped dust on his head at the tidings that one Cliff Happeny had abandoned a promising enough future at football and engineering for a precarious career as a shortstop with the White Sox. "He was the only halfback I had for next fall," wailed Zuppke, and one gathered from his tone that by Novem ber some palsied G. A. R. person with a wooden leg would be in there lugging the ball. It was that fall that Red Grange took the stigma off the name Harold. Y. M. C. A. secretaries, who eye Zup askance, and sophomores, who worship his footsteps, will assure you that he spurs his teams on with horrid and delightful oaths. As a matter of fact, he swears very little, because he finds it's unnecessary. He can howl "Blockhead" at a quarterback in a fash ion to make that luckless oaf cast a doubtful eye upon his own family tree. Likewise he rarely lays a hand upon a player in anger. A foot, now, when a loafing linesman bulks his stern up as a prelude to a half-hearted charge, may be a bit different. Locker room Nestors still cherish the tale of one Applegram, a mighty line man before the war, the bare sight of whom chafed Zuppke's soul. A. was a bovine, untroubled lad, inclined to stand up and stretch in practice scrim mage just before the opposing backs The Night Before "Here's How Stray leaves from a sketchbook concealed on the person of Phil Nesbit. Time: Dress Re hearsal. Place: The Auditorium. Cast: Ser vice Club Members, Ned Wayburn, Eugene Ford. MISS BETTY SCRIVEN, AS A DELICATE ZOUAVE, BETWEEN DRILLS A BIT OF 1910 SET AMIDST THE DIVERSIFIED PROCEEDINGS MISS BRIER WRIGHT, UN SUSPECTINGLY NAIVE, DUR ING A LULL MR. FORD WITH EYE AND EAR TAUT TO HIS BATTERED SCORE TUE CHICAGOAN 13 started through his sector. He was too placid to take the most venomous in sults to heart. And, worse, he was an extremely high-pocketed individual, so that try as he might, the small Illini coach could not lay an admonitory foot where feet are customarily laid. Zup spent a season in the posture of a half back just quit of a tremendous punt; still, somehow, the Follies did not seek him out as a high-kicker. Zuppke is a keen student, not only of the mechanics and strategy of foot ball, but of the psychology of the game as well. There were too many good teams, on paper, at the start of the present conference season. Northwestern was better than when it won the champion ship. Ohio State, with a great squad of backs, was a sure winner. So was Minnesota with the terrible Joesting. Purdue trounced Harvard and immedi ately became a contender. Michigan had lost strength but was dangerous nevertheless. Iowa was a burly spectre across any team's path. Illinois lost its only good back of last year in Daugh- erity. As the season opened Lanum, a competent punter dropped out. So did the eminently Frosty Peters. Zuppke apparently had genuine cause for anguish; cause or not, he moaned in agony. A green Illinois team with a sturdy line dubbed along unimpressively with a few early season set-ups. Rough lads from Ames, Iowa, held the Zupp- men to an inglorious tie. Then the nimble-witted coach brought his boys to Northwestern. And beat Northwestern. Beat them more resoundingly than the scoreboard showed. Zuppke waited on Michigan, the only team holding an edge of one vic tory on him for his coaching regime on the prairies. A fighting Illini squad larruped Michigan 14-0, and gloating undergraduates look to an Orange and Blue championship. Chicago, Iowa and Ohio (as this is written) are still in Zup's path. Both Chicago and Ohio, whatever their theoretical standings, are rivals and formidable ones to any Illinois eleven. It is a bit early to count championships. But with Timm, Walker, Mils, Hum bert, Steussey, and a second and redder- haired Grange, the Illini can be counted on for some breath-taking afternoons. In fact, everyone in Champaign- Urbana is cheerful — that is everyone but Robert C. Zuppke. JOSEPH ator, '24. Oak Park night by night The Village of Oak Park Rounds Out a Quarter-Century of Quietude THE mauve of the nineties tinged the year, although Chicago marked it but faintly. Mark Twain still wrote in New York, and Wilde was a legend in a legendary Paris. Today's younger generation was un- cradled, and prohibition was Francis Willard and Carrie Nation; bootleg ging was a little known Kentucky localism. 1902 . . . At its foundation in 1902 the Vil lage of Oak Park was two parts, geo graphically, socially and politically dis tinct. West of Oak Park avenue winging the Northwestern from Chi cago Avenue to Randolph, was a col ony corresponding to Lake Forest today, folk who wintered in Chicago to escape the rigors of the prairie winds. Around 12th street another very different group settled, brought there originally and nightly by an accommodation train the Great West ern ran from Sycamore, sixty miles out, to Chicago. And the two were poles apart. The Village of Oak Park, by or ganization and development, was the northern group. The boundary line was set at 12th street on the south by simple necessity, so that the limits of the village might include a practical sufficiency of taxable property; and the south siders found themselves Oak Parkers because, perforce, the ground beneath them was Oak Park. For years after the village retained its duality. The board of trustees and its president were elected by and from the north sec tor; and they ventured now and then on visits to "Improvement Club" meetings on the south side, huddled in a body and not at all sure of a safe re turning. There were no lights on the south side, no paving, and water only from pumps in its back yards. But the elevated reached westward, and the lines of poplars that sketched the streets were blocked in. Lake street ran as a division between sheep and goat for a long time; but the better class of houses pushed the line south to Madison. And that too weakened; and the epithet "the other side of the tracks" was hurled each way across the Garfield "Elevated" rails. And now, new and better homes go up south of that; north side mansions are touched with age, and being too valuable for the wreckers, are sold low; and a new generation passes through the standardizing agency of the High School and grows up ignorant of any line at all. Indeed, when a candidate opposed Mr. Mc- Feely lately for the village presidency on the grounds that he came from the south side, he found himself con fronted with the question, What of it? and in that, unanswerably. The vil lage celebrates its twenty-fifth year as a unit. Now, the village is populated by some 60,000 people, living on a hun dred miles of paved streets, and leaving its ashes handy to the dusty fellows who ply its fifty miles of paved "lanes." Nine thousand eight hundred and eight boys and girls go daily to its ten primary schools and A Northsider crosses the tracks 14 TUE CHICAGOAN its model high school, and their young ideas shoot in harmony with the in structions of three hundred and sev enty-nine teachers. And freed from their little tasks, they may sport and frolic on 8.48 acres of playground or the 56 acres of seven parks; and cross any number of streets on the way homeward in the security fixed by the signs that everywhere admonish motorists: "Your Carelessness May Kill." Your Oak Parker sleeps at night knowing that the law patrols his streets, omnipresently; or if he be walking alone after midnight, he car ries identification and has a plausible story at his tongue's tip, against the odds-on chance of being stopped and questioned. His nocturnal way will now be lighted on all its length by a million dollars worth of illumination, to the invalidation of all the pleasant humor the darkness stirred in his neighboring townsmen. And should the villager's chimney burst aflame, he makes no unseemly haste to the phone; he knows that the fire depart ment will be on location anywhere a minute and fifteen seconds after the alarm. And there is this about the village, and that; but if you would know Oak Park, you seek it vainly in figures and Chamber of Commerce reports. No, Oak Park has no Man in the Street, but should her own corre sponding Man by the Fireside vocal ize his reason for living there, it would be at variance with the glories claimed by the more noisy Chamber of Commerce and municipal ballyhoo men. The outstanding feature of Oak Park, to him, is not that it is the World's Greatest Village, nor that it floods a million dollars' worth of light into the night; the vigilance of its police and the zip and dash of its fire department are but contributing de tails, and the splendor of its marts im presses him not at all. When told that Sunday movies would develop Oak Park commercially, your Oak Parker remarked "So they would," and vetoed them. All of these civic virtues are secondary, corollary, to the Man at the Hearth. He is an Oak Parker because within those walls sur vives that which is kindred in impend ing extinction to the buffalo and the newspaper with reading matter — homes. It has for long given to allusion to its drowsiness the respectful smile due all pleasant old humor. It is not un mindful that it has no Paul Ash to gladden its winter evenings, no ma chine guns to add their note of life to its slumbering avenues, few really knockout electric signs to enlighten its marts, and none of the glorification Balaban and Katz; give a municipality's architecture. But it