For FoH-nicyrr Ending January 14, 1928 Price 15 Cents OFFICIAL PIANO METROPOLITAN OPERA CO. O^ -^30 FROM Von Bulow, the pianistic giant of a former gene* ration, to such modern masters as Godowsky, Munz, Orloff, and Rosenthal, its orchestral tone has always been a source of inspiration. Beauty of form and finish — a marvelous singing tone — as tounding durability— these are qualities distinctively Knabe. This is the piano that pays a lifetime of dividends in pleasure and delight. It is the wisest investment for those who buy for permanence. Prices from $875 Upward. A moderate deposit will secure immediate delivery oi JL CjL JLJLjLD any piano or Ampico in our Warcrooms. The balance may be divided into small monthly payments extending over a period of two years. Your present piano will be accepted in exchange. l^natje Ampico H>tubtos; STEGER & SONS Sti-ger Building -Northwest Corner Wabash and Jackson Ir!,"1" Harrison !<>~>h The Chicagoan — Martin T. Quigley, Publisher and Editor; puh'* fortnightly I>y Tlir Chicagoan I'tddisluug C<>.. -1(17 South Dearborn St., Chicago. 111. New York Office: 565 Fifth Ave. Los Angeles Office joi? HollywiMiil J 1 1 v « f Subscription $.?.()() annually, single copies 15c. Vol. IV, Xo. S— December 31, 1027. Entered a- second-cla-s matter at the Post Office at Chicago, III , under ihe art of March i, 1X7°. - 0 TUECUICAGOAN MY WORD . . . What a Value! Quite extraordinary! Imagine it . . . a Solid Mahogany Coxwell Chair, elab orately and most artistically covered with frieze and mohair combinations. A comfortable chair that is well adapted to the modern living room . . . spe cially priced as a January feature at NINETY-EIGHT DOLLARS! "The Home Should Come First" Revell'S at WABASH and ADAMS TWtCWICAGOAN Intimate Chicago Views Mr. Swift Enjoys a Premium Ham TUECUICAGOAN 3 THE STAGE Mus?ca1 THE DESERT SONG— Great Northern, 21 West Quincy. Central 8240. Sweet and stirring lyrics conjured up by Sig- mund Romberg over the escapades of the Foreign Legion in Africa. 100 voices, good ones. Evenings 8:15. Mat. Wed. and Sat. 2:15. New Year's Mat. Jan. 2. HIT THE DECK— Woods, 54 West Ran dolph. State 8567. Trixie Friganza and Queenie Smith in a rollicking and ^salty piece featuring jocose sailors and "Hah leluja." Big evening. Performances 8:30; Wed. and Sat. Mat. 2.30. COUHTESS MARITZ A — Olympic, 74 West Randolph. Central 8240. Gypsy life interpreted and made tuneful by Walter Woolf and the Shuberts. Gipsy girls impersonated and made fetching by Odette Myrtil, Gladys Baxter and 80 nymphs. Curtain 8:30. Wed. and Sat. 2:30. A NIGHT IN SPAIN— Four Cohans, 119 North Clark. Central 8240. A Winter Garden revue featuring Marion Harris, Phil Baker and Ted Healey. The Ger trude Hoffman Girls present a Spanish middle-dance comprehensible in any lan guage. One wonders why Columbus left Spain anyway. Curtain time 8:20. Mat. Wed. and Sat. 2:20. CRISS CROSS — Erlanger, 127 North Clark. State 2461. Fred Stone and Dorothy Stone in a musical comedy new to this town and rumored as excellent. To be reviewed. Non-Musfcal BROADWAY— Selwyn, 180 North Dear born. Central 3404. A shrewd drama of night club life movingly and convinc ingly set down. Excellent. Evenings 8:15. Saturday and Thurs. Mat. 2:15. THE CONSTANT WIFE— Harris, 170 North Dearborn. Central 1880. Ethel Barrymore in the play by W. Somerset Maugham. To be reviewed. Curtain 8:20. Mat. Wed. and Sat. 2:20. TWO GIRLS WANTED — Cort, 132 North Dearborn. Central 0019. A comedy to be viewed and reported in a later issue. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR— Illinois, 65 East Jackson. Mrs. Fiske, Otis Skinner, and Henrietta Crosman in a short run of the Shakespeare comedy. The names guarantee the piece. Mat. Wed. and Sat. MR. PIM PASSES BY— Studebaker, 418 South Michigan. Harrison 2792. A. A. Milne's gay comedy scheduled, alas, for but a short run before the Studebaker closes to further theatre guild effort. Charles Collins' obituary and remarks on page 19. Evenings 8:30; Wed. and Sat. 2:30. MURRAY HILL — Princess, 319 South Clark. Central 8240. Genevieve Tobin in a wistful and sprightly thesis having to do with the awakening love of a maiden lady. Very well done. Curtain 8:30. Wed. and Sat. 2:30. THE GOOD BAD WOMAN— Minturn Central, 64 East Van Buren. Harrison 5800. Ruth Thomas enacts the progress of the above paradox into a play. To be reviewed later. SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER— Good man Memorial, Lakefront at Monroe. Central 7085. Oliver Goldsmith revived in a merry piece reviewed in this issue on page 20. Every night but Sunday, Mat. Fri. THE SQUALL— Adelphi, 11 North Clark. Randolph 4466. Described as a cyclonic drama of the sexes, fresh from a year's run in New York, and featuring Blanche Yurka, this piece will be assayed in a later issue. MINTURN PLAYERS— Chateau, Broad way and Grace. Lakeview 7170. Stock performances of last year's hits for a week each or thereabouts. Worthwhile. Telephone for information beforehand. BEHOLD THIS DREAMER— Blackstone, 60 East Seventh. Harrison 6609. Glenn Hunter leads in the Oursler play. Eve nings 8:25. Mat. Sat. and Wed. 2:30. To be scrupulously reviewed. THE CINEMA UNITED ARTISTS— Randolph at Dear born — The Dove, Norma Talmadge's screening of the stageplay, under superb auspices. Continuous, without "acts," and at an admission guaranteeing polite company. GARRICK— 64 W. Randolph— The Jazz Singer* daily at 2:30 and 8:30. Go. McVICKERS— 25 W. Madison— The Gor illa, one of those spook things to see from the first only, continuous with good music and no stage didoes. ROOSEVELT— 110 N. State— Love, ex pertly illustrated by the Garbo-Gilbert duo, continuous with good music and no interruptions. MONROE — Monroe at Dearborn — Sil\ Legs, disported by Madge Bellamy, Jan. 2-8. Come to My House, invitation by Olive Borden, Jan. 9-15. With newsreels that talk. PLAYHOUSE— 410 S. Michigan— Cyrano de Bergerac, a French production with some local history, Jan. 2-8. Power, which the dailies will talk about, Jan. 9-15. Frills, always, including the inevit' able cigarettes. CHICAGO — State at Lake — The Love Mart, no place at all for Billie Dove, Jan. 2-8. London After Midnight, more of the Limehouse influence, Jan. 9-15. Plus acts and things, continuous. ORIENTAL— 74 W. Randolph— A Texas Steer, none other than Will Rogers, Jan. 2-8. Her Secret Hour, one of those not quite true confessions, Jan. 9-15. With Paul Ash and supporting jazzicians. UPTOWN — Broadway at Lawrence — Get Tour Man,* Jan. 2-8. Underworld,* Jan. 9-15. Plus stage things. TIVOLI— 6327 Cottage Grove— Ditto Up town. AVALON— Stony Island at 79th— The City Gone Wild* Jan. 2-8. Seventh Heaven* Jan. 9-15. With Vitaphone. CAPITOL— 79th at Halsted— Ben Hur, a great picture by any standard, Jan. 2-8. With Vitaphone in addition. PICCADILLY— Hyde Park at Blackstone— She's a Shei\,*Jan. 2-4. Man, Woman, Sin* Jan. 5-7. With stage waits. SENATE — Madison at Kedzie — The Gay Defender* Jan. 2-8. Get Your Man,* Jan. 9-15. With stage items. HARDING — 2734 Milwaukee — Man, Woman, Sin* Jan. 2-8. Get Your Man.* Jan. 9-15. Plus stageisms. *Reviewed on page 21. ¦^KPRSMpj «**.«s&,*®Bteto.. WSL., ... ._ ?^' .">¦. ' * 4 TUECUICAGOAN TABLES BLACKSTOHE HOTEL — 656 South Michigan. A most excellent hotel con sistently maintaining a high point in food, service, appointments, and patrons. Irving Margraff's stringed quintet. PALMER HOUSE — State at Monroe. Gracious in the long tradition of Chicago innkeeping. The Palmer House Sym phony (20 pieces) an Empire Room at traction. STEVENS— 730 South Michigan. A new and immense hostelry yet nicely fitted to individual service. Dinner (a memor able one) for $3, consumed while Sig. Gallechio conducts the house orchestra. CONGRESS — Congress at Michigan. A Chicago show place with the spectacular peacock alley, Johnny Hamp's smooth band', the gleaming Balloon room, and the glitter of an avenue parade. PETRUSHKA CLUB— 403 South Wabash. A very new and very smart night place, Russian in food and setting. Dining and dancing nightly carried on in excel lent company. Distinctive floor show. CLUB MIRADOR— 22 East Adams. A gay place even though Chicago night life is somewhat in the doldrums. Band and floorshow. Food and enthusiasm. Town bravos come here. BAL TABARIN— Hotel Sherman. A con ventional refuge against insomnia, and a merry one. Dining, dancing, floor show, and so on. ST. HUBERT'S OLD ENGLISH GRILL — 615 Federal street. A small restaurant on an obscure loop street featuring Eng lish foods capable of subverting the loy alty of the City Hall. LAKE SHORE DRIVE HOTEL — The richest spot on the Gold Coast, suave, and competent, polished and secure. A high point in Chicago civilization. THE DRAKE — Michigan Avenue at Lake- shore Drive. Largest of the class hostel- ries, a celebrated and deserving stopping place for worthwhile people. L'AIGLON— 22 East Ontario. An ex tremely competent French restaurant now in new and resplendent quarters. Dining and dancing until 1 a. m. Private din ing rooms. One of the best. MARINE DINING ROOM — Edgewater Beach Hotel. Adequate and highly re spectable. Dinner and dance. Nice people. SUNSET— 35th and Calumet. A black and tan sometimes set upon by federal snoopers and sometimes not. Well worth a call (in person or by 'phone) to find out. A most waggish club. MIDHIGHT FROLICS— Wabash at 22nd. A merry tavern in a raucous deestrict where guests make whoopee until very, very late. Floor show and victuals. Lively people. -gflk THE CHICAGOAN PRESENTS Aware, by Ed Morgan Cover Peace Assurance, by Sheila Cum- mings Page 1 Intimate Chicago View, by Burton Browne 2 Places to Go — Things to Do 3 Cultural Baedeker 4 Topics of the Town, by Martin J. Quigley 5 The Symphony, by Hermina A. Selz. . 6 Do You Know Your Chicago? 7 If I May Say So, by Gene Markey. ... 8 Paris Editions, by Samuel Putnam 9 Are You a Club Girl? by Arthur Meeker, Jr 11 At the Box-Fight, by Charles Collins.. 13 Sing a Song of Night Clubs, by Isa bella Taves 15 Mary Garden, by Genevieve Forbes- Herrick 17 A Lyric Riff, by Carreno 18 The Stage — Mrs. Insull Quits 19 The Cinema— Culture Digs In 21 Contract Bridge 22 Books, by Susan Wilbur 23 Mencken's Critique, by H. K. Mid- dleton • 24 Music, by Robert Pollak 25 Journalistic Journeys, by Meyer Levin. . 27 Art 28 The Chicagoman 30 The Chicagoenne 31 A Sound Suggestion 32 THE APEX— 35th and Calumet. A hoity- toity black and tan somewhat favored by biege intellectuals. THE REX— State at 22nd. Resolutely nordic, and the 13 -minute egg of Chicago cabarets. Formidable customers. ANSONIA CLUB— Chicago Avenue at Michigan. Mike Fritzl's pleasure parlors with dancing, looking, and eating to great applause. Lively, and affable. CHEZ PIERRE— Ontario and Fairbanks Court. Frome 6 p. m. on merrymaking in a smart, bohemian atmosphere under the eye of the genial Pierre. Nice peo ple, too. KELLETS STABLES— 431 Rush. Harm less but ear-splitting. A welkin ringing resort where guests and entertainers whoop in competition. All kinds of peo ple, many young bloods. RADIO Sunday Don Vorhees Concert band, WMAQ, 3 to 4 p. m. Trianon orchestra, WMBB, 3 to 6 p. m. Colliers radio hour, KYW, 7:15 to 8:15 p. m. Atwater Kent Concert, WGN, 8:18 to 9:15 p. m. Monday General Motors Family Party, WGN, 8:30 to 9:30 p. m. Musical Album, WMAQ, 8 to 9 p. m. Tuesday Everready Hour, WGN, 8:15 to 9:15 p. m. Stromberg Carlson Orchestra, KYW, 7 to 8 p. m. Wednesday Jack Chapman's orchestra, WQJ, 6:30 p. m. German Theater players, WHFC, 9 to 10 p. m. Famous Composers, WMAQ, 8 to 9 p. m. Thursday Cliquot Club Eskimos, WGN, 8 to 9 p. m. Chicago Civic Opera, KYW, WEBH, WENR, WGN and WMAQ, 9 to 10 p. m. Friday Oriental Male Quartet, WLS, 7:30 to 8 p. m. Maxwell House Hour, KYW, 8 to 9 p. m. Little Symphony of Chicago, WLS, 8 to 9 p. m. Paul Ash and His Gang, WGN, 8:30 to 9 p. m. Ozone Club, WGES, 9 to 2 p. m. Cap'n Kidd, WMAQ, 9 to 10 p. m. Show Boat, WLS, 10 to 11 p. m. Saturday Jack Chapman's and Stevens Hotel Orches tras, WMAQ, 6:30 to 8 p. m. New York Symphony, Orchestra, KYW, 7 to 8 p. m. Radio Photologue, WMAQ, to 8:30 p. m. Philco Hour, KYW, 8 to 9 p. m. W ¦ IT! H iJl.ifTti _ UICAGOAN nbpics of the ^own T) Paternalism In other words, it looks like a right happy New Year. HE diligent and paternal Govern ment, as represented by its Department for the Enforcement of the Prohibi tion Act, has been very busy of late destroying the means by which citizens heretofore have been able to obtain expert advice relative to the poisonous or non-poisonous characteristics of bev erages which they intend to consume. Chemical laboratories which have been providing beverage analyses have been bureaucratically informed by jeal ous officials that discovery of samples upon their premises which might prove to contain intoxicating liquor would render their establishments subject to The Padlock. Hence persons who have not yet suc ceeded in curbing their indulgence in intoxicating beverages are left to the rudimentary test of personally sampling the product of their supply agents and allowing the results to be their guide, or the guide of their survivors, as the case may be. The beauties of the Volstead Act are rapidly becoming, more apparent. The Government may now survey the pleasing pic ture of seeing its wayward citizens dropping by the roadside or following the tapping cane. Property owners, with an eye to higher incomes, need only to plant a bottle of the stuff and the Prohibition Department will assist them in ensconcing a new tenant. An enforcement agent, with an itchy trig ger finger, starts shooting on crowded Michigan Avenue. T. Highways Again HE City Council seems to have hurtled through to the conclusion that Loop streets should in fact be kept as thoroughfares and not converted into casual garages. Hence an ordi nance will go into effect shortly which will prohibit street parking during the hours of heavy traffic. The measure has been called drastic; in reality it is soundly conservative. Returning the streets to the purposes for which they are dedicated can hardly be deemed revolutionary. The problem is a simple one: Shall thousands be inconvenienced for the convenience of a few? The situation has been complicated by the apprehen sions of some, but these apprehensions have been based more on a timidity toward change than upon any possible deleterious effects that might ensue from freeing up traffic in the Loop. Merchants can look with no satisfac tion upon a condition which makes the trip to their shops an ordeal; and the getting from a motor to a doorway an acrobatic feat. w. ' The Racket" January. ELL, Mr. Alphonse Caponi did come back; no hindering hospitality of other points visited delayed his return to his own Chicago. When the wires flashed the news of the inhospitable behavior of Los Angeles, Chicago's foremost police officers lapsed into a talking mood on the Capone matter. They told the newspapers that he would be arrested immediately upon his re- appearance in Chicago. They uttered ringing decla rations as to what they were going to do to and with Mr. Ca pone. But Mr. Capone has returned; has not been arrested and from all ap pearances has resumed his customary pursuits of hap piness in and about Cook County. Many people would like to know what Mr. Capone was to be arrested for; and not having been arrested, why? World's Fair 1 HE trumpets have been raised for Chicago's I World Fair in 1933 and, no doubt, a great party it will be. It will focus the eyes of the world upon Chicago's commerce, in dustry, enterprise. The 6 TUECUICAGOAN city's power, its size and its vast terri tories will be emphasized. The Fair will bring many visitors within the city walls, although many of these will come hesitatingly with their ears at tuned to catch the rat-tat of a machine gun. Those things which a World's Fair can do for Chicago are even now suf fering no neglect. Chicago's reputation as a great and bustling hive of com merce and industry is not languishing. Chicago, for the statistically-minded person, is a treat — even without a World's Fair. But, it may be observed there are cer tain other facets to this metropolis of the plains which cannot be displayed and made better known by a world's fair which, nevertheless, stand in rather crying need of attention. Chicago does not need a greater reputation but a more accurate one. It stands in greater need of a cultural note being sounded than for any continuance of the blatant blare of the tin horn. Do You Know — T. Repertory HE termination of Mrs. Samuel Insull's theatrical experiments with the Repertory Company is a regrettable eventuality. Chicago cannot well afford to lose this effort. But it was a case where enthusiasm did not suffice for the solid showmanship which the the atre demands. The Studebaker season, under Mrs. Insull's direction, might quite conceiv- Where is this "new theatre"? ably have become the vogue had there been introduced attractions of some consequence. However promising may be the idea of a virtually endowed repertory company for a season's per formance in Chicago, this particular effort of the kind was simply getting nowhere at all. The initial offering of Mrs. Insull's company, "Heartbreak House," was Mr. Shaw at his very worst in the theatre. A pointless and plotless thing that soon dispelled the anticipation of the limited number of patrons who came. True, it was excellently staged and competently performed but no one of its artists compelled a following and the play itself certainly did not. Mr. Milne's "Mr. Pirn Passes By" — and this shopping me c cat was distinctly something better, but still a light, airy and inconsequential piece — utterly without ability to build the engagement into a vogue. A producing company in Chicago, financially able to indulge in experi ments, is a glorious idea. But what it offers must be distinguished. It need not reckon with any broad popular appeal but its plays should be repre sentative of the finer intelligence of the theatre. If it cannot create, it should not exist. If it does create, it will escape the competition of the avowed commercial theatre and achieve for it self a genuine appreciation on the part of those who \now, which is the highest reward such an effort can expect. o Hushed The Symphony FFICERS and direc tors of various leading Chi cago clubs have recently been confronted with the painful necessity of address ing sternly their member ships on the subject of the use on club premises of intoxicating liquor. Never has club correspondence contained so much Anti- Saloon League propaganda as during the past few days. Clubs that have long been accustomed to an air of friendliness, if not convivi ality, are now becoming austere institutions where low-voiced and repressed members greet one another mechanically, and melan choly countenances are the TWE CHICAGOAN 7 Your Chicago? - — and this subway station? order of the day. Doormen need only to divest themselves of their brass- buttoned attire and assume the bleak garb of the mortician to make the pic ture complete. Several age-hallowed New Year's Eve events have been laid on the shelf. Amusing statements have been issued reciting that there is no longer a de mand on the part of members for these events but behind these statements is, of course, the logical admission that a New Year's Eve party without the es sentials for proposing a toast is simply an impossibility. It is true that Prohibition was tardy in making its presence felt in Chicago club life but that it now has arrived no one needs ques tion. Another Prohibition — and this portal politico? However, one more little prohibition movement cannot do very much harm, especially one which hasn't a celestial's chance of boring itself into the con sciousness of a sufficient number of peo ple to enable its advocates to feel they are sponsoring a Cause. Mi Expose (Mex.) ,R. WILLIAM RANDOLPH HEARST'S expose (Mex.), after hav ing given promise of a stormy scandal, seems to have flattened out into a dead calm. Whatever tinkering with public opinion and the trend of national legis lation in the United States that the Mexican government is indulging in does not appear susceptible to being proven by the exploits of Mr. Hearst's agents. This is not the first time of recent date that Mr. Hearst's agents have led him up blind and muddy alleys. At one time when Mr. Hearst was his own active agent his campaigns usually did not turn out so dismally, unless it hap pened that public office was an objec tive, under which circumstances he be came the loser with uniform regularity. The outcome of the expose (Mex.) may be taken as another indication of the shortening of Mr. Hearst's shadow on public affairs in America. His own and his newspapers' participation in the past two or three political cam paigns in New York, during which with deadly effect to himself he per sisted in aligning himself against Gov ernor Alfred E. Smith, has quietly but firmly drawn the shroud over his for mer political effectiveness. As far as Mr. Hearst is concerned there soon will be but little in the affairs of the nation to disturb his un alloyed enjoyment of his California estates. —MARTIN J. QUIGLEY. Ti HE daily newspaper press informs us that a cam paign for the prohibition of cigarets has been launched. Just how this item now comes to us under the guise of "news" would be diffi cult to explain. At any rate, this may be taken as the newspapers' confirma tion of the reports which have been reaching us for several years of statutory bans against cigarets in various localities, including Kansas, whence returning adventurers inform us there has been such a prohibitory law on the books for many years. V* %£$» — Friday afternoon 6 TI4ECWICAG0AN I F I MAY /AY /O Four Out of Five Haven t It COMMODORE ERNEST BY- FIELD, of the Randolph Street Yacht Club, well-known hotel baron and bibliophile, who has always been an influence, you might say, in the cultural life of Chicago, is about to announce plans for a series of public debates. The purpose of these debates is two-fold (and everybody knows that a two- fold purpose is better than a purpose that will fold only once) : (a) to while away the long winter s evenings; and (b) to settle once and for all certain questions that have long been troubling the national con' sciousness — or uncon sciousness, as the case may be. For talent Commodore By- field's agents have been combing (and even brush ing) the literary and artistic cir- _ cles of New York city, N. Y., which is headquarters for circles of all kinds, and several lyceum favorites are already booked. However, the business of securing debaters in this practically debateless age is not easy, and while there are plenty of amateur debaters (as anybody who lives in a thin-walled apartment building can testify) pro fessionals are scarce. As an example of the difficulties experienced by the By- field Bureau — when word went out that they were looking for men with a message, three Western Union boys applied. Needless to say, the boys were not engaged, and so the joke was on Clarence Mackay. It just goes to show that anything can happen. The first debate scheduled will be between the eminent sociologists, Robert Benchley and Donald Ogden Stewart; Mr. Benchley representing Harvard, Ernest Byfield and Mr. Stewart, Yale — or vice versa. (It really doesn't matter, inasmuch as objections have been raised by both universities. Possibly two entirely dif ferent institutions may be represented.) The subject of the debate will be: "Is Sex Here To Stay?" Mr. Benchley, who has been prejudiced against it from the start, will take the negative, and Mr. Stewart will take any other sides that are left. However, it is be lieved that Mr. Stewart will take the affirmative, which would just about even things up. Commodore Byfield holds the opinion that the time has come when this menace should be dis cussed openly, with no beating about the bush; but of course, at this season of the year there is very little bush- beating (or bush-whacking, as it is called in Australia) on account of the deep snow. The other day in New York city, N. Y., I was forcefully reminded of the theme of the Benchley-Stewart de bate when I passed Loew's Theatre on Broadway, and beheld a huge sign por traying a lady with exotic eyes and what might be called red hair. In fact it was red hair. Below ran the legend, in letters that were clearly visible: "Elinor Glyn, the Wom an Who Discov ered IT Will Appear In Per son At Each Per formance Next Week." Well, quoth I to my self, being a fel low of L o e w tastes I shall pop in here next week and get the Loew-down o n It. But Fate in tervened, as the old saying is, and on Sunday eve ning I met the discoverer of It face to face. The party was a sort of buffet supper, and while I was being buffeted by the throng of beautiful women and brave Klinor i. K.. men, all bent on having supper (and one or two badly bent) my host sud denly steered me toward a lady seated alone in a corner. "Madame Glecn," said he with a flourish, and disappeared, as hosts have a way of doing. Perhaps you have already guessed who the lady was. Correct. It was none other than the author of Three Wee\s. She was superbly gowned, her hair was almost as red as the pos ter over the theatre, and her counte nance was as tranquil as a 15 th Century madonna. She did not look a bit like a great-grandmother, as someone later informed me she is. Her eyes were a pale blue, but there was something about them. ... It may have been mascara. Anyway, they were very mysterious. Mme. Glyn asked me who I was (our host having been somewhat con fidential about my identity) and I told her. There was no good keeping it a secret. After all, what's in a name? Unless it's Polish — and then there may be anything in it. "You write for the magazines?" she continued. I con fessed that they were on sale at all news-stands. "I never read any peri odicals except the T^ew Tor\ Ameri' can," said she. "Every morning I per use that wonderful man, Brisbane, with my breakfast in bed." I let that one go. "Tell me about It," I suggested. "No woman in America," replied Mme. Glyn, "has It." "Now, now," I demurred. "All these lovely creatures — " "Not one has It." "But in the movies — " "Greta Garbo has It." {'Et commentr said I, lapsing into French. "Ten years ago," she went on, "Gloria Swanson had It. But not now." "This fellow, Gilbert — "On the screen he has It. But not off." I mentioned a certain titled English damsel. "She hasn't a touch of It!" Mme. Glyn's shoulders shrugged emphatical- ly. "What about Clara Bow, 'the It Girl?' " Mme. Glyn said something about press-agents. I must have been gazing with ill- concealed admiration at a lady across the r<K>m. Mme. Glyn noticed this, and TUE CHICAGOAN Chicagomen Paris Editions MR. SAMUEL INSULL Wishing All the Householders a Happy and Gaseous New Year The Chicago Dailies O glanced at the lady. "You think," she asked, "that she has It?" "If