bears up beneath ;the criticism of its neighbors, finding solace in views of its own relating to the stillness of deep waters. — JACK DUNN. Referred I'D like to suggest one more timely topic to be added to the well rounded course of lectures being given out at the Chicago branch of North western on "Contemporary Thought" and which has the town intellectuals agog. The idea is, why hasn't some one of the local intelligentsia worked out a lecture on "Making the Home Safe for Husbands," calling attention to the falling divorce rate with the advent of mechanical refrigeration? General Electric ought to pay a for tune to the professor who elects to do research along this line. — L. U. C. The Gentleman Who Didn't Know It was Entity TI4ECI4ICAGOAN 15 CHICAGOAN/ Hooked Rugs to Bagged Game ^^ARY HASTINGS BRADLEY * ¦ is probably the only woman in the world who shoots lions in Africa and makes hooked rugs in her apart ment in Chicago. She has glamorously ruddy curled hair, so the tropical rains mean noth ing to her. She loves to walk, so she's not looking for a taxi in the midst of die jungle. And she's possessed of a good digestion, so an ever lasting sequence of tins of baked beans doesn't send her to the hospital. These three cardinal assets for an African hunter may have had something to do with her early zeal to go to Africa. She sometimes wonders if she didn't first get the idea back in Sunday school days when, she recollects, "I used to sing, a lit tle off key, 'Where Afric's sunny fountains roll down their golden sands'," and when she reflected that the life of a mis sionary, a live missionary, of course, might have its compensations in canni bals and crocodiles. Born in Chicago, on Ashland boule vard, she later moved, with her mother and her step-father, Dr. Arthur M. Corwin, to Oak Park. She was just twelve when she broke into print, and for profit. It was a dollar prize for a children's story contest in The Chicago Tribune. At few years later, again in the Tribune, she won another story contest. This time the check was for fifteen dollars. She must have been a mighty bright youngster, for at sixteen we find her at Smith college, writing, writing. The plays she wrote in English class she converted into short stories and sold to the magazines. From Smith she went across the seas to Oxford, studied there, accumulated the material for The Favor of Kings, the novel based on the life of Anne Boleyn, which she was later to write and which, in many ways, she now likes the best of all of her books. While in London she formed a warm friendship with the Macaulays, kin of the famed historian, and with them, went down into Africa. But they just dipped in, in the thoroughly orthodox manner of quite correct trav elers de luxe. Her uncle, Charles Cor win, was, meanwhile, working as an artist with Carl E. Akeley, big game hunter, in the development of new backgrounds for mounted animals. Mary Hastings Bradley Again, Mary heard and thought and dreamed of Africa, the real Africa. Then she married Herbert E. Brad ley, transplanted Canadian and Chi cago attorney. The two of them want ed to go down to the dark continent. Their little daughter, Alice, was born in 1915, and some five years later when their opportunity came to go on a pil grimage with Mr. Akeley, they decided to take the little girl with them. Be cause, Alice's mother said, "I couldn't bear to leave her, and I believed her safer there than here, and she was." Every relative and every friend ad vised against the venture. Hundreds of strangers wrote telling Alica's mamma what she ought and ought not to do. But the three of them went to the Belgian Congo jungles. In the Congo belt, west of Lake Nyanza, Victoria, Alice saw the pigmy tribes and they discovered her, the first white child they had ever seen. Mrs. Bradley had never fired a gun. One day she practiced at some game, and fired seven shots at a target. "Don't worry," they reassured her, "it'll be at least a week before we are in big game country, and by then we'll have taught you about shooting." But next, day they were in a lion's back yard and a buffalo's front yard. She bagged two gorillas and several lions this trip, and came back to Chicago to write of her adventures and look forward to more. In June, 192 3, the trio again started out. A real stunt it was this time, as the geographers will tell you. For they went through the Ituri forest and down, west of the Nameless mountains, and west of Lake Edward in Africa. Red elephants, rambunctious buffalo and regal lions — they got them all. A supposedly dead lion came to life in Mrs. Bradley's arms; a restless elephant walked almost on top of her, and the kimpootoo, that agile second cousin of the cootie, would fain have made her acquaintance. But she returned, with her family, in just two days less than two years, to their apartment at 5344 Hyde Park boulevard, where the famous African room, in the bunga low atop the building, is filled with trophies that are the envy of museums, and were the admiration of Prince William of Sweden, when he visited the Bradleys last year. When she isn't hunting game in Africa, she's home writing books. When she isn't writing, she's lec turing. When she isn't lecturing, she's help ing the work of the Smith college alumnae, in which she is vigorously in terested. When she isn't concerned with the Smith college circle, she's getting up entertainments for the Cordon club. When she isn't doing that, she's editing her daughter's "Alice in Jungle- land" book, illustrated by Alice, which is soon to appear. And when she isn't doing any of these things, Mary Hastings Bradley, explorer of darkest Africa, is sitting in the African room of her apartment, making hooked rugs. — GENEVIEVE FORBES HERRICK. 16 THE CHICAGOAN Opening of Chicago Civic Ope" TUECUICAGOAN 17 —(Reading from Left to Right) 18 Overtone/ ARGUMENTS over who lost the city's $10,000,000 suit against the gas company need not deter Chicagoans from throwing away their 1914 gas bills. ? Any Oak Parker will tell you that the village fire department is within easy earshot. ? Once again a Chicagoan has held the perfect bridge hand — this time thirteen spades. It must be a great relief not to have to sit back and, as per radio instructions, "plan one's cam paign." ? "Alice" writes to the Daily K[ews: "If a man comes into a restaurant where a woman friend is lunching and stops to speak to her, is it obligatory to ask him to be seated?" Not obligatory, Alice, but a smart financial transaction. ? "Patients who are gripped with a form of fear from an overdose of in sulin may have their courage immedi ately restored by sucking a lollypop," says Dr. Edwin E. Slosson. If you feel your courage slipping, Do not falter; do not stop. Seek the nearest del'catessen And procure a lollypop. ? Once more woman's knee will be only a hinge, not a public problem, according to the latest style edict. Now if something could be done about the fatted calf. ? "Every automobile now being mar keted has at least 75,000 miles of use," says Martin E. Goldman of the Auto motive Equipment Association. This of course does not allow for ditches, sharp turns, telegraph poles and in ability to meet payments. ? A University professor has lauded cigarets and short skirts as an aid to woman's emancipation. What are they trying to get away from, any way? ? Chicago is no longer the "Windy City," says Prof. Cox, citing that the average velocity of our breezes has declined from 18.4 miles per hour in 1893 to 12 miles. Apparently the professor's instruments have not regis tered the activities of our politicians. The Prince of Wales enjoyed a hearty laugh when one of his riding masters was thrown. He had it com ing — he certainly waited long enough for his turn. ? "Any railway coach in which pas sengers are caught drinking may be taken from the service and padlocked for one year," announces one of our inspired enforcers. The suppressed chuckle is from the railway coach builders. ? "Mental infidelity" is now advanced as grounds for divorce. As we saunter to press "broken arches" has not been added to the list. ? Have you handed in your official star yet — — GEORGE CLIFFORD. JPORT/ REVI EW Appreciation WHAT man owes his horse cannot be adequately expressed in words, but in this machine age the attempt at memorial, whether through printed words, physical objects or ac tual deeds, is ever in good taste. No longer is the horse a familiar beast of burden. His truck hauling and car riage pulling days are very nearly ended, and unfortunately, for that rea son, a great many people entertain the erroneous idea that horses are no longer vitally necessary to the welfare of mankind. Such incorrect belief or indifference could easily become a dangerous menace to our national safety. Horses will always be an in dispensable factor in our first line of defense. In the realm of sport the horse is king and it's impossible to imagine his dethronement. It was the privilege of this writer one day last summer, while watching one of the series of polo matches between the TWECI4ICAGOAN CVw'cctgo \*> lQ %o J Oakbrook and DuPage county teams, to chat with one of Chicago's most sincere and active horse fanciers, namely, Mr. Frank O. Butler, father of Paul Butler, whose exploits on the polo field need no introduction here. It was plain to me that Mr. Butler, senior, saw far more in the