she hasn't," I answered fervent ly, "then I'm an astigmatized so-and- so!" "Of course," said Mme. Glyn with a smile, "it is true that certain persons have It for certain persons. But not in a big way." Somehow that evening did some thing to me. I haven't been the same since. If American women haven't It — where can we go? I forgot to ask Mme. Glyn about other countries. Per haps conditions are just as bad in Bel gium. But it's all very disillusioning. I haven't felt so depressed since I learned the bitter truth about Santa Claus. Things have come to a pretty pass. Those advertisements proclaim ing that "Four Out of Five Have It" are utterly false! And any day, now, I am liable to hear of some opera star who doesn't smoke Lucky Strikes. Then there will be nothing left to believe in. — GENE MARKEY. Senator Vare, widow of Edwin A. Vare, is just a fine type of American womanhood and successful motherhood and she proba bly glories in the fact that neither wealth nor power has swept her an inch away from the plain and very common people with whom she has spent her whole life — just 3,000 plain folks in the old neighborhood. - — The Pittsburgh Republican. A peculiar person, to say the least. NO, Paris is not Chicago; but an observant resident of the former city, hailing from the latter, sometimes cannot help wondering what Paris would be without Chicago — and ex- Chicagoans. As for the more impersonal aspect, there is the trans- Atlantic version of the W. G. 7v^., which one finds in one's mail box every morning, and which brings into this adult old-world atmo sphere the latest decidedly juvenile monkeyshines of Big Bill and "Sport" Hermann and, of a Sunday, even H. L. M. and Fanny B. It's all so "homesey"-like, and the Old Lady in the Grand Hotel simply revels in it. The Tribune here is a good deal more subdued, in its news-columns, than it is at home; but on the editorial page, it cuts loose. In addition to the stock-editorial, which is dug up every so often, on "The Peril of Soviet Russia," there is the one lambasting the American who Apologizes for his Country and the anti- British editorial in general, which is always good read ing. For The Tribune here appears to be violently agin the English. Mayor Thomp son should find solace in this. The Tribune very oblig ingly maintains an office in verseas the rue Scribe, in the heart of the tour ist sector, where, for the price of a month's subscription — twenty francs, or eighty cents — one may have such odious details as procuring a card of identity, etc., taken off one's hands. The register of transient Chicagoans is invariably impressive, and not infre quently good reading. Then there is the Chicago Daily K[ews reading room, on an attractive corner of the Place de l'Opera. Here, one may drop in and glance over his home-town paper, no matter what his home-town may be. There are also writing-desks and a couch for the weary. It is a favorite haunt of the "personally conducted" tourist who is a bit fed up with the party and really appreciates being alone for a few moments. Emerging from an inner sanctum is a tall, broad-shouldered fair- and slight ly tousled-haired young man with a certain aimlessness of presence. You " — but you should see our Auditorium." might not think to look at him that he is John Gunther, another of our Chi cago novelists. He is. Nor would you naturally assume, judging from his manner, that he is the busiest man on the continent, pos sibly in the world. 10 TUECUICAGOAN He is. He will tell you so, himself. In fact, he is alto gether likely to tell you so before you have talked to him for sixty seconds. He is always just in from some where and just catching a train for some where else — it may be Stock holm, Budapest or the Canary Islands. For between act ing as foreign correspondent and running the Daily l^ews Paris office and writing novels and being John Gunther, John Gunther has his hands rath er full. Suppose, now that we are about it, we make the rounds of this transplanted New spaper Row. In the Tribune local room, which is located in an obscure street, our cicerone is pointing out the various staff celebrities. Among others, a receding blonde chap who, we are informed, is the financial editor. "But he doesn't look like a — -" we are about to remark, when the F. E. looks up from the New York stock reports. "Virgil!" we exclaim. "You here!" For it is none other than our old friend, Virgil Geddes, the Chicago poet. When we knew him in Erie street he was a bit vague as to the difference between a stock and a bond, and over the fines, he will whisper to you — but that's a trade secret! But M. Geddes is not the exception. He is the rule on the Paris Tribune. It is the only daily we know of in the world exclusively manned by poets and aesthetes. Its staff is practically synony mous with that of the very advance- Companionates? guard magazine, Transition, which you've probably read, if you've suc ceeded in beating the censor to it. Our next stop is the l^[ew Yor\ Herald. Here is another familiar face. Surely enough, it is our old pal, "Pick ering of the Tribune," as we used to know him in the old Chicago city hall days. Pickering is now the backbone, or one of the vertebrae, of the Herald staff. He has an interesting yarn to tell us — about Mayor (former Mayor) Dever. "Got wind he was in town," said Pickering, "and took a run over to the hotel to look him up. It was right after he had gone out of office. I found him sitting all alone in the lobby look ing as though he hadn't a friend in the world. Was he glad to see me! ' 'Take me some place,' he said to me, and I did — that night — him and Mrs. Dever, too." And now to the art- haunts of Mont- parnasse. We shall have to hurry, for the evening, or rather, the morning, is getting on. Here is R. Ellsworth Lars- son, the best poet who has come out of free verse (the present chronicler ad mits it). So does R. Ellsworth. He will remove his monocle and adjust his Mayfair accent to do so. When we knew him, he was just a promising lad from Milwaukee, come to see and con quer the big city — meaning Chicago. Over here, at another table, for it is, of necessity, a table in Montparnasse, is Henrietta Glick, the young Neo- Arlimusc composer, who came to study with Strawinsky and remained to find that she was better than Strawinsky. She, not impossibly, is. There is Mrs. Flora Schofield, the painter. Back in Chicago, Frank Schofield is busy keep ing corporations out of jail. While over here is a gentleman who prefers that we refrain from mentioning his name. There are reasons. There are always reasons in Paris, and will be as long as there are Chicagoans. In the meanwhile, What would Paris do without us? — SAMUEL PUTNAM. Chicago Bound Reported by Rounds Round 1. The failure to re serve berth. The fatal conse quences — lower 16. The owl eyed berth specialist. The personal ques tion. No, his name is not George! It's Asa. The sparkling rejoinder — - Bet your last name is Spades. The vengeful look. The emerald aisle. The funereal aspect of rows of feet- less shoes. Round 2. The great disrobing act. The contortions. The impact with upper 16. The dazzling aura of assorted constellations. The colorful invectives. The heels and neck bal ancing trick. The eye starting strain. The departing button. The decision to sleep en chemise. 'Tween sheets at last. The recollection of the un wound watch. The reference to Deity. Round 3. The undernourished pillows. The foreshadowed blankets. The stretch. The stubbed toe. The deduction that Mr. and Mrs. Pullman were dwarfs. The creaking overhead. The twinge of curiosity. The bass cough. The collapse of interest. The insomniacs in smoking cubicle broad- TUECUICAGOAN n casting recent amours. The prelude from the subconscious choir. Adja cent gent leads off with Schlaf- jammer's "Lament of the Adenoid." The ensemble — Catarrh Motif. Round 4. The refractory shade The nearby arc lamp with the nervous twitch. The recurrent switch engine suffering from quinsy. The periodic spiteful kicks it gives the unoffending sleeper. The raucous voiced switch men. The roving car tinker's rendi tion of "Silver Threads — ." The arriv ing stock train. The aroma del toro. The growing distaste for ox tail soup. The belated arrival of old gent re sembling Bunte cough drop illustra tion. The final parking of old party and impedimenta. The expiring wheeze of O. P. The arrival of the train. The sensation of being aground on a stern and rockbound coast. The startled air pump and its vibratory complaint. "Boar-r-r-rd!" Round 5. The squeal of the drag ging brake shoe. The lurch. The roll. The low joints and high centers. The octagonal wheel. The sinister gloom. The feeling of utter futility. The resignation to fate. The recount ing of past sins. The vow to reform if spared. The cat nap. The gradual succumbing. Somons omnia vincit. Round 6. The black hand warn ing. The contortions in reverse order. The dash for alleged wash room. The melee. The gadder with 80 acred toilet kit. The party with the mono- grammed undershirt. The death rattle of the drains. The groping for the towel. 47th street. From the Yards the languishing perfume of steers which have not used Pears' Soap this morning. The finish of the supposed dressing. The feeling of sticky not-rightness. The electrified Senegambian with the mangy whisk. The begrudged pour boire. The grunt in acknowledgment. "Dear born Station, all out!" The mental correction to "All in." The descent to terra gratia. Gott sei dan\! — D. S. 0. Statistic If all the guns in Cicero Were multiplied by ten, If daily every deb would go And kill a dozen men, If daggers grew in every cuff And grisly bombs the same — Chicago'd be one-tenth as tough As comic weeklies claim! — PAUL ERNST. Are You a Club Girl? A Club Woman? A Club Lady? THERE are more women's clubs in America than in any other country in the world. There are more women's clubs in the middle- west than in any other part of Amer ica. And there are more women's clubs in Chicago than in any other part of the middle-west. These are matters of cold statistics. But oh, the joyful color, the many- sided charm, the infinite variety that enters into the lives of these feminine club fellows! What mere man can hope to describe the intel- Thereare: (1) Club Girls, (2) Club Women — and (3) Club Ladies. You may be a club girl and also a club woman. You may even be a club woman and at the same time a club lady. But under no circumstances may you be a club lady and a club girl. The two are diametrically opposed. Let me explain, and you will see what I mean. Well, in the first place, the field of ligent intensity with which they pursue their well-or dered exist- ences? To the masculine mind, a club is just a sort of supe rior restaurant, where a man can enjoy a cocktail without hiding his flask under the table and chin with his neighbors over a convivial chop-and-baked-potato. A woman's club is so much more than this, ministering as it does to the higher as well as the lower needs of the members' natures. Mousse a Vecrevisse is doubly toothsome if it follows a lecture by Beverley Nichols, and a game of water polo is often the ideal preparation for a stimulating dis cussion on "Is Art Immoral?" Chicago women's clubs are pecu liarly entertaining in this respect, be cause Chicago women live just about forty miles an hour faster than the rest of their contemporaries. During the course of an exhaustive inquiry concerning their "tricks and manners" I have discovered that these fascinat ing females may be divided into three general classes. the club girl is the spirit, pure and simple. Of course, this doesn't mean that they never eat — far from it — but they don't make eating the main object in life. They seldom have a clubhouse of their own — their home is where the heart is — in other words, the Rose Room at the Sherman or the Red Lac quer Room in the new Palmer House. There they meet whenever the spirit moves them, or whenever they have been able to induce some minor celeb rity to read a selection from his latest volume of (unpublished) verse. Club girls are invariably over fifty. They usually have middle names, as follows — "dear wonderful Mrs. Loula Ray Budgkins," or "our friend, Minnie Guggenthaler Prance." In most cases the girls live in the outer regions of the city, whence they are driven center- wards, impelled by their thirst for culture. They are the Poetry Amateurs 12 TUECUICAGOAN of Illinois. And the Roseleaves of Zion. And the Ink & Easel Society. And the Conversation Club of Clybourn Junc tion. And the Friends of France, or the Rooters for Roumania. And oh, so many others. But all are united by one common bond: club girls seldom if ever pay their dues! They are canny creatures for all that, untiring in their search for new sensa tions. I remember once, in the days when I was a reporter, being sent to the Congress to cover the meeting of an association consecrated to the en couragement of verse making among the chatelaines of the far south side. The president — was it Frederica Spragg Muncie or Verna Waldo Lee? — an im posing beldame in a flaming auburn wig and Spanish blond shawl, ap proached me with a crafty smile. She was torn, I could see, between a long ing to secure all the favorable publicity possible for her luncheon and a desper ate fear lest I should try to remain and eat some of it. But the former feeling triumphed. "All the girls are just crazy about the way we do things," she confided cosily, "and we want you to give us just the nicest write-up you can. Now I wonder .if you'd mind mentioning specially the big novelty I'm introduc ing today? Have you noticed anything "Rest fid— isn't it?' — er— unusual in the way the tables are arranged? I had to confess that I hadn't. The brow under the auburn wig clouded somewhat. "At all other clubs;" she said, "the ladies pour the coffee from one big general coffee-pot. But at our luncheon we are serving it in individual pots on every table! Think of that! Now I want you to put that right in your head lines, please. I'm sorry I can't ask you to stay to lunch, but I'm sure you'll give us a lovely little write-up just the same, won't you?" I said that I would. And here it is — better late than never. Club women are quite different. They are concerned less with the cul tural than the ethical side of life. They are interested in (a) keeping the work ing girls off the streets, and (b) pro viding marble swimming pools and eighty-five cent dinners to insure (a). They stand for softer drinks and civic reform, settlement houses and sensible heels, anti-mosquito movements and bigger and better benefits. Unlike the club girls, they usually have a thirty- eight story building of their own — that is, they will have it is soon as the mort gage is paid off at the end of the first hundred and ninety-nine years. Newspapers love club women be cause a good many of them have names that shine to the socially uninitiated, and because all of them will say any thing to get into print. They are eter- n a 1 1 y "indorsing" things and "coming out against" other things, if you know what I mean. The war demor alized them rather. Before 1917 they were active but not noisy. Now, how ever, they seem to be animated by a spirit of ceaseless s e 1 f -advertisement. Did you ever won der what became of the dear old ducks who drove motor trucks around Fort Sheridan or distrib uted doughnuts with a horrible sexless smile, off the end of a stick? Well, here they are still, the boosters and canteen workers and lassies-that-used-to-be-in-uniform, busy as ever. Only now they eat plate lunches at unwholesome hours and or ganize pure literature campaigns in stead. They are always running drives and "going over the top." (If only some bright soul could hit on a plan to keep them from "coming back" again!) It is droll to hear these lady presi dents of clean government committees telephoning their henchwomen on the eve of an important battle: — "Well, my dear, you'd better call up Mrs. Clark right away. Make her get in touch with the North Avenue gang and tell them they've simply got to vote with us at the next election. Oh, no, my dear, we won't have any trouble. I know her husband is demo cratic alderman, but you know, my dear, she's socially ambitious, and I told her if she'd swing them the way I want we'd give her a little dinner. ..." Clean politics? ~Mesdames, I con gratulate you! Last of all comes the club lady. The principal difference between her and her sisters is that the club lady is in Society with a capital S. But not flam boyant society — oh, dear no. Gentility is the distinguishing mark of the breed — gentility and best black velvets and what I like to call that "built-up" look. Brisk scrubbed old maids and benevo lent widows — you know. Unlike the club girl and the club woman, the club lady has no axe to grind. She stands on no platform, never worries about the state of culture in Cook county or whether Polish chil dren on the southwest side subsist on whisky and peanuts. Her club has just one function to perform : to amuse her. Long ago, so the legend goes, the ladies of the Thursday Club (I might have said the Monday Club or the Tuesday Club) used to amuse them selves. They wrote papers and read them aloud. I don't know whether it was because the papers were so very dull or not, but as years rolled by the ladies grew lazier and lazier, till finally things came to such a pass that it was found necessary to hire lecturers to replace the local bluestockings. Certain it is that nowadays, with very few exceptions, there are but two types of entertainers in vogue: the young English novelist, who is paid to shock them with tales of the wicked- TUECUICAGOAN 13 ness of Mayfair, and the still younger suburban wife, who is called in to de claim sonnets on her love life in Hub bard Woods or a song cycle entitled "Baby's Toes." At all events, you may be sure, from the happy crowd of best black velvets streaming later down the Lake Shore Drive, that the club ladies' prayer has been amply answered — they have been "'given something to take away with them." — ARTHUR MEEKER, JR. P. S.- — Since writing the above I have been informed by a trustworthy authority that a new and exalted per' sonality in club circles has been dis' covered. This personage is so extremely high up that she is \nown as "the presi' dent of all the presidents of all the women s clubs of Chicago." Until such time as I shall be able to arrange an interview, my article must perforce rest incomplete. — A. M., JR. Expatriates One in Every Office ALBERT was always somewhat l reticent in regard to himself around the office, anything but the go-getter type. .No wonder the boys were a bit bowled-over when he an nounced his intention of turning boot legger. He was quite a shameless teetotaler himself, putting no faith, as he said, in the post-Prohibition vin tages. But Albert's stuff was fair to middlin' as such stuff goes, and being popular with the boys around the office they gradually switched over to his Line of Goods with no noticeable ill effects. Six months later Albert strolled into the office, dapper, complacent and a little patronizing. His array of suit' cases suggested a fresh supply of spirits fermentae and there was much anticipatory smacking of lips around the office. Then, "Well, boys," drawled the impeccable Albert, "I just dropped in to thank you for your patronage, and to say good-bye. I'm leaving for Europe today. So long. Too bad you fellows can't go along and get some of the real stuff." —J. D. ? Merritt Langdell, of the University of New Hampshire, guard for three years on the varsity football team, leads a class in embroidery. The other thirty-two students are girls. — The Philadelphia Public Ledger. Boys will be girls. At the Box- Fight A Literate Report from the Ringside IT is a match that may have some ef fect upon the future of Gene Tun ney, laureate of the prize ring, for this Jack Delaney seems to be a rising star. Yet there are vacant tiers of seats in the vaulted warehouse with the penitentiary facade called the Coli seum. "That's what hap pens," says a sallow Semitic sportsman through the side of his mouth, "when the dicks keep the racket boys away. . . . Yes, they've picked up — ." His voice fades out into an inaudible whis per. But if the "boys" are discreetly absent, there is still plenty of verbal racket. And there are faces in this assemblage that might have belonged to a hanging-and- quar tering at Tyburn or a slave-market in Byzantium. Mainly, however, these spectators run to the pulpiness of mediocre middle-age and the grey com plexions of the night-life. They bulge at the waist and droop at the jowl. In the white radiance of the ring, there is the beauty of virility; there is swiftness and grace; there is the rhythm of power. On the chairs below, there is fatty degeneration of muscle and mind. And there are the pressmen. But it is a humorous crowd which seems to take its prize-fighting lightly. This evening one does not hear the yelp of jackals at the lion's kill, the half- human roar of the people of the abyss. These observers are good-natured, non partisan, almost unenthusiastic except when the referee is tolling the stunned seconds over a prostrate gladiator. It is a night of the wise-crack rather than the cheer. Everyone seems bent upon exercising his wit, either by muttering to himself, by chatting with his neighbor, or by bark ing at the boxers. "Oh, what a lambasting you're going to take to night!" calls a ring-side humorist, reputed to be the best-dressed man on the South Side to Jack Delaney as he enters his corner. The pugilist turns and acknowledges the irony with a pleasant and untroubled smile. A short-armed, thick-shouldered African middle-weight is bounding about the ring in pursuit of a lean, long-armed Cau casian. The b e s t- dressed young man gives copious advice about the proper method of subduing "that H a w a i i a n." Presently the Nordic locates the bobbing head of the Ethiop, which is hardly larger than an over-sized grape-fruit, and rocks it violently with a stinging one-two. "Bye-bye, blackbird," says our amusing young man. There are women present — rnot many, but enough to cause the crowd to renounce its privilege of suffocating the boxers with cigar smoke, at the re quest of the announcer and the insist ence of the ushers. They are nothing to look at, these women; they are far less raffish than the feminine first-night ers at a Shubert revue. They seem to be the kind of women who do their Christmas shopping on the west side 14 TUECUICAGOAN of State Street. But there are two who stimulate curiosity by their excited foot-notes to the bouts. They are in a mild hysteria of irritat ed technicalities, and their sarcasm is withering. "Clown!" is their favorite epithet. An old and some what toothless boxer, per manently punch-drunk, is struggling with a flat- nosed youth. Neither of them have much skill, but they are fighting hard and hurting each other. The two technical women are bitter in their condemna tion. They regard this bout as an insult to the profession. "Clowns!" they continue to gibber. In fiction, these two femi nine critics of the un gentle art of box-fighting would be falcon-faced wenches, notorious hetairae gleaming with the yellow diamonds that are the reward of scarlet vice. In reality, they are mouse-like creatures who might easily be anybody's school teaching aunts. Maybe they are prize fighters' mothers. In this program of six matches, there is something symbolic which catches the imagination. Here is the eternal melodrama of life: boxer against slug ger, blonde against brunette, chivalry against brute force, Nordic against Mediterranean, Cro-Magnon against Neanderthal. The stage-managers of the game are not clever enough to ar range things that way, but it seems to happen in spite of them. Some magic of the past has had a hand at matching these men in contrasts which evoke an ancient mysticism. Here is the un ending struggle of civilization against barbarism, of light against shadow, of Ormazd against Ahriman. Dark Ahriman seems always to be the favorite with the people of the abyss, who worship the savagery from which their souls have not been eman cipated. But the bright Ormazd usu ally gets the referee's decision. This evening we see the two Boy Friends spar to a draw; we see plod ding Chicago outpointed by shifty St. Paul; we see Hatchet-Face spear Moon- " And you've been working on it seven years?" "Yes — / just felt in the mood." Face into drooping imbecility; we see the Old Irish Comedian lose grotesque ly to the Young Mick; we see the Long Swede hold off the prancing Tar Baby. There have been three knock downs, emphasized by alarming explo sions of flash-light powder; there has been one technical knock-out; there has been more than the average amount of bloodshed. Then we come to the important af fair of the bill: the meeting — fourth and final — of Paul Berlenbach and Jack Delaney, at catch-weights. Ber lenbach is on the upper edge of the light heavyweight class, and Delaney is a pound and a half over the heavy weight minimum. Paul looks the stronger, but he is passing out of his prime; while Jack is ascending the lad der that may lead to the heights upon which Gene Tunney stands — if his foot doesn't slip. They are both handsome men; they have personal as well as professional "class." Berlenbach, of German origin, is as dark as a Spaniard; and that thickening of the orbital ridges and nasal bridge which often blurs a prize fighter's face has given him the clear profile of a primitive Greek statue. His face has been sculp tured, not marred, by battering gloves. His ex pression is stern and dominating. The specta tors like and respect Paul. As for his oppo nent, they reserve judg' ment, for he is a new man to Chicago; but they fear he will win. Delaney might be called a collar ad., if that epithet did not cover a sneer. He is as good-look- as Tunney, and perhaps more attractive because more boyish. He is French-Canadian, and Chapdelaine is the name he was born with; but he looks like an American collegian who has won honors in his senior year as the handsomest man in his class. He seems un concerned about this eve ning's business. Here are champions. Here are artists of their game — especially De laney. The traffic of a boxing show rises to an epic note as they meet. De laney stands straight as a lance, and fights dancing. Berlenbach crouches and thrusts. It is the Parthian arrow against the Roman short sword. Before the first round is over, everyone sees that the boxer is the master. But can Delaney hit hard? Look at Berlenbach for the answer. In the sec ond round his face becomes a skull which bleeds at the mouth. With left or right, Delaney is as swift as an elec tric spark and as punishing as a rivet er's hammer. Berlenbach is beaten be fore he can start his rib-crushing attack. Yes, this boxer can fight. Et