flashing spectacle transpiring before us than a contest of nerve and ability between men, aided by trained ponies. I had the feeling that even pride in the out standing play of his son was eclipsed by something else. It is my opinion that his subsequent remarks revealed this interest to be simply and fore most in the horses themselves, as horses. Not that he lacked apprecia tion of the game — his knowledge and keen liking for polo was apparent — but it seemed to me to be secondary. "I'm glad to see so many people out today," he began, nodding to the long row of automobiles parked along the opposite sidelines. "You know, popular interest in polo will be a great thing for the horse industry, and that will be a great thing for the country. "I've just come back from our ranch in South Dakota. They're raising wonderful horses out there, and it's a wonderful country for the horses. I doubt if people realize what an im portant industry it really is. We need more popular interest. Turf racing is a good thing. I was glad to see its development in Illinois this year. Of course, the betting is probably the reason for its popular success, but the public cannot help getting a measure of appreciation for fine horses from it, too. "And this game" — he paused and watched almost in rapture as the play ers galloped by — "it's worth while, isn't it?" There was no reservation, mental or otherwise, in my wholehearted as sent. I doubt if any of the five or six hundred spectators, most of them as untutored in the fine points of the game as I was, would have answered differently. The activities on Oak- brook field have stimulated a wave of popular enthusiasm which has swept DuPage county from one end to the other. True, this particular county is a fer tile field for appreciation of fine horses TWECI4ICAG0AN 19 <b5Si? Ii g f x nrir <# ^rrrr Chicago itv ^2* and horsemanship. In addition to the stables of Mr. Butler and Col. Robert R. McCormick, the county boasts the beautiful racing stables of Mr. Stuy- vesant Peabody and other notable horse farms. I doubt if any territory near Chicago contains as many pri vately owned thoroughbred riding horses, and surely no county possesses a more pleasing terrain for cross coun try riding. Until shortly after the death of Mr, Francis S. Peabody, who founded May slake farm, the county boasted weekly drag hunts in season by the Mayslake Hunt club. A horse show, under the direction of Mr. Stuyvesant Peabody, has been an an nual event of importance in DuPage for many years. What is perhaps more to the point in a general sense is the wide popu larity of riding among less well-to-do residents of this near-by countryside. Each week day, and particularly on Sundays and holidays, the forest pre serves, country lanes and wooded patches of the county are dotted with men, women and children riders, mounted on horses of every descrip tion. Lacking in many cases are the boots and habits of the smart bridal paths, but the riders make up for inelegant dress by their apparent ease and knowledge in the saddle. By con trast, a scene I witnessed on the path around the curve of the Oak street beach the other day was somewhat amusing. My attention and admira tion was attracted by an approaching black mare trotter. Her pace was fast enough for the trotting track, and the horse, I should guess, represented a fine strain of blooded trotting stock. The rider, a man, was turned out to perfection. He wore a jaunty derby, white linen stock, dark coat and waist coat, of English cut, cream-colored, whipcord breeches and highly pol ished, dress black boots with silver spurs. His heels, however, were pointed upward in the stirrups, and I could see two feet of daylight between him and his English saddle with each stride of the mare. — SPORTSMAN. Ye Olde Stagg Legende A Study of Bleacher Prophets WHEN the Maroons of Chicago swung into mid-season with a Conference percentage of 1,000 and the much-coveted scalp of redoubtable Pennsylvania hanging at their belts, that part of the football-going popula tion which takes its ideas from yester day's, last week's, and last month's newspapers, registered acute surprise. The impossible had happened, accord ing to this point of view: a certain tail-ender was running in the lead, neck-and-neck with Michigan and Illi nois. The recrudescence of Chicago was spoken of with goggle-eyed amaze ment; and as for Mr. Stagg, his resur rection was as miraculous as if one of Professor Breasted's mummies had come to life. "There were prophets galore who predicted that Chicago wouldn't win a game all fall," wrote the sporting editor of the Tribune. When a myth gets abroad there is no arguing with it. It can be corrected only by the violent method practiced by St. George upon the dragon. Chi cago's unhappy season of 1926, when six games were lost in succession, had created a popular delusion to the effect that the Maroons were nothing more than tackling dummies for the rest of the Conference — always had been and always would be. This fallacy was prevalent, of course, only within the city limits; Herr Zuppke of Urbana, Dr. Wilce of Columbus, Deacon This- tlethwaite of Madison, and Mr. Stagg's other colleagues in the coaching fra ternity continued to scout the Maroon games with painstaking respect. Chicago alumni stood up against the broadcasting of this myth like strong, silent men, modelling their conduct on Mr. Stagg's. Their appetite for victory was large, but they were willing to take potluck with the Old Man. When im petuous Indiana went down before the Maroons, they were cheery but not exuberant. When tricky Purdue was defeated by one point, they heaved a vast sigh of relief and began to worry about Pennsylvania. But when the feared Quakers had been outplayed in every scrimmage, they began to confess that for the time being it was a satis fying season. The going would be rough through the remaining games, of course, but the alumni felt reasonably confident that the Maroon winning streak had not petered out. There was danger in Ohio, and ill-omen in. Michi gan. Illinois was strong enough to put powerful Northwestern out of the run ning; and Wisconsin was always a menace. But Chicago alumni agreed with the newspaper experts that the Maroons of 1927 are as rich in upset ting possibilities as a banana peeling. Which is the surprise of the season; "Are you the young man who made me that nice chocolate soda about two weeks ago?" 20 TME CHICAGOAN but there is another myth about the Maroons that is dying hard, although visibly. It is that idiotic bit of civic folk-lore which represents Mr. Stagg as unwilling to teach or incapable of using the forward pass. Sand-lot spec tators have been falling dead, or al most, at every Chicago game this sea son because the ball was being kept in the air; and to hear them tell it, Mr. Stagg has reformed only on account of their own personal solicitation and urging. As a matter of fact, the Maroons are passing copiously this season be cause Mr. Stagg has at last found a born passer in Hugh Men- denhall. He is an improve ment over Wallie Marks, of 1926, who took up the art late in life The 1925 Ma roon team neglected the for ward pass because its mate rial represented the last phase of the Thomas-Pyott- Timme-Zorn regime. Jn those three years ('23 -'25) Mr. Stagg was in command of juggernaut crews, capable of crushing their way 80 yards for touchdowns. There was no need to throw the ball when John Thomas or Aus tin McCarthy would guar antee to plough through the opposing line. In 1923 Chi cago finished second in the Conference, Michigan and Illinois being tied for first place. In 1924 Chicago won the championship, Illinois and Iowa being tied for second place. In 1925 Chicago was paired with Illinois in third place, Michigan taking the title, while North western and Wisconsin di- vived second honors. This record proves that Mr. Stagg's neglect of the pass during that period was not accompanied by lamentable results. Back of that passless era, the Maroons threw the ball as freely as any other team in the Conference. In 1906, the year the forward pass was added to the game, Chicago defeated Illinois 63 to 0, largely by aerial strategy. But statistics never quieted a Chi cago grandstand critic. In 1947, when Fritz Crisler (or maybe it will be Nels Norgren or Pat Page) is the extant Old Man of the Midway, some of the die- hards will still be gibbering: "I never saw a Maroon pass, I never hope to see one. The Chicago-Michi gan game of this year marks the renewal of an old feud which made much football tradition and then passed into the obliv ion of broken rela tions. But the Illinois and Wisconsin games, which will end the current Maroon schedule, are classics of uninterrupted his tory. To hark back Dearborn Dream Book If you dream that the lin\ bridge rose up on its haunches as you were halfway across — you've been bridged. If you dream that the Mather Tower succumbed to the sun's persuasive rays and K[ewtons Law had its way — toss off the top coverlet. If you dream that Chicago has salvaged Outer Drives until the town is a busride from: La\e Michigan — you've got nothing to fear from the psychiatrists. over only three years of Chicago-Illi nois matches, there was the Peace Without Victory of 21 to 21, when neither Red Grange nor Austin Mc TMQ CHICAGOAN 21 Clubs Are Trumps Introducing the Tavern Carthy could be