quaml In the third round Berlenbach goes down sprawling before an invisible thunderbolt. He rises and staggers boldly forward into the zone of gloves. He drops again, to stay there for more than ten seconds, it seems; but the armistice of the bell rescues him. He advances for the fourth with a reeling and foggy brain, and Delaney is milder with him than before. He survives Sing a Song of Night Clubs A Pocket Full or Dry TUECUICAGOAN that round and the next, while the wolf-pack that yearns for a massacre hoots at Delaney for taking his time with this already beaten but still gal lant adversary. The sixth round sees Delaney dart in to make an end, and Berlenbach col lapses once more in a pathetic and grotesque attitude. He rises like a liv ing corpse, everything lost except courage. Unable to protect himself, he still tries to fight. Delaney lets him lurch into a clinch, and says something over his shoulder to the referee. His voice cannot be heard above the shout ing, but his lips seem to frame the sen tence : "Why don't you stop it?" It goes on for another half minute, a flurry of unequal fighting between a chivalrous victor and an indomitable victim; and then the judges at the ring-side call a halt. Delaney wins by a knock-out, technical but conclusive. Berlenbach is led to his corner like a blind man. Delaney crosses over to him, takes his gloved hand, and says something in emphatic sympathy. Ap parently his words are: "I'm sorry, Paul. I wanted it stopped sooner." After his arm has been officially lifted in token of conquest and he has confided a few remarks to the broad caster's microphone, Delaney steps over the ropes briskly and heads towards his dressing room. His face is unmarked; his expression is as calm as when he entered the arena. To the spectators in the boxes close to his corner he says in passing: "Oh, what a tough man! What a tough man!" It is a respectful tribute to an in trepid and unextinguishable opponent. And of all the voices heard during the clamorous evening, this gladiator's is the most cultivated and kindly. — CHARLES COLLINS. HEN the lights begin to twinkle on Michigan avenue . . . when the little shop girls have left their sales checks and Christ mas hankies behind them and gone home to slim black satin dresses and dates . . . when the chorus girls at the Woods, and the Four Cohans, and the Great Northern are humming scrappy snatches of songs and adjust ing ribbon brassieres with adhesive tape . . . when debutantes are adding the last touch of perfume behind clean pink ears and young bond salesmen are swearing at black bow ties . . . then do the night clubs of the city open their doors, and prepare to reap their gilded harvests. . . . And such a heterogeneous collection of dance-and-dine opportunities as they offer! . . . from the negroid black-bottoming cooks and singing waiters of the Stables to the shining suavity and bobbing marionettes of the Bal Tabarin. First, and youngest, there is Pet- rushka! It's not a new brand of spinach, but an honest-to-goodness night club, tucked in a basement at 403 South Wabash — a place that, in its brief two months of existence, has achieved a popularity and a clientele that makes older and less interesting 15 night clubs rub their itching palms in sheer envy. And, with apologies to Mr. Camel, such popularity must be deserved. The Petrushka club is clever. And different. Russian throughout, from the vivid mural decorations to the waiters, who deliver you chicken sandwiches and ginger ale in Cossak boots and Cossak outfits. The or chestra plays classical, sentimental, and dance selections (dance, mind you, not jazz) with quite satisfying expertness . . . and the show! Let's say that it is Chauve Souris style, and excellent, and let you see it for yourself. If you hold any claim to being a person- about-town, you must inspect the place for yourself, for already the smartest of the after-opera and thea tre crowd have quite deserted the per ennial favorite, the Balloon Room, and are bringing the brilliance of their diamonds and Lelong gowns to Pe trushka. If you are out for sensation, how ever, there is probably but one district in Chicago to get it; the black-and-tan belt. There are pretty near a dozen places around 35th street where you might go, if you don't mind sharing your girl friend and your drinks with the colored stag line, but we recom- 16 TUECUICAGOAN "Darling, you remind me of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's Short Serenade, Kochel 525, Allegro, G Majc mend the Sun-Set. It's quite as lively as any of them, and rather safer. Even there, however, we advise against a ruthless hurling of bottles, unless you're genuinely expert with the razor. Still out on the South side, in the places where white becomes the gen eral background shade, but where a gat in the pocket is no useless member of the party, are the Frolics and the Rendezvous. Both of them are plenty speedy, if you seek night life as it is lived, and quite broadminded enough to let you and the sidekick get by with anything you think of that doesn't involve gun play. However, if you prefer more com fortable breathing, and dancing per se, you can find any amount of it in the loop. The Samovar, on Michigan just above the Blackstone, might be rather nice, with its excellent orchestra and good food, if you could ever find it at a time when every one in town and his grand-aunt weren't there, throwing cheese sandwiches and necking parties. For snooty clubs, where you see the right sort of tuxedos and French eve ning gowns, the Bal Tabarin, at the Sherman, and the Balloon Room, at the Congress, are top-notch. The Drake, with dancing in the grill room during the week, and in the main din ing room on Saturday night, exhibits probably the smartest collection of youngsters in town, with a smattering of the well-bred older people who can dance well enough to compete for floor space with the younger genera tion. The Opera Club, especially at this time of the year, is replete with the blue-blooded members of the city, young and old, and is high hat enough to make you feel irrevocably sub- merged-tenthist if your evening clothes are of last year's vintage. Otherwise, the Beach is still run ning, but the collegians have deserted it. The Chez Pierre, and the Club Lido (where membership cards are necessary, but easy enough to obtain) supply the wilder element of the tame North side, but do it rather messily. The Kit Kat, now under the name of the Anzonia, on Chicago avenue, is in the same classification. The Stables, with patently incidental food and bel ligerently lowbrow atmosphere, the Black Hawk, with its surging thou sands and two inches of floor space, the Wilson avenue joints . . . and a million other places, which specialize in reducing . dancing to a business of standing still and letting people jump up and down on your feet. All of which leads us to the belief that the gentleman from Kankakee who started the story about all Chi cago citizens donning masks promptly at sun-down and hopping out for a lit tle gunplay in the back alleys should have made a tour of the night clubs before making his rash statement. My private opinion is that all Chicago, with its date, be it the Colonel's lady's daughter or the Remus girl, slips on a clean collar and dashes down to pick up a few shin bruises at the night clubs. — ISABELLA TAVES. A Doggy Item THERE'S an old saw about straws showing which way the wind blows — and I heard a tale yesterday which makes me view with alarm the situation here in Chicago. I had a friend who met a friend who was ex ercising a powerful dog. My friend said to his friend, "Why, what a splen did English bull-dog you have! Isn't he a new investment?" "Oh no," said the friend of my friend, "that's Mayor Thompson's dog. The Mayor asked me to take care of him for a while. He finds him a little in the way just at present. Nosing around, the dog might get burned in the occasional bonfires in Grant Park. So I'm just taking care of him for a bit, don't you know?" Now, I'm quite an old lady but I just think it's perfectly dreadful! An English bulldog right in the bosom of Our little Chicago family, as a body might say! Where will it lead us with innocent little children growing up in our midst? Just as if a Boston bull terrier wasn't good enough for any body! And after all is said and done, the finest tea party ever given was given in Boston. What is our Mayor thinking of? What can be done? I ask you. If you would take an idea from an older person, I might suggest that we have a vigilance committee organized at once, to search out all the English bulldogs there are in this country, be ginning, of course, right here in Chi cago. While the dogs are being dis covered, either with friends or with their rightful owners, we could get an appropriation for having established a large lethal chamber where English dogs could be quietly disposed of by chloroform. Because think how dan gerous it all is! Some child might be come attached to or at least interested in an English dog. He might even learn to like some English person, or might somehow find out that there were humane, intelligent and reason able persons living in a beautiful coun try called England, and that some of his ancestors came from that place! And where would it all end? — GRANDMA-LISTENING-IN. A party I should have liked to attend was the one where Floyd Dell, Elinor Wylie and William Rose Benet chanted Shelley's odes in unison. — The Boo\man. A hot old time. TUECUICAGOAN i? CHICAGOAN/ But She's a Great Actress MARY GARDEN is a Chicagoan by every thing but the stork's record. For it was in Chicago that she made her debut, a church operetta staged at Rosalie Hall, on the south west corner of Harper av enue and 57 street (there's a big apartment there now). It was here that she spent her childhood and girlhood, at Ellis avenue and 41st street. It was here that she was "discovered." It was from here that she went abroad to study. It was here, on the 22nd of June, 1910, she joined the Chi cago Opera company, then being organized. It was here, in 1921, that she was director general of that opera company. It was here that she has sung, oh about 500 times, here that the police have stopped the show, here that she gets her best hair-cuts. It is here, she passionately declares, that she feels most at home. Which isn't strange since she and the city have much the same verve and excitement; the same whirl and vigor; the same glamor. For Mary Garden, like Chicago, is as difficult of classification as a French verb. BUT the stork, as we were saying, really listed her as a canny Scotch lassie. He brought her into the world, on the 20th of a February (never mind which one, but you'll be amazed when you look in "Who's Who") into the family of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Garden of Aberdeen, Scot land. They all came, presently, to this country, tarried for a few minutes in Boston and settled down in Ken wood, Chicago. "No, thank the Lord, I was not an infant prodigy," this lady of red hair and blue eyes exclaimed just the other day. "They never carried me on the stage for me to lisp out nasal tunes." So it was not until she was in high school that she made her first stage appearance. The Episcopal Sunday Mary Garden school to which she belonged gave a performance of Gilbert and Sullivan's "Trial by Jury." She was "An gelina," and a handsome youth, whose name she can't recall, sang the bari tone role. "Every time he sang, Angelina,' my heart stopped beating. And if he had asked me to fly with him, I am sure I would have." But the baritone didn't, and grand opera was thus not robbed of a persua sive Thais, a subtle Carmen, and an assured Cleopatra. It was just about this time that a school principal, Scotch, was told of a young girl, Scotch, who had a marvel ous voice. Friends took him to hear her. And thus Mary Garden and Wil liam Mc Andrew met. Others came to hear "the Garden girl"; she was sent to Europe to study. There, at the turn of the century, at the Opera Comique in Paris she made her debut in the role of "Louise." Seven years later she sang "Thais" at the Manhattan Opera House. SHE came to Chicago, officially, June 22, 1910, when she signed with the Chicago Opera company, then being organized. Since then she has sung half a thousand times; she has sung to priests and po licemen and princes. The police came when she sang "Pelleas and Mellisande"; the police came when she created the role of "Sal ome"; and the police came that fervid night in January when she sang "Chrysis" in "Aphrodite" with its chiffon house. In 1921, on the 13th of January, this girl from Aber deen was elected general director of the Chicago Opera company. Don't say that she is the first woman director in the world. I did, once, and I received 5,682 letters informing me of one Frau Cosima Wagner, of Germany. Anyway, Mary Garden is the only woman in the world to have had her election sponsored and announced by a future vice-president of the United States. Charles G. Dawes, a member of the opera's executive com mittee, gave out the compact little statement which turned the musical world into a symphony of excited sound: — -"Miss Mary Garden has been elected general director of the Chi cago Opera Association." The other directors, headed by Har old McCormick, then executive chair man, were: John G. Shedd, Samuel Insull, R. T. Crane, Jr., Charles L. Hutchinson and Stanley Field. Her first telegram of congratula tions came from Galli-Curci, who was in Minneapolis preparing for her wed ding, three days later, to Homer Samuels. MARY GARDEN, like Queen Marie, with whom by the way she shares many characteristics, makes news wherever she goes. If she rushes up from Biloxi to get a Chi cago hair-cut, which she did once, she makes better copy than when Galli-Curci has a quarrel with Samuel Insull, which she once did. With a glamor, or a cosmic charm, or whatever it is, Mary Garden is the radiant author of a thousand vivid 18 TUECUICAGOAN Alexander Gray mho, as a tuneful but spurious Rijfian, sings nobly for his country, which is France, in "The Desert Song, a stage fiiece delectable for eye and ear, at the Great Northern. He wins the gal after gun filay. TUECUICAGOAN 19 comments on music and matrimony, on pounds, prejudices and people. And when she has finished her talk, she never asks you to forget that she said this, to change that statement, to taper off that comment. She sticks to what she has said, and she's articu late on any subject from black shirts to red gowns. The black shirt belongs, of course, to Mussolini, whom she regards as quite a regular fellow and an out standing personality. The red gowns are her own. She loves red and wears it often. For society she doesn't care much. When she says she doesn't, she means it. Rarely does she go out while the opera season is on. In fact about the only place she goes is to the home of Mrs. William J. Chalmers, an intimate friend. Her invitations go well up into higher mathematics. Her life is a two to one ratio. For four months of the year, usually June, July, August, September, she plays. For the remaining eight months she works. "On my holiday," she explains, "I dance, I swim, I go to dinners, I smoke cigarettes, I have my glass of champagne." All this at her villa at Monte Carlo. Then comes the opera season. She snubs out the flame in her last cigar ette and she doesn't light another one for eight months. She drinks the last sip of champagne and that's that. She eats amazingly little. She goes almost nowhere. She works and works and works. But she's always resilient. I have often asked her if she never slumped down and slouched into listless relaxa tion. She says she doesn't, and I'm pretty sure she's right. Life for her, and near here, must be stimulating, but slightly volcanic. Do you recollect what the late James Gibbons Huneker wrote of her: "An eagle, a nightingale, a panther, a gallery of moving pictures, a siren, an indomitable fighter, a human woman with a heart as big as a house, a lover of sport, a canny Scotch lassie, a super-woman — that is Mary Garden." And, like Chicago, you'd either love her or hate her. For myself, I stand, deliberately, in the former class. — GENEVIEVE FORBES-HERRICK. ? Margie — -All is forgiven, please come back with baby. Bill. — The Baltimore Sun. Would twins be all right? rfke ST A G E It Cant Be Done MRS. INSULL'S sudden deci sion to close her repertory company January 7, upon the expiration of the four weeks allotted to "Mr. Pirn Passes By," is the end of a long series of illus trations of Chicago's theatrical provincial ism. Where the stage is concerned we are merely a colony in in the empire of New York. Every attempt we have made toward inde pendent stage activ ity, whether in the standardized traffic of entertainment or in the cultural phases of the drama, has been frus trated by the fact that we are almost totally deficient in what Mrs. Insull calls "the raw materials." Her recog nition of and surrender to this condi tion is intelligent. She has found the game not worth the candle, and is drop ping it without asking for sympathy. For more than twenty years Chicago has been the Dark and Bloody Ground of the "art," "little," and "repertory" theatre movements. The New Theatre of 1905; the Drama Players of 1911; the Chicago Theatre Society's seasons at The Playhouse; the "precious" rituals of Maurice Browne; the tenacious torch-bearings of Donald Robertson — all these are grave-stones along the blind trail of Chicago's game, pathetic blundering toward aesthetic self-expres sion in the theatre. They came; they hoped; they starved. Mrs. Insull was not daunted by the memory of these tragedies of our jungle. The pioneer ing spirit glowed within her and she pressed bravely forward, for she could endow a theatre, if need be, with funds almost equivalent to a government sub sidy. But her discovery that New York Theatre Guild plays could be acted here without drawing audiences was fatal to her illusions. Therefore she is abandoning her plans with the crisp epilogue: "It can't be done in Chicago." There are, of course, technical rea sons for the failure of Mrs. Insull's company which do not belong to the I **"* geographical hope- lessness of our the atrical situation. She prefaced her own productions with ses sions of the Theatre Guild itself in full panoply, and was for the time being a prosperous man ageress. This was a vivid demonstration of the possibilities of an organization like the Guild, using plays from the Guild's laboratory. But it was bad sales- Is manship for her own product. From the brilliance of the Guild casts the venture shifted to performances by a company which can be fairly defined as merely deserving, as generally second-rate. The transition was too abrupt for the box-office. Guild plays by ungilded players formed a painful anti-climax. Reasons Why THEN there was Mrs. Insull's mis take of choosing Shaw's "Heart break House" for her first production. Shaw has kept many a repertory the atre alive, but with this play he became undiluted poison. Here was stark ver bigeration; vehement, incomprehensible chatter. Perhaps Shaw made this im pressive arrangement of words that mean nothing as a hoax upon his admirers. Perhaps he was laughing in his beard as the audience sat in silent, despairing confusion at the debut of Mrs. Insull's company. Perhaps he gloated like a satanic socialist over the bewilderment of the simple burghers of Chicago. But whatever the secret of "Heartbreak House," one thing is cer tain: it had a lethal effect upon Mrs. Insull's gallant adventure with the drama. In the choice of "Mr. Pirn Passes By" there was the excellent intention of finding an antidote to Shaw's por- tentious stupefactions. A light comedy of the English country-house species, transparent of intention, refreshing of mood, it seemed to be exactly the thing for the second bill. Its popu larity, indeed, had been well tested. 20 TUECUICAGOAN But here again was a mistake, not of strategy but of tactics. "Mr. Pirn" had already been acted in Chicago about as long as it deserved. It had passed by permanently several years ago. Moreover, it had been acted by a happily selected cast, while the per sonnel of Mrs. Insull's company was altogether too American for this bit of quizzical English humor. Three- fourths of the "laughs" in the play were missed at the first-night; and the tone of the performance was Kiwanis rather than Buckinghamshire. So this is the end, it seems, of Mrs. Insull's dramatic renaissance. To all those who sigh and yearn for the estab lishment of an art theatre in Chicago, there has been another cruel demon stration that it can't be done. Not in our generation, at any rate, will the theatre of so many handsome and futile dreams come to pass. Not until we have a resident population of actors, stage directors, scenic artists and dramatists. Not until it is unnecessary to cast a Chicago play F. O. B. New York. Not until the strangle-hold of "loop" rentals can be escaped. Not until our audiences have outgrown the habit of resolutely staying at home until a Broadway success comes to town. Not until we have ceased to be hyper-critical of any artistic effort which has its genesis in our own soil and supine in admiration of that which comes from beyond the horizon. Not until we, in evolution's own good time, have shed the shell of our colonialism. Across the Viaduct BUT while Mrs. Insull passes by, the Goodman Theatre still lurks in its bomb-proof. Perhaps here is the germi nating of a seed that may grow into the impressive institution of Donald Robertson's eloquent propaganda — a "civic" playhouse, a Comedie Boul. Mich., equally adept in classic and modernist drama. Let us watch this subterranean enterprise closely, and without that cancerous spirit of criti cism so characteristic of the city's atti tude toward its home-made art. Some thing is going on at the Goodman. Give it time. Here, to begin with, is the finest equipment of any art theatre this side of Berlin. Architecturally, the Good man is a joy. Its activities are some what hybrid; it is a school of stagecraft plus a stock company, and one often finds it difficult to say where the ama teurs leave off and the professionals begin. But interesting plays are being given there, in a pleasant and occa sionally stimulating manner. The scale of prices, moreover, is well within the budgets of the none-too-prosperous intelligentsia. At present the Goodmen-and-women are occupied with Oliver Goldsmith's "She Stoops To Conquer," a classic of Georgian comedy which is amusing as well as educational. There is nothing new about Goldsmith, to be sure, but when you have gone to the theatre per sistently for twenty years and have seen this play only twice, you will concede that it is a rarity if not a novelty, and will find the performance refreshing. In interpretation, "She Stoops To Conquer" is the highest achievement at the Goodman since "Juno and The Paycock." The amphibian company, half trooper and half student, puts gusto and gayety into Dr. Goldsmith's mandarin dialogue. The cast reveals a sense of pace and a capacity for romp which have been lacking in the Good man's earlier exercises in stage scholar ship. Among the easily mentionables are Whitford Kane, who knows his Tony Lumpkin, Bess Kathryn Johnson, a winsome Kate Hardcastle, and Kath- erine Krug, who soubrettes prettily as Constance. There is something growing at the Goodman. Give it a chance. Also, if Mrs. Insull's bad luck has not com pletely inhibited the drama- endowing instinct in Chicago, give it a subsidy. The Goodman does not need to pay rent or taxes, but a fatter pay-roll would improve its acting. The drama is eternally a courtesan, and will not be seductive on an Art Institute schedule of salaries. — CHARLES COLLINS. Ganglore Is there a down trodden spark of humanity Calling aloud for a lift from his lurch? Then, as a proof of their glorious sanity, Friends of the fellow should blow up a church! Is there an orphan or widow defrauded by Capital covetous ever of gain? Clearly a course of revenge to be lauded by Thousands is — blow up a school or a train! Modern condolence consists of anonymous Letters, and fuses, and boxes that tick. Bruises and sympathy now are synonymous; Pity comes cased in a dynamite stick. Rank the injustice? Go, blow up an am bulance! Sympathy calls for explosions, not psalms! Kill a few dozen to register petulance! Show you are up-to-date — say it with bombs! — PAUL ERNST. ? There is a tang of frost in the air which, like the salt in coffee, brings out the subtle flavor of the autumn sunshine. — The Home Journal (Montreal). The next time we go out we must take some salted coffee along. "Oh no, dear — those people always have beautiful automobiles ¦waiting for them around the corner." TUECUICAGOAN HTie CINEMA Culture Digs m for the Winter On Display The City Gone Wild — Reviewed here with. Get Your Man— Clara Bow at her best and in the worst possible taste. Buttons — Jackie Coogan aboard ship do ing adult things childishly — but Jackie for all that. The Lovelorn — Really a very interesting little story about sisters portrayed by Sally O'Neil and Molly O'Day, who are. Jesse James — Disclosed as a gifted young man who all but won the Civil War for the Confederacy. Pretty dull. Seventh Heaven — Janet Gaynor and Charles Farrell in the best picture in town. The Jazz Singer — Al Jolson, pleasantly audible as well as visible, sings it to a satisfactory finish. Man, Woman, Sin — Jeanne Eagels, John Gilbert and Marc McDermott, the three points of an unintriguing triangle. Underworld — Excellent fulfillment of its titular promise. The Gay Defender— Richard Dix as Robin Hood in Old California, but not much like Richard Dix. Old San Francisco — More about Old Cali fornia, explaining, at last, the reason for the quake. Worth an evening. Rose of the Golden West — Still more about Old California, but not much more. Now We're in the Air — Wallace Beery and Raymond Hatton in characteristic dumbshow — very dumb. Dress Parade — William Boyd imitating William Haines imitating a West Point cadet, but the always thrilling West Point and that's enough. See it. Two Arabian Knights — Proving that war is hell, particularly in that it give rise to unfunny war comedies. She's a Sheik — Bouncing Bebe Daniels in swordplay, wordplay and other near- Eastern exercises. Good burlesque. American Beauty — Otherwise Billie Dove. Worth an eye — both eyes. The Silver Slave — Nothing for Irene Rich to be in, but there she is. Wings — Folded and flown. See it on re turn flight. The Garden of Allah — Rex Ingram's cinematographs of Alice Terry (the missus) made abroad, with intrusions by native actors and a plot. Breakfast at Sunrise — Expert testimony by Constance Talmadge. Figures Don't Lie — Esther Ralston's physique, Ford Sterling's physiognomy, and not nearly enough of either. The