stopped; the Comedy of Mud in 1925, when more yards were gained by sliding on trousers- seats than by running on legs; and the close contest of 1926 when only a refe ree's decision on an erratic punt pre vented the weak Maroons from equal ing Illinois's single touchdown from Pug Daugherity's brilliant run. For many a year the Chicago- Wis consin game has been the stirrup-cup of the season on Stagg Field, and whichever team wins this encounter calls it a successful season. The story of this famous series satisfies the alumni of both schools, for up to date each team has won fourteen games, while four have been tied. It has been a case of a Roland for an Oliver. Last autumn, when the Maroons were wallowing in the slough of de spond, losing game after game, I was talking football in Milwaukee with a Wisconsin alumnus, and told him that the Badgers would slaughter us. But he was a skeptic against this candid encouragement. "No matter how bad a team Stagg has,'" he remarked, "he always man ages, to make that last game of the season a nightmare for the entire state of Wisconsin." And so it happened. The score was, Wisconsin 14, Chicago 7, and a tie was snatched out of Maroon hands in the last quarter by the jinx of the season. This rivalry will no longer be fought out on Stagg Field every year. Next season Wisconsin will have a new stadium, and the Big Ten will have a more or less rotated schedule, so Chi- cagO'Wisconsin will be a home-and- home affair hereafter. The old order changeth — but the old game gets bet ter and better. THERE have been three more or less distinguished clubs in Chicago. In the order of their appearance, if not of their distinc tion: the Chicago, the Cliff Dwellers and the Racquet. Now a new club rears its head — not timidly, after the fashion of new clubs, but with a great sounding of cymbals. This is the Tavern. Doubtless you have read about it in the lo cal press, whose "so ciety" editors lost no time in curtseying to the impressive names on its meagre member ship list. The Tavern is moulding its features after a likeness of the austere Cliff Dwellers. Indeed, it bids fair to be another Cliff Dwell ers — shorn of the long, gray beard. From a civilized point of view (let us side-step that prim word, cultured) the Cliff Dwell ers has always attracted more atten tion than any club in Chicago. It is a small — a rigorously small — verein, loftily ensconced in a bungalow on top of Orchestra Hall, its membership limited to three hundred, selected by Karleton Hackett a stiff and dreary process from what are known as "interesting" men: writers, painters, sculptors, architects, musicians — with a few "laymen" thrown in. Perhaps "thrown in" lacks sufficient dignity to describe the status of these laymen, who are, for the most part, millionaires professing a tendency toward pat' ronage of the Arts. Unlike any other club in Chicago, the Cliff Dwellers refuses to fling wide its doors merely for the Social Register or the regis' ters of Dunn and Bradstreet. It is the most difficult club in Chicago to get into. But once in, the most fascinating. In aspect it is similar to the Sa' vile and the Savage, in London, and the Cof' fee House, in New York. Such worthies as George Ade and John McCutcheon belong to the Cliff Dwellers. There, at luncheon, one observes Carter Harrison, Arthur Aldis, Murry Nelson, Horace Oakley, Dr. Marquis, Edwin Balmer, Henry Kitchell Webster, Kellogg Fairbank, Charles Collins, Ashton Stevens, Ar- — CHARLES COLLINS. "Offisher, I inshist thashu pinsh thash fight." 22 THE CHICAGOAN "Hello, if it isn't Gwen- — but where'n the world didya get this?" "Well, ya can't expect a girl to go to hell in a wheel barrorv, can ya?" thur Bissell, Jacques Gordon, Dr. Jacob Wendell Clark, Karleton Hackett, Guy Hardy, Edward Moore, Tom Tall- madge, John Root, Hubert Burnham, William O. Goodman, Herbert Brad ley and an assortment of fellows with beards, who paint or write music or perhaps hunt elephants. Hamlin Garland was the first president of the Cliff Dwellers, and Frederick Stock is president now. It was the favorite haunt of that well beloved humorist and humanist, Bert Leston Taylor. John Drew visited it daily whenever he played in Chicago. That's the sort of club the Cliff Dwellers is. Now up bobs a new club, the Tav ern, sponsored by a platoon of gentle men who say: "We are going to have a bigger and better Cliff Dwellers — and there won't be a stuffed shirt or a beard in it. Watch us!" And, veri ly, watching them will be amusing. Among the moving spirits of the Tav ern one encounters the names of many Cliff Dwellers. And perhaps — we re peat, and discreetly, perhaps — therein lies a tale. After that dark day when the Anti- Saloon League, on stealthy rubber heels, put over its coup d'etat on Our Boys At the Front (Tolerance League adv.) the then president of the Cliff Dwellers, a noted portrait painter — and strict prohibitionist — made haste to strike the locks from the locker doors and to remove the array of glasses from the top of what had once been, in a way, the "bar." The very presence of those gleaming goblets, de clared the president, was a menace. And so they were removed, and the Cliff Dwellers was made safe for Democracy — or something or other. On the heels of this virtuous gesture there arose a low rumble of protest, which smouldered for a time, then ex ploded in what has come to be known as "the Battle of Glasses." A van guard of more liberal Cliff Dwellers demanded the reinstatement of the goblets — not that they had, in particu lar, anything to put into them, but on the grounds that they wanted them there to gaze upon, even if sadly, in remembrance of happier days. Drys and Liberals waged a heated warfare, and in the end the Liberals won a moral victory. The glasses were re placed, and they have remained. The Cliff Dwellers, however, has never been a "drinking" club. A bottle of wine is as rarely seen there as a youth ful member. But since Prohibition there has existed in the Cliff Dwellers, whether or not the more liberal mem bers admit it, a parched and arid air. The club is not gay. One would imagine it Bohemian. It is about as Bohemian as the library of the Chicago Historical Society. Bearded chins do not Bohemians make. Not this side of Montmartre. Possibly this very austerity of at mosphere in the Cliff Dwellers has brought about the restless movement to form a lighter, brighter club along simi lar lines. Four Cliff Dwellers have marched forward to raise the banner of the Tavern: Karleton Hackett, the w.k. music critic; Arthur Bissell, the w.k. man-about-town; Charles Collins, the w.k. writer, and John Norton, the w.k. painter. Beside them galloped other blythe spirits, not of the Cliff Dwellers fold: Preston (Bud) Boy- den, the w.k. barrister; Joseph Ryer- son, the w.k. social light; Wayne Chatfield-Taylor, the w.k. financier. (Cries of "Hear! Hear!") Karleton Hackett is president of the Tavern, and their clubhouse, atop the new building now being reared at 333 North Michi gan Avenue, will be one of the show- places of the town. A society editor recently referred to it as "the new in telligentsia club." This is a broad statement. If the Tavern is an "intel ligentsia" club, then the Chicago club is made up entirely of aristocrats. Nevertheless, one must admit that the Tavern's mixed membership, social and artistic, should bring forth sprightly results. Its atmosphere will undoubtedly be gayer and more amus ing than the Cliff Dwellers', but whether it will affect the prestige of that staid club remains to be seen. In such a thriving mill-town as Chicago there ought to be room for both. — RANDOLPH WELLS. Backgrounds By One Who Knew Them When— Ban Johnson was sporting editor of a Cincinnati newspaper before com ing to Chicago in 1900 to organize and become president of the American League. ? Former Governor Edward F. Dunne came here from Peoria, 111., and entered the law office of William J. Hynes as a clerk. ? William L. O'Connell, democra tic political leader, was a cigar sales- Nora Bayes was born near Halsted and Madison streets, went to the Skin ner school and attended matinees at the old Academy of Music. Her name was Nora Goldberg then. ? George Hoffman, the former brewer, ran a bowling alley and pool room in Clark street near Madison. ? Charles H. Wacker, in whose honor Wacker Drive was named, was the senior member of the Wacker and Birk Brewing Company. ? Edward Moore was a lawyer be fore he became musical critic for the Chicago Tribune. TUE CHICAGOAN 23 JOURNALI/TIC JOURNEY/ In which a History Booh is Burned q Being a True Account of How Sir U. J. Sport Herrmann Did Wrath fully and in High Dudgeon Toss to the Flames a Print of A. M. Schlesinger\ History Book, of Which He Knew Not the Title, But Which He Did Con sider as Being Vicious and Un-Ameri can in Character, and of Great Danger to the Youth of the Nation. MR. U. J. SPORT HERRMANN had acquitted himself most diplo matically at the meeting of the library board. He had conveyed to the assem bled scholars (several of whom, besides being members of the library board, possessed books of their own) that it was the suggestion of His Honor, Wil liam Hale Thompson, that they should look into the collection of unpatriotic history books on the shelves of the in stitution, with a view to holding a pub lic bonfire and barbeque on the lake front. Merely a suggestion. So they had immediately appointed a commit tee. Then Mr. U. J. Sport Herrmann had also suggested that they add the name of Mr. U. J. Sport Herrmann, eminent lion-hunter, to the committee. Which they did. When Mr. Herrmann left the meet ing there were a couple of gentlemen from the morning papers awaiting him, and Sport was always okay with the boys. "Well, Sport," said the most enter prising of the newspapermen, "how about a little stunt?" Mr. Herrmann bit off the end of a fresh black cigar. "Naw," he said, shaking his leonine head, and waving his arms good-naturedly, "Naw." The gentlemen from the paper seemed not at all taken aback. There were two of them. The first — by vir tue of the brazen forwardness with which he plastered himself all over one's consciousness, reflected Herrmann — was short, loud-jawed, and certainly familiar. Mr. Herrmann couldn't re member who he was, but knew that he had met the chap somewhere. Doubt lessly he was one of the reporters who could swing a deal. The other person was a kind of a smoky looking guy. Maybe he was the one that did the writing. "You know, boys," said Sport, "I'm always ready to help you out when it comes to posing for a picture or any thing like that, see. But you can't put the razzberry on this. This is serious stuff." "Who said anything about rasp berry?" queried the talkative reporter. "Well, what's the stunt?" Herrmann was open to suggestion. "Just a little fix to help us out, Sport. You know we always give you a break, don't we?" "Come on up to the office," said Sport. "Smoke?" "Thanks." But the other gentleman dug to his cigaret. So Mr. Sport Herrmann stretched back in his great leather chair, and surveyed the low ceiling of the cubby hole on the third floor of the Cort theatre wherein he transacts his busi ness. He looked amiably around at all the pictures of actors and booster pa rades and confetti floats and testimonial wall mottoes beautifully engraved and autographed by William Hale Thomp son to his friend Sport Herrmann. Every inch of the wall was covered by photograph or testimonial. But there was no decoration on the ceiling. That was spared for moments of undis- tracted contemplation. In one of these, Mr. Herrmann now indulged. "Well, boys," he said, "what's the racket?" "Here's the stunt, Sport," said the talking reporter. "We want you to take a copy of Schlesinger's history, see. Take it and burn it up." "Where?" "Here. Right now." The gentle man's eyes were a-beam. "This bon fire stunt is the berries, Sport, but it'll take weeks before they pull it. And by then somebody'll put the dampers on it. Why, they've got a petition for an injunction to stop you from burning the books in court already. Lets have the stunt right away." Sport looked at them, and shook his leonine head. "Naw, naw," he said. "Now, I'm not pretending to be an au thority on history. When they kick out these books, if they're bad, we'll burn 'em. But nothing personal." "It's a swell stunt," said the news paperman, gloomily. "Would have made front page of every paper in the country." "Oh, all right," said Sport kindly. "Go ahead and say I burned it." But no! The gentlemen of the press could never so such a thing. "Well, where am I going to get this book?" said Sport. At once the silent Ike pulled a nice, fresh history book from under his coat. He handed it at once to Mr. Herr mann. With the words, "Of course, you might just burn the parts you think should be excised." "Oh." Mr. Herrmann looked at him strangely, and mouthed his black cigar. "Oh, all right, go ahead, I'll give you a break." "That's the stuff, Sport. See, you read about this injunction, and right away you rush out and buy a copy of the book and burn it, just to beat them to it. Burn it in your own fireplace!" "There isn't any fireplace," said Sport. "Hm. Too bad. Let's see." In an instant, the resourceful newspaperman had emptied the wire-basket of its con tents. He set it upon the desk. "There y'are, Sport. Let 'er flicker!" Herr Herrmann placed the book in the waste-basket. He sighed dubiously. He struck a match, lit a fresh cigar, and then touched the match to one of the leaves of Schlesinger's history. "There y'are boys!" he said. "Thanks," said the silent Ike, his eyes glowing, his mind filled with phrases about the indignant citizen who sat alone before his fireplace, reading a history book, and came upon a trai torous phrase. Whereupon he wrath- fully flung the volume into the flames! "Thanks," said the silent Ike, his mind filled with visions of medieval cere mony, parades of dignitaries in long black robes, high pyres of condemned illuminated manuscripts, long mum bled Latin excoriations, curses of God, curses of clergy, curses of man on these unholy works! "Thanks," he said. "Makes a swell story." "Sure," said Sport, with a gesture of generous dismissal. "Any time I can help one of the boys!" And he flicked the ashes of his cigar over the smouldering pages in the wastebasket. — meyer levin. IJThe man who is a damned fool when tipsy may be merely drinking in bad company. He should drink with different companions. The man who is never a fool when in liquor is hope less. Nothing can help him but a rigid sobriety. In that condition people may excuse him. 24 TWQCI4ICAG0AN Grace George, who proves, at the Adelphi, that the yen is mightier than the sword. She diverts Hannibal from his marching schedule at the very time that Rome lies wide open to his soldiery. This ^roof makes up the business of "The Road to Rome.1* Customers are cheerfully convinced. THE CHICAGOAN 25 Anecdote For Homecomers UNDER ordinary circumstances, we might have sympathized pro foundly with the unfortunate gentle man from the sagebrush and cactus country, but we were completing the last onslaught of our campaign against the historic spots of Europe and had fared none too well with regard to hostelries. The incident occurred in a small English hamlet. We had been shown to our rooms, each containing a large but questionably stable bed, a chair which would have brought a fabulous sum in an antique shop, and a worm-eaten dresser upon which stood a huge porcelain bowl and its cohort in traveler-punishment, a pitcher of cold water. At the sight of this array, our friend broke down and wept copiously. "Carry on," we beseeched. "In a few more days we will have real hot water." ** Tisn't that," he bemoaned, "but this outfit makes me homesick." — EL CHIQUITO. Child's Dept Janie's got a fraulein, Sue's a Miss Ma'm'selle, Helen has a nurse, but I live in a hotel. Mother moved there special so's not to be afraid Leaving me at home with just a cook or maid: Here a kid's protected, never is alone, There's a million servants and, of course, the 'phone. Chambermaids can gossip; bellboys like to kid— (Did I razz the fat one! Gee, I'll say I did!) Barbers tell good stories — but when the porter's drunk, Then we have a circus, hid behind a trunk. Waiters tell me jokes along with every course: Why Marie got spanked and about the Jones divorce. Janie's got a fraulein. I don't need one — hell! — Guess I learn more'n she knows — in my big hotel. — MASTER PAUL. 'The JTAGE Current— and Why Broadway — at the Selwyn. Just the best in town, that's all. Lulu Belle — at the Illinois. Miss Lenore Ulric in the Chevalier Belasco's burnt-cork Carmen. Filthy and funny. Will be here till the Easter lilies bloom. The Road to Rome — at the Adelphi. Miss Grace George in Robert Sher wood's salty comedy about Hanni bal and the Roman mamma who cheerfully suffered "worse than death" to save the home town. The Doctor's Dilemma — at the Stude- baker. The Theatre Guild com pany's final week in Shaw's period play. Heartbrea\ House — at the Studebaker, opening November 15. Mrs. Insull's troupe, offering Chicago another double-portion of Shaw. Saturdays Children — at the Princess. Maxwell Anderson's tender comedy, glowingly done by Miss Ruth Gor' don, Humphrey Bogart and the New York cast. Don't miss it. Chicago — at the Harris. Miss Fran- cine Larrimore's final week in the comic interlewd about a local Annie Oakley who, in a moment of annoy ance, bumps off the boy friend. Hoosiers Abroad — at the Blackstone. Elliott Nugent and a jolly assortment of mimes in the popular Tarkington- Wilson comedy, proving that, even in Europe, Indiana is a great place to be from. Tommy — at the Cort. "Good, clean fun" concerning two small-town fel lows and a girl, with several other characters thrown in. (And some of them might be thrown out — with no "How's things, Al?" "'Bout the same. Minnie's got the croup." serious loss to Art.) The public just loves it! Rain — at the Minturn-Central. That deathless drama, admirably acted by Miss Georgie Lee Hall and others. The Desert Song— at the Great North' ern. A raffish operetta about the Riffs. Not to mention the French. Foreign Legion. (And if they aren't the roughest boys that ever shook a handkerchief at a friend!) Why shouldn't it stay all winter? The Ramblers— at the Garrick. Clark & McCullough in a loud and funny cantata which would be a perfect burlesque show if only the lady wrestlers wore cotton tights. Hit the Dec\—at the Woods, opening November 7. Vincent Youman's tuneful triumph. All about Miss Queenie Smith and some sailors, in' eluding the most widely played, sung and whistled score since Ho, "Ho. Tianettel (Also Mr. Youmans'.) Queen High— at the Four