Fair Co-Ed — Marion Davies saves the dear old seminary's basketball game. The College Widow — And George Ade didn't even bring suit. CULTURE, as of the cinema, has entrenched itself for a last stand in this jazZ'riddled sector. The ex tensively remodeled Apollo theatre, now somewhat awkwardly rechristened the United Artists, is the quite formid able stronghold selected for the engage ment and Dr. Hugo Riesenf eld, of New York and elsewhere, is in command. Hostilities were opened on the evening of the second Yule and the new play house is the one you will attend on your next theatre visit if you care for the better things associated with ex hibition of motion pictures. Dr. Riesenfeld, contrary to the im pression given in the stencilled inter views which have appeared in the lay press, is an able gentleman with up standing convictions pertaining to mat ters of both screen and pit. A purist in the better sense, he cherishes (and it is of record that this has been costly in a financial way) an abiding faith in the indivisibility of cinematographic en tertainment. That is, he believes the musical accompaniment to be insepara bly a part of the motion picture and vice versa. Further, he is of the opin ion that people go to the cinema to see motion pictures and not to look upon vaudeville in trick pantaloons or listen to jazzmen in high hats. Still further, he is possessed of musicianship and ar tistry in a degree adequate to the task of turning the local tide if such turn ing be within the realm of human pos sibility. As remodeled, the theatre affords a perfect housing for the effort being made. Dr. Reisenfeld has access to a film supply which amounts — on paper — to the cream of the world's output. Friendly alliance has been made with the major opposition forces and cir cumstances are perfect for the attempt to re-establish in downtown Chicago the pre- Ash niceties of cinema deport ment. Speculation as to the success of the project is pleasant but idle. The box office record shows a tremendous popu lar consent — if not approval — in favor of the jazz band. Conversely, the theory that a population of this size must embrace enough persons of taste and discernment to support one strictly motion picture theatre has imposing aspects. The purpose of these para graphs, of course, is to summon the in terested to support of the cause. Inside Stuff TO THE possible dissipation of those momentarily vexing and quickly forgotten puzzlements which bedevil and at times irk the cinema goer, it is recorded that : The reason the usher lies to you about the availability of seats in your chosen sector is because the audience may be changed, between shows, with less disturbance if customers are stacked away in orderly rows — like sar dines. The reason the organist plays ev erything but the right music for the picture between 5:30 and 6:00 (and occasionally at other times) is because his music's being broadcasted by radio to bring in more patrons — to be sim ilarly disregarded by the organist. The reason the jazz bandits feature one ditty for week after week is be cause that's the one the bandit leader draws royalties from — whether he had anything to do with its writing or not. The reason the pictures are becom ing shorter and shorter is because the stage acts are getting longer and longer. This is also the reason why there seems to be no more short comedies by Mack Sennett and Hal Roach. The reason cinemas are operated in this manner is because they have long since ceased to be cinemas and have become gilded mechanisms functioning by grace of but practically never in be half of the motion picture. More Gunfare IF you cared for the gunfare in "Un derworld," as most Chicagoans did, you'll be charmed similarly by the bumpings-off, the roundings-up and the shakings-down which are the principal features of 'The City Gone Wild." Less extensively advertised, and adver tised not at all as of Chicago, it is a better picture than "Underworld" in that it has Thomas Meighan as a mem ber of the cast and in that the Fred Kohler of "Underworld" is a more ex perienced gangman in his second try. The political side of the subject is treated with a degree of expe*rtness and the necessary ending is a bit more palatable than usual. — w. R. weaver. 22 TUECUICAGOAN CONTRACT BRIDGE Something About Diplomacy and Slams BERTIE ADAMS was a diplomat. At any rate, he was a member of the United States Diplomatic Corps, which, under pressure, I am willing to admit, is perhaps not always the same thing. Adams was playing in a Washington Club. His partner was Von Hengen- muller, the Austrian Ambassador. One of his opponents was McCoy of Balti more, the winner of a couple of dupli cate championships. Bertie managed to play the hand on a preempting club bid. He should have been able to make a grand slam at any other declaration and should have made a small slam at clubs. He got two odd, having bid four. When gently chided by Hegen- muller, he vigorously defended his play. McCoy tipped the wink to his own partner and both rallied vigor ously to the defense of Adams, insisting that he had taken every possible trick. All this with the laudable purpose of teasing Hengenmuller. This purpose was accomplished, the Ambassador finally saying, "I love McCoy and I love his partner, but they are the two worst liars in the United States of America, not barring the first Assist ant Secretary of the State." I never knew to what sad experience he was referring in this remark, but soon everyone had a drink to the worst played hand he had ever seen. Moral: It is not enough to hold cards for a slam, or even to bid the cards for a slam. There is often some play to the thing, especially if you bid a grand slam. Unless you are very sure of your own skill and of your partner's bids, you had best bid the grand slam but rarely. The small slam can quite frequently be bid and made. Most usually this is the case when the partner of the orig inal bidder has strong assistance in the suit bid and a side suit with no losing cards in it. This may be a blank suit. Suppose your partner deals and bids one spade. The second hand bids two diamonds. You hold K. J. x x in Spades no diamonds A. K. Q. x in Hearts 5 small cards in clubs. An immediate bid of three diamonds by you will inform your partner that you will lose no diamond tricks, that you have strong support in a spade suit and think there is an excellent chance of a slam. Request him if he has an ace or blank suit, in Clubs, to let you know by bidding that suit. You will understand him. You already know that he has the Ace and Queen of Spades, for those are the only two face cards he can have in that suit, and he has assured you by his bid that he has two. If your intelligent partner responds by bidding four Clubs, you will, when it comes around to you again, bid a small slam in Spades. Of course, you would have a good chance to make a grand slam and if you are a confirmed gambler, in dis tinction from a confirmed gamester, you would bid the Grand. Slam bidding is undoubtedly the most amusing part of Contract. Also, undoubtedly, more points are lost bid ding slams and suffering a penalty for not making them in place of taking an easy game, than are scored by bidding and making the slams. It need not be so. Bid your slams conservatively. Don't start slamming until you and your part ner have bid and raised the same suit, except in a case like the example given above when you are blank in the oppo nent's suit as well as strong in your partner's. Remember that an Ace does "V" y "It must be TERRIBLE to be so young." not take two tricks. (It sounds like old Polonius himself talking.) Next to slam bidding, the most amusing feature of the game, to me at least, is the double. Not that it greatly differs in Contract from Auction, but it brings in the sort of adventure that lends the genial glow to the midriff, akin to that furnished by slam bidding. So many misunderstandings arise be tween partners as to when a double is intended for a take-out and as to when it is a business double that I find it advantageous with average players to sacrifice somewhat to simplicity. The sacrifices are paid many fold in good feeling to say nothing as to any other payment. If you tell your partner that all your doubles of a no-trump bid of two or more, or of a suit bid of three or more of business, it makes things quite simple. However, at Contract you do not usually double the bid of two no-trump or of three in a suit. Your guileless adversaries, once they have bid themselves up as far as that, are more than apt to increase the con tract to a game one if you do not inter rupt them with a double. (So nice of you.) You know the old Field Marshall, the Prince de Ligne, once asked Napo leon why he had adopted a certain plan of campaign. Was it the best possible? Napoleon answered, "No, there were four better plans, but the one I selected was the simplest, and after all it is not a bad plan." As to doubles for the purpose of being taken out, there are some devel opments which have not as yet come into general use among the great body of players and yet seem to be advan tageous. Shall we here leave the hero ine in the grasp of the villain, the hero galloping to the rescue? That, I believe, is the proper spot to break off all con tinued stories. — HORACE WYLIE. TUECUICAGOAN 23 Union Station Painlessly Projected LARGEST, finest and most modern railway station in the world — cost $65,000,000— train sheds and tracks cover six square blocks. Three hun dred trains arrive and depart daily. Sixty-six thousand passengers pass through the huge structure every day in the year. Two thousand tons of mail are handled in it every twenty- four hours. Train sheds and terminal tracks occupy 16 acres. It is the only large railway station where patrons may buy tickets, check luggage and enter their train without ascending or descending steps. Not a cuspidor in the place, and no signs warning against spitting on the floor; spitters are re pressed by the sheer elegance of their environment. The old time train announcer with the trombone voice and unintelligible enunciation is absent. There is no noise, hurry or excitement. Every thing is so systematized that hundreds of trains arrive and depart hourly, carrying immense throngs of travellers in order and quiet. There is a somber dignity that reminds one of a bank. There is a quiet charm in the atmos phere reminiscent of the lobby of a high class hotel. Smart shops, res taurants, beauty laboratories, drug stores, tonsorial emporiums and gift stores line the arcades. Apparently nobody ever misses a train. If they do you never hear of it; in the old days when a person missed a train everybody knew it. Outside in the train sheds are shiny rails leading north, south, east and west. The long, sleek, all steel limited train receiving its distinguished look ing patrons is the aristocrat of the rail way world. On another track is an accommoda tion train with tired-faced women leading bawling children aboard. They carry shoe boxes filled with lunch, and bags of fruit. Over there are the suburban trains crowded with business men and women reading newspapers and magazines; they are patient commuters who work in the city and sleep in the country. There is a typical suburbanite who might have stepped out of a news paper comic strip; he is thin, wears glasses, carries an armful of packages and an umbrella and looks like his wife is the boss. G. C. W. 3ook/- F euchtw anger, Sandburg and Others IT is always with a certain excitement that one greets the first book having next year's date on the title page — even if it's no more than a book about household management. But the first book of 1928, due for publication on the third, possesses in addition an ex citement all its own. It is the second book of Lion Feuchtwanger. His earlier book, "Power," will long be remem bered in the book trade as a novel that took a year to get going and then be came a best seller. But "The Ugly Duchess" will not take a year to get going. It had only to be announced and readers began asking for it. A few even carried impatience so far as to send for the English edition — thereby saving a week or ten days. For both "Power" — in spite of a title that suggests waterfalls and electric current — and "The Ugly Duchess" are historical romance. And, apparently, good historical romance — witness also Sabatini — is as irresistible to the twen tieth century as it was to the surprised audiences of Sir Walter Scott. "Power" was a picture of life at the Eighteenth Century court of Wurtemburg. The Ugly Duchess takes us again to one of those little Teutonic principates, states even more beguiling in the reality than they are in the manufactured form of a "Graustark." But Feuchtwanger romance is not Sabatini romance. Where Sabatini swashbuckles, Feuchtwanger plays criti cally with personality and with its political and economic implications. Each book has a theme that is worth consideration. "The Ugly Duchess" is the story of a woman with a brain. As a child she uses that brain to studious purpose, in youth she turns her thought toward correcting her ugliness, and in her later youth, finding that her ugli ness is too thoroughgoing to yield to treatment, she settles down to politics. In our century, such specializition would have brought results. In the Middle Ages it merely precipitates tragedy after tragedy. Margaret's ugli ness bewitches everything she does. There are, of