Cohans. Frank Mclntyre, Charles Ruggles and Gertrude Vanderbilt in a song' and-dance farce that once was A Pair of Sixes. And very nice, too. The Countess Maritza — at the Olym' pic, opening November 6. Another gaudy Shubert serenade. This time they modestly announce it as "the Outstanding Musical Hit of All Time." And fifty million French' men can't be wrong! — G. M. 26 THE CHICAGOAN A I Belasco j '"THE Unique Band Conductor ("He's the Last Word") of Lubliner & Trinz Harding and Senate Theatres st A De Luxe Entertainer in De Luxe Theatres V. r TWEO4ICAG0AN 27 Justice Probably Fictitious THE inscription, lettered neatly on the office door, read: John Doe Blank Statistician The individual in the corridor fur tively scanned the information, then burst into the room. "Are you Mr. Blank?" he asked the man seated at the desk. The man replied in the affirmative. "I've just read your figures on the number of automobiles in Chicago, and your statement as to how far they would reach if placed end to end." "Yes?" responded Mr. Blank in his official manner. "Yes," repeated the individual from the corridor. "And when you had them all strung out to measure the dis tance, I was the fellow driving the car at the end of the line. Three hours it took you — and on Milwaukee ave nue. Here's something with my com pliments." Mr. Blank, statistician, busied him self with calculations pertaining to the combined candle power in the stars which appeared from nowhere. — DAVID E. EVANS. Pig-Latin A Free Translation THREE proudly proportioned pigs (the scene is a pen at the Yards) were discussing their respective des tinies. "Huh," grunted the first. "After I'm bacon people will remark upon my deliciousness and eat me with great relish. For I'm a prize winner from Lake County!" "While I," oinked the second, "have been destined since birth to make the finest sausages that Mickelberry ever concocted." "But I," squealed the third, "will bring more delight than either of you. My skin is going into the football which will be used in the Chicago- Michigan game!" — T. S. F. Misanthrope Oh, I'm a railroad engineer. My favorite run is Sunday: I switch my train across paved roads, Stall autos until Monday. — L. B. The CINEMA Chicago in Pictures GEORGE SIDNEY and Charles Murray (as police and fire chief respectively in The Life of Riley) cringe watchfully in the midnight gloom of a general merchandise em porium suspected of burglarious tenancy. Incandescent bulbs rolling out of an overturned basket yield staccato reports as they strike the floor. At the first report Murray exclaims, "He's got a gun." At the second Sid ney adds, "He's got two guns." At the barrage that follows Murray de cides, "He's from Chicago. He's got a machine gun." The gag's a belly- laugh (if the argot of the lot be per mitted) in Chicago — a howling wow elsewhere. But the point is — This town, at this time, is the best motion picture subject in this rapidly shrinking world. Also, it is strictly a motion picture subject, since stage and page have demonstrated inability to get down to it without an apologetic dis tortion fatal to results. Further, it is exactly the type of subject that the best brains and talent in Hollywood com pete for. Still further, a number of motion pictures dealing with various aspects of the subject are now in course of manufacture, at least one excellent work is completed, and Chicagoans may see themselves as Hollywood (an other good town) sees them — by going to Aurora, Elgin, New York, Paris or any other city not safeguarded by the Chicago Board of Censorship. The excellent work mentioned as completed is called Underworld and a late dispatch from the City Hall states that, after two or three months of deliberation and delirium, those erudite Civil Service employees who decide what it is good for Chicagoans to see Adolphe Menjou and the indis' pensable George give Hollywood les' sons in "A Gentleman of Paris." have okayed a more or less complete print of the picture for local exhibition. No doubt the thing will have been ren dered anachronistic by delay (though certainly not so much so as Miss Watkins' Chicago) and no doubt it will be cut and captioned down to our intellectual capacity, but what could make it more thoroughly Chicagoan than that? See it. Menjou Detours STILL speaking of censors, perhaps not a thing to speak of twice in a fortnight but certainly a subject diffi cult to leave, the boys and girls who professionally supervise our eyefare on an eight- to ten-hour day bread-and- butter basis didn't get the bland Men jou in A Gentleman of Paris. This new vehicle of his, in no sense a sequel to his (and Chaplin's) A Woman of Paris, is the picture to see tonight if it is within scouting distance of your fireside. Perhaps, too, you'd better see it tonight, for there is always the chance that somebody may explain it to a member of the censor body, in which case it would get the scissors— if not the axe. (Not a chance, of course, of a censor reading The Chicagoan — understanding^.) Mr. Menjou, now tied with John Barrymore and Florence Vidor for entertainment championship of the screen, confounds the bluenoses (pro fessional and volunteer) by the simple expedient of detouring around his points. They are never quite sure of what he's doing and, since he does everything so nicely, they doze through the carefully unaccented passages of his symphonies and okay them without question. What we need is more Menjous or duller censors — the latter, of course being unobtainable — to make the fabulous seating capacity of our cinemas worth while. Better see A Gentleman of Paris, for Menjou makes but four pictures a year. Availabilities THE not very rich assortment of pictures available hereabouts at press time includes: A Gentleman of Paris — Menjou in the smartest picture in town. Hardboiled Haggerty — Milton Sills in a wartime comedydrama which brings out Molly O'Day (Oui! Ouil) and fizzles at the finish. The Life of Riley — Charles Murray 28 T14EC14ICAG0AN "Pardon — I'm a stranger here — but does this bus go as far as Marshall Field's store?" and George Sidney in small-town slap stick funny at times. Spring Fever — William Haines, again a good-bad boy who gets by, in a surprisingly amusing golf story. (They'll be dramatizing chess — .) ~H.evada — Zane Grey's rustlers, cow boys, sheriffs and mountains with plenty of shootin' for them as likes it. Slightly Used — Conrad Nagel and May McAvoy in an extremely enter taining (for the 1001th) version of the fictitious - husband - who -comes - to-life tale. What Price Glory — Best of all the war pictures and better the second time over than the first. — W. R. WEAVER. Books Their Authors Parade IT is now the open season for visiting authors. You may see them al most any day in the bookshops or along Michigan Avenue and Wabash on their way between bookshops. The way to recognize a visiting au thor is not by his face. Visiting authors seldom look like their pictures. But by his fountain pen. Look over his shoulder and see what book he is autographing. The procession began two weeks or so ago with Richard Halliburton and Louis Bromfield. Mr. Halliburton was a "spring" author this year. You may remember our mentioning his "Glorious Adventure" (Bobbs Mer rill) , the story of his own wanderings about the Mediterranean on the trail of Homer's much wandering Odys seus. And Mr. Bromfield was an "early autumn" author. His "Good Woman" we reviewed in August. Elinor Wylie, whose latest novel, "The Orphan Angel" (Knopf), dates from a year ago, has also been in town lecturing. Her hosts were the editors of the Forge, a University of Chicago publication that runs in friendly rivalry with our older all poe try or almost all Poetry magazine. But the authors of the immediate moment are also beginning to arrive. I have just been seeing H. M. Tom- linson, author of "London River" and other books that have to do with sea going and with shipping. His new work, "Gallion's Reach" (Harper), is his first novel. The title is the name of a sailors' public house not far from London River, but the story is for the most part concerned with jungle adventures after shipwreck. Critics are saying that in "Gallion's Reach" Mr. Tomlinson takes up the mantle of Joseph Conrad. Henrik Van Loon has arrived too. He was preceded by a long telegram inquiring whether as the author of "America" (Boni and Liveright), a history which might perhaps be inter preted as pro-British, his life and limbs were really in danger from bon fires in our town. Geoffrey Dennis is expected any day now. Mr. Dennis' new novel, "Declaration of Love" (Knopf), is a short one, but it contains what is per haps the longest love letter on record, and the least flattering one that was ever written with success. Last year there were several works of non-fiction whose sales climbed up among the novels. Among these were Lewis Browne's "This Believing World" and Will Durant's "Story of Philosophy." It would have been easy to predict that neither Mr. Browne nor Mr. Durant would let the new season go by without a new book, but it would have been ex tremely hard to predict in either case just what the new book was likely to be. But where any title would have been a surprise, Mr. Durant's "Transition" (Simon & Schuster), a philosophical biography, is perhaps less a surprise than Mr. Browne's, which is "That Man Heine" (Mac- millan) . Nonetheless, although Heine was a mere lyric poet, you do not have to read far to realize that an expert on comparative religion is not wasted in writing his biography. Your average twentieth century per' son is born a Presbyterian and stops going to church merely because his Saturday night activities no longer terminate in time. But to Heine, in the early nineteenth, religious experi ence was not so much a toboggan as a see-saw. He was born a Jew, was educated a Franciscan, became a mem' ber of an anti-Semitic patriotic soci' ety, then a member of the Zionist movement of the time, was baptized for the sake of taking his law degree, and died, in his own words, "a poor sick Jew." Somewhere in between he was neither Jew nor Christian, but a subscriber to a brand new Paris re ligion, Saint Simonism. — SUSAN WILBUR. Art Becomes a Traffic Factor THE results according to the ac cepted standards of our com' mercial age, art should be taken in conjunction with a generous helping of Fleischmann's yeast. Two cakes with every exhibition, if you please — and watch the result! After the sec ond cake, you will be able to distuv guish the subtle differences between the Cenacolo, Cezanne, and the Bird in Space. In New York, for instance, Archi' penco is perused along with the latest ad for ladies' underwear, and Bourdelle is interpreted in his relation to Saks' Fifth Avenue shoes. There is, so they say, a new spirit abroad. Distinctly new! Which brings us down to the Illinois Academy of Fine Arts and the world's first aesthetic traffic problem. The Illinois Academy of Fine Arts, TWECWICAGOAN under the. able leadership of its far- viaoned executives, has brought the fin* state-sponsored exhibition of Illi nois art into being. The academy has made Illinois discover her own wealth in genius. After a century the people "downstate'" have had their innate love for art satisfied; and the reaction was such that the mayor of Sterling had to dose the transcontinental traffic over the Iincoln Highway in order to insure die safety of crowds which collected around the exhibition building. The first such traffic congestion on record. The academy is now finishing its sea son •with an exhibition at the Romany Club, 36 Bellevue place, Chicago. As yet the city reports no vehicle tieup. At the Romany Club may be seen, among others of great merit, painting by Walter Ufer, who has the ability to make paint express thought with boldness and precision; Pauline Palmer, whose painting of a child demonstrates anew a Da Vincian facility of making the shadows "recede like music into the distance'"; Otto Hake, with a painting which brings out a highly satisfying transition between the masses of light and shadow; Minnie Harms Necbe, with a fresh viewpoint and an original manner of stating it; Arthur Rider, with a vibrant picture of Sunny Spain; and Topping, whose landscapes reveal a genuine and deep understanding of nature. On, account of the transportation difficulties encountered in bringing this exhibition to all the important cities of the state, sculpture is not as well rep resented as painting. There is a bronze, The Sermon on the Mount, by Gus tavo Arcila; several small items of great interest, and two satisfying portrait heads by Hansen and C. Lynn Coy. OSKAR J. W. HANSEN. Music We» Worth Earing THE Amy Neill String quartet, af ter almost a year of careful re hearsing, made its official debut at Kim ball Hall, Wednesday evening, October 1 9th. Composed of four ladies, to wit, Amy Neill, Stella Roberts, Charlotte Polak and Lois Bichl, all experienced in the especial art of ensemble playing, this group both proposes and promises to become a distinct addition to the list of Chicago's musical organizations. In its conception, particularly, of a difficult and complicated piece of music such as Hugo Wolf's Italian Serenade it indicated plainly that its members had made an honest effort to begin the acquisition of a musical public, not as four haphazard soloists with a vague desire to do ensemble work, but rather as a quartet already endowed with a quite remarkable unanimity of musical fellow-feeling and a potent supply of technical proficiency. Their choice of program, although not particularly pleasing to this sour reviewer, was probably just the thing for a debut recital. Mozart's C Major Quartet, a short piece of Glazounow, the aforementioned Wolf, and the E Flat Major Quartet of Dvorak. The Wolf Serenade is a gay, shimmering affair, a musical film of the passionate ly trembling, yet sardonic gentleman beneath the window of his favorite girl friend. The satisfied audience asked for and got a repetition of the work. And following it the conventional and anemic harmonies of Dvorak sounded sorrier than usual. * We have it on exceptional authority that the first Symphony concert turned out to be less of an occasion than ex pected; that, although Stock hauled out the "Enigma" variations and solved them successfully, and although he gave a fairly exciting reading of Tschaikowsky's Fifth, there was no mention of Mr. Petrillo, of Paul Ash or of the unqualified success of the Daily T^ews as reorganization man agers. The second program should have been subtitled: Through Sweden and Hungary with Rod and Gun. It con sisted principally of Alfven's Third Symphony and the familiarly pleasant Suite for Orchestra of Ernst von Dohnanyi. The symphony is a study in retrogression. At the end of a love- 29 ly second movement we had about de> cided that Alfven, not Grieg, was the true musical prophet of the North. At the opening of the scherzo we began to waver, and upon the announcement of its banal trio subject by clarinets and horn we definitely went over to the ex' treme Right The last movement con' cerned with the difficulties of a knight errant on the way back to his home town, was evidently struck off just af ' ter the composer's return from Long- champs. The Dohnanyi, which Stock uses regularly every season, holds up re markably well. We suggest that Doc Moore of the WGN, who is auto' matically down on all variations, make a careful study of the first movement of this Suite and the fourth movement of the Brahms Fourth. The solos fur' nished by Gordon, Wallenstein, et al. for the Romanza were given a large hand. Stock closed his program with CaS' ella's Rhapsody "Italia," a grotesque monstrosity that will haunt its remark' able progenitor for the rest of his days. Written eighteen years ago it no more represents the Casella of today than Tosti's "Goodbye." — ROBERT POLLAK. Newsprint The Sports Subsidy IT requires knowing personages, such as C. C. Pyle or Tex. Rickard, to take spectacular advantage of a weak point in the armor of an otherwise effi' cient business institution, known as thJR newspaper, but the inner counsels fjf the press have worried for years over millions of dollars in free publicity 30 TI4ECUICAGOAN |pag|^ OE*<~ "*SSO Wherever — fancy dictates the win ter is to be spent — on the Continent, in Cali fornia, Florida or in town — you will find here a correctness and beauty 01 style that will pass the eye of the most crit ical. Coats Gowns Suits Furs F* Arendt Importer 171 No. Michigan Ave. Chicago OE*«_ { _»»aso "Do you zvait on the hams; they feel compelled to lavish upon pro fessional sport. Of the two, Rickard is a master. Pyle takes profit from an attraction already built up by newspaper pub licity. Rickard on the other hand de liberately makes the newspapers pub licize his enterprises, and cashes in for tremendous amounts. The recent Dempsey-Tunney fight gave the business manager of every newspaper in Chicago a headache. Every newspaper in Chicago knew that, without heavy and continuous newspaper publicity, Rickard couldn't sell 150,000 seats to his show with a $10 top. They knew that Rickard had no intention of buying their advertis ing space. And they also knew that he was going to walk out of town with a million-dollar profit. Further than interesting a few civic leaders and announcing his fight to be "a great thing for Chicago," Tex didn't worry a bit. And he didn't have to. The whole enterprise went through beautifully. Newspapers that wouldn't give a big advertiser a paragraph on page 19 to help him sell their sub scribers a $6 hat, talked these same subscribers into laying out $40 to get into Rickard's show. The gate ap proached $3,000,000. The newspapers cashed in on a few extra editions. And that was that. Professional baseball has thrived for years on what the newspapers do for it. The Cubs this year used an inch ad in the newspapers while at home and played to 1,200,000 people. Wrig- ley, who is more generous than most sport magnates, cut the papers in a little cake by hiring good space on "lady's day." His advertising was so effective that he had to turn somer saults toward the end of the season to keep his lady guests from crowding out the cash customers. The Trib is the only local paper which made an effort to do anything about it. A few years ago it wasted a lot of black ink on the sport page and its editorial columns saying the publicity given the professionals was all wrong and that in the future The Trib, for one, would devote most of its sport page space to the encourage ment of amateurs. The circulation manager didn't wait for the elevator, but galloped upstairs. A few days after the drastic policy had been adopt ed it was abandoned. So, the