course, a number of other books that will be 1928 for most people, their date to the contrary not withstanding. The books that have come in last in the great race for autumn publication. Such reading as "The Vanguard," for instance, a hu morous romance with a yacht as instru ment of oblivion for two middle-aged business men. And, strangely enough, Carl Sand burg's "American Songbag," although out since November, will probably be for most people 1928. There are two reasons. In the first place, it was an nounced for last year, and those who put in their orders then may be feeling a little sensitive and cautious, like King Heinrich, father of "The Ugly Duchess," who had put up a tent city to be married in, and had then been baffled of his bride. And in the second there has been the extraordinary one- volume edition of S a n d b u r g's "Abraham Lin coln," available for December only, to take our minds off the new book. Yet "The American Song- bag" is in its way as interest ing a venture as the Lincoln itself, 24 TUECUICAGOAN and it has been carried out by Mr. Sandburg in much the same spirit. American song is of course very much the vogue just now. Sigmund Spaeth's collection of bygone favorites, "Read 'Em and Weep," was so definite a suc cess that he has had to give it a sequal, "Weep Some More, My Lady." James Weldon Johnson, collector of negro spirituals, has had the same experience. There has also been a collection of "Blues." And Frank Shay has special ized in still another direction in "My Pious Friends and Drunken Com panions." But Mr. Sandburg, travel ing about with his guitar, like a trou badour of old, has taken all American song for his province. Songs of the Mexican border, of the Kentucky mountains, blues, spirituals, tramp songs, war songs. And he presents them in a way that is as personal as his own recitals. — SUSAN WILBUR. Books to Read The Counterfeiters, by Andre Gide. (Alfred A. Knopf.) $3. Gide is one of the greatest living French writers and this is his masterpiece. It is a novel of character, character developed against the handicaps not of hardship but of ease and of emotional abnormality. One reader, unsympathetic to Gide, described the book as Dostoevsky done in the French manner. Other readers, more sympathetic, have put the book in the same class with Mann's "The Magic Mountain." Told Again: Old Tales Told Again, by Walter de la Mare; with illustrations by A. H. Watson. (Knopf.) Here is something redolent of Christmas — which means fairies for grown up people who know that they are not quite real and so can regard them with humor. Mr. de la Mare has taken a number of the old fairy tales, such as Little Red Riding Hood, Jack and the Beanstalk, Dick Whittington, and has given us his own version of them— the result being tales that will appeal to children at their face value and to adults for their delicate whimsy. Aspects of the Novel, by E. M. Forster. (Harcourt, Brace.) Usually a book about the novel is not a thing one could recom mend to people who read for pleasure. But this book by the author of "Passage to India" is altogether exceptional. It is written as a series of informal lectures, and discusses the novel in such simple terms as this: " 'The king died and then the queen died' is a story. 'The king died and then the queen died of grief is a plot." But these seeming simplicities lead to profundities and if the reader wishes to know why he has never quite liked Henry James — or else why he adores him — this book will show him the reason. American Poetry 1927; A Miscellany. (Harcourt, Brace.) $2.50. This anthol ogy is made up of the work, self-chosen, of sixteen American poets, all of them well known, all of the younger genera tion — Louis Untermeyer being possibly the dean of the group — and none of them of the wild and woolly left wing. They include our own Carl Sandburg, our ex-Illinoisian, Vachel Lindsay, our recent visitor, Elinor Wylie, another for mer Chicagoan, Archibald MacLeish, our still more recent visitor, Edna St. Vin cent Millay, the widely acclaimed Robin son Jeffers, H. D., Robert Frost, Conrad Aiken, and the exquisite Leonie Adams. A Bookman Guesses Mencken s Critique MR. H. L. MENCKEN whose syn dicated newspaper articles ap pear in The Chicago Sunday Tribune, and incidentally cause The Tribune to keep insisting that his opinions are not necessarily in consonance with their opinions and policies, recently used up his expanse of white space on the first page of the dramatic section of The Sunday Tirbune with a hearty sally against motion pictures. Mr. Mencken as a popular writer continues to in dulge in the accepted formula of lam basting. He is well-versed in the theory that a good, healthy sock makes popular reading. He is sufficiently used to the ways of criticism to know that a tempered and reasoned critique often does not make the best reading, so while vigorously inveighing against the boob, the yokel, the moron and the imbecile, he shrewdly gauges his column to catch the eye of those whom he would seem to excoriate. And this, of course, for the very good reason that the yokelry amounts up to very sizeable numbers in our midst. Mr. Mencken on the motion picture is Mr. Mencken at his very silliest. He undertakes a discussion of a tremendous fact of the world of today while as suming a posture of vast superiority toward his subject. So superior and aloof indeed is his attitude toward the subject which he would have his read ers believe that he was writing intelli gently and knowingly about that he sets down a line at the outset of his article which is intended to indicate that his own attention is of course too precious to waste upon motion pictures and motion picture theatres and that his discussion is based on facts relayed to him by "his operatives who are in attendance at the movie cathedrals." Mr. Mencken's remoteness from an understanding of how pictures are made and from any possible realization of the nature of the existing forces which are making for an artistic inv provement in motion pictures is sug gested in a "little theatre" theory which he advances. He remarks on the recent development of efficient small movie cameras and indicates his belief that a "great motion picture" may come from two or three persons, with one of these small cameras, going off somewhere away from the influence of big business and studio organization and creating real screen literature. He points out that with one of these cameras pictures may be made for "five or six cents a foot." He figures that for perhaps $1,000 a great picture could be made under such auspices. The reasoning of this celebrated critic is ludicrous and his lack of knowledge of what the use of the medium of motion pictures as a form of expression entails is lamentable. He seems to believe that a great motion picture, like a great novel or a great painting, might be created in a garret. It is just as reasonable to say that great architecture could be realized in a garret. Both a novelist and a screen writer may create their stories anywhere they see fit, but when the novelist's manu script is completed there remains the necessity for printing presses and other publishing equipment. Similarly, when the screen writer's manuscript is done a vast and intricate studio organization is necessary in order to translate the TI4ECWICAG0AN 25 story into the medium of expression for which it was written. Greater motion pictures will not come from any of Mr. Mencken's magical sources but will come from those qualified and experienced sources which are laboring to that end in their own field certainly quite as intelligently as Mr. Mencken is laboring in his. — H. K. MIDDLETON. MU/ICAL NOTE/ The French Wing Goes into Action Parking In The Looft WHEN the city fathers ordained that Chicago motorists were to be allowed to park no more in the Loop, the inventive soul of Caesar Sap pho soared to heights unplumbed. The newspaper headlines informing the city of the action set aflame the spark of genius flickering under the fedora of the exuberant Mr. Sappho and the busy interior of a converted garage which was the workshop of the name sake of the Caesars became a veritable beehive of industry. Let us fugit with tempus, now, to a morning some time later when Chi- cagoans unloaded their physiques into the Loop. None will be surprised at their curiosity upon beholding Caesar Sappho explaining his new invention to a crowd of interested onlookers, "It's like this, gents," he was saying. "No more parking in the Loop. Now, step up closer and I'll show you the greatest invention of the day. "Here we have a set of grappling hooks attached to a heavy chain. Take these hooks and fasten them securely to the fenders of your car. The chain, as you can see is connected to a pat ented pulley which you attach to any convenient L structure. One-man power is sufficient to hoist your car and you can leave the car suspended thus as long as you please. Another ad vantage is that no cop can reach the tin he loves to touch to put a ticket on it. - — DAVID E. EVANS. Lady will share bun with congenial couple. X469. — The Former Miami (Fla.) Tab. Only a lady would. Lunch. Our business men's lunch is get ting more popular all the time. You can't eat it for quality or price. It is expertly served. "Why Not Dine Here?" Rennas Restaurant. ¦ — ¦ Shamo\in (Pa.) Wee\ly T^ews. One might as well be frank about it. WITH the first performance of "Louise," Charpentier's delect able Parisian souvenir, the French wing of the opera swung into real action. "Monna Vanna," simultaneously feb rile and anemic, was no fair test for its artistry. But the bitter duel be tween parents and child, kernel of Charpentier's vivid libretto, requires singing and acting of a high order. That it got from Garden, Ansseau and Vanni-Marcoux. We are of the blindly adoring fac tion, given voice by Huneker, which considers that everything Our Mary does is at least adequate and most everything, particularly from the angle of histrionism, immortal. Louise be longs to a gallery which includes Mel- isande, The Juggler, and Salome. It is a Garden role. Last summer we dis covered Gall in the part, vocally satis factory but lustreless as a combatant. She was the ill-treated, supine daugh ter of brutal, domineering parents. Her ultimate revolt lacked proper motiva tion. In Garden we discover the ca pacity for this revolt the minute she is seen upon the stage with the Mother. There is a notable tension in the air. Right hand on hip, swinging jauntily about the poor little apartment of her parents, you feel that this Louise, a midinette in a sweat-shop, has al ready bumped squarely up against love and poverty and will be pre pared to make ec static decisions bold ly when the moment arrives. Ansseau 's role is a negative one. He is the lover, the young Bohemian, the lure. It is Paris that Louise desires as much as a lover. Julien's life merges mystically into her conception of the City. To her par ents he is a good-for-nothing loafer. We never discover what he really is, nor is it necessary. For this absence of characterization is duty com pensated by the lovely vocal part assigned him. With this role Ansseau was able to accomplish miracles of grace and lyricism. The Father is the pivot of the action. He stems the catastrophe by his leni ence long enough to give the opera its raison d'etre and then, completely frus trated by his daughter's desire for free dom, explodes and, in the fullness of his misery and wrath, drives her from home. It is interesting to contrast in terpretations of this great role. Vanni- Marcoux, of the Civic Opera, long schooled in the part, makes of the Father a tender, almost gallant artisan. He towers above his child like a suitor, flirts with her, intervenes when she is slapped by her Mother, and develops his third act with a rising crescendo of wrath and passion, culminating in his curse upon the City. Rothier, on the contrary, is a mild, gentle, beaten old man, a' plodder downed by years of 26 TUECUICAGOAN grinding poverty and unwilling to un derstand his daughter's wishes. When he drives her away it is as if a domestic animal had been goaded with a pitch fork until it had gone crazy with pain. Rothier, to me, seems more clearly to have caught the composer's intent. And it does not hurt him that he has a lit tle better voice than Vanni-Marcoux. Polacco conducted like the capable maestro he is, although at times the or chestra sounded ragged. Mojica con tributed a couple of his invaluable por traits as the Noctambulist and the King of the Carnival, and Chase Baromeo furnished an admirable solo in the mys terious street scene of the second act. The artistic level of the production was high. The Symphony THE tenth regular program of the symphony, Dec. 16 and 17, was far and away the best of the season. It opened with a Concerto Grosso of Vivaldi that held no particular charm. But from then on it was gold and rose. The Handel-Harty Water Music, played here by the Philadelphia band a year ago, justifies the arrangement for modern orchestra of such sturdy classics as this suite, written in 1717 for one of the George I barge rides down the Thames. The Water Music is brother to such amplified settings as the Schumman-Stock Rhenish Sym phony or the Bach-Godowsky piano suites. At this concert Ernest Blach's Suite for Viola and Orchestra had its first Chicago hearing. The solo part was left in the capable hands of Joseph Vieland, a member of the