newspapers worry, but solve no problem. When the gamblers got the idea this summer of using whippet dogs instead of roulette wheels, they broke heavily into all the papers. It looked remotely like sport; free space was there for the asking. Along in September, when the man in the street was interested in Fall overcoats, but had forgotten whether the White Sox had dropped to sixth or seventh place, the Hub, Carson's, Field's and other overcoat vendors were paying for space. Comiskey accepted his free column and box score without bothering to write a letter of thanks. Don't try to think up the answer. Advertising managers and publishers on every newspaper in America have thought it over time and again — and have given it up. If you can solve the thing, walk into any newspaper in town, select your own office, and pre pare for a life of leisure. There is one recorded solution. Paul Block, editor of the Hewar\ (N. J.) Star-Eagle, worried over the publicity his sport page lavished on the Eastern League baseball team in Newark. He bought the team. —EZRA. TI4E CHICAGOAN 31 The Chicagoenne Wr?tes a Fashion Letter Chicago, Nov. 3. Dear Marion: Next week end I am spending in the country — out South. There will be golf, I suppose, and I hope tennis. Week after is the opera. Everybody in the world goes. It's all one hears! That is, it is all one hears when party plans or clothes are discussed, for nat urally dinners, dances and parties must all be planned depending on whether or not people are going to the opera, and, of course, clothes take on a pro portionate importance. For instance, instead of its regular Charity Ball, the Women's Auxiliary of St. Luke's had a Fashion Show at the Stevens. Most of the clothes shown were for opera. It was a marvelous show and, I should imagine, an enormously suc cessful affair, both financially and so cially. The huge grand ballroom of the Stevens was jammed with tables, well over a hundred of them, with long cloth draped runway raised quite high down the length of the room, this for the parade of the mannequins. The girls that paraded in this show know now why is a mannequin's sal ary; there were two shows, one during tea time from the usual 3 till 5; the other at the supper dance, from 7 on. The best looking street costume was a brown suslik fur coat, very straight very narrow, worn with a brown felt hat, beige-bronze stockings, and dark brown suede slippers. Even though the all one-tone costume is less smart this season than last, the contrast of textures, all of a brown so deep as to the almost tete de negre, made for great chic. A hairdressing house, Madame Louise, showed that new side chignon coiffure. From what I had heard and the pictures I had seen, I thought it was an extreme mode, but seeing it worn quite changes my mind. The effect of a soft knot of hair worn low and caught just at the juncture of ear and neck is exactly like that of the old pictures where one sees a little bunch of soft curls caught at one side. It's nice. I saw that Molyneux model Lucy Fahnestock bought at Rena Hart- mann's, the all velvet one with the new up in front and down in back skirt, joined to the long waist by a KEEPING UP WITH THE YOUNGER CROWD! A- / HEY play so well and fleetly, they dress so well, they live so — intelligently! From favorite sports-motor to best-liked cigarette, i{'s no small compliment to earn their custom — for keeping up with the younger crowd means keeping ahead of the rest! ATI M A The most skillful blend in cigarette history MUm W rolled velvet band. It's very simple, very subtle and sophisticated as some perfumes. This time red instead of black. The best looking coat, opera coat that is, was a red gold lame or bro cade, with a new plain neck, this one had only the plainest narrow scarf collar — but enormous broad sable cuffs. The cuffs wide enough to reach nearly to the shoulder. Josephine Monroe wore for Mil- gram's an absolutely spectacular eve ning ensemble, blush orange velvet and white and gold. She is blond and the orange, gold and white combination made her seem fairly luminous. Sonia, a Michigan Avenue Shop that specializes in costume jewelry, ac cessories, and that sort of thing, had Spend Sunday Evening in ORCHESTRA HALL 216 S. Michigan Avenue at the famous $UttuajJ £tf?ttttt9 (&lub Great Speakers: Harry E.Fosdick Wilfred T. Grenfell Stephen S. Wise Henry Van Dyke "Ralph Conner" Hugh Black CHOIR OF ioo -SOLOISTS ORGAN - SPECIALITIES - PIANO MAIN MEETING 8 P.M. ORGAN RECITAL 7:40 SONG SERVICE 7:00 No Charge for Admission 32 a most interesting crystal hair orna ment, a sort of glorification of the clasp little girls sometimes wear to keep their bob back out of their eyes. It was designed to be worn at the side above the ear and had a series of swinging pendants that were gorgeous and Oriental without being in the least theatric or extreme. Every really good firm in town was represented and it was lovely, colorful and interesting. I hope they have an other. Even sports clothes are more formal. Another of those curious reverses of Come to g $tt of &toeben For Your Next Luncheon, Afternoon Tea or Dinner and Be Served with Matchless Foods and Delicacies. Parties a Specialty ion Rush St. - Del. 4598 OPEN EVENINGS UNTIL 9 O'CLOCK Polo ... a magazine designed to supply the Game and those inter' ested with a publication of appropriate authority, readability and interest. Obtainable by subscription only. One year, $5.00; Two years, $8.00; Three years, $10.00. Quigley Publishing Company 407 South Dearborn St. Chicago, 111. Besides Polo, the magazine is devoted to Amateur Crosscountry Racing. Steeple' chases and Point-to-Point Races, and dev otees of these sports will find it invaluable. fashion. You remember how, begin ning many seasons ago, sport clothes invaded the entire realm of fashion be coming gradually more and more im portant until they set the pattern for the most formal attire, and we had the ubiquitous two-piece dress for morning, noon and night, and, even now, we have elaborate metallic middies for af ternoon and sweaters, sweaters, sweat ers. The crest of the sports wave is, however, definitely past. Very few evening dresses last season were two- piece. This year one may say none is. And the latest and newest sports things show an elaboration of neck line, a slight decoration in the cuff, but tons whose function is entirely deco rative, soft rolling collars and soft, rather formal fabrics. Two tweed costumes in a State street window show exactly what I mean. They both have tweed skirts, one has a cardigan jacket knit to re semble the tweed pattern of the skirt. The under jumper is striped with dark brown and the same pattern as the cardigan. It is very, very smart. The other suit had an even more formal jacket, also with a pattern knit to resemble the tweed of the skirt, and a jumper sweater that should be more accurately termed a blouse. With these two suits were shown small felt hats and plain silk and wool hose of rather heavy weave; brown suede shoes in one case, and brown suede and matching reptile in the other. Brown suede, by the way, is awfully, awfully smart for shoes, for bags, for hat trimming, for belts. It is a ques tion in my mind whether it isn't going to be even more chic than black suede and gold. Bronse shades, whether it is a dress or a wrap, and whether the material is lace, tulle, one of the georgettes or vel vet, are the smartest possible colors for evening. Their men's luggage and their hand bags seem to me particularly nice. There was a man's bag of brown, I forget whether he said walrus or moosehide, but it was tailored and masculine looking and very sturdy and large enough to hold a good-sised wardrobe. It occurred to me that it would be the very thing for Bud for Christmas. Wouldn't you just love to see me doing my Christmas shopping early? Thinely, — HELOISE. TME CHICAGOAN Where Fine Cigars Are Smoked Tom Palmer Predominates Wengler & Mandell, Inc. Chicago - Tampa For your Consideration WITH unique artistry and rare originality Almco has prepared a display including a lovely collection of exquisite lamps, authen tic antiques and objets d'art from the far corners of the world as well as the newer things in home decoration. «I This is an achievement which marks many years of Almco tradition and leadership, q Offered for the consideration of those who appreciate the unusual. o\lmco Galleries- NEW YORK. One Park Avenue PARIS 19 Rue Saulnier CHICAGO M3 S.Wabash Ave. T£^*%m%4 W 0^^T»/,^v ~J ^-~yr^ '' yyt^W-^ri i^;;:: v ^ ^. -..<• , v,v. vlX, ^-.v^'^^v^J "I got the idea from Florenz Ziegfeld" Said Qladys Qlad to Flo Kennedy behind the scenes at The Ziegfeld Theatre between acts of The Follies. Florenz Ziegfeld, famous theatrical producer, writes: "As the producer of 'The Ziegfeld Follies' 1 know full well how important it is for my stars to have clear voices at all times. Several years ago, when I first began to smoke Lucky Strikes, I noticed that my voice remained unirri- tated after a most strenuous time directing rehearsals. I passed this information on to my stars and now we are all agreed: Lucky Strike is a delightful smoke and most assuredly protects the voice, eliminating any coughing, which often interrupts a perfect performance. 6* It's toasted No Throat Irritation-No Cough. ^^J>..^^(^'vai x *.,(* x*.„t./_*-jf» x „u s>;w x i((L./ - v*-x . ..,„ / ->g Xv„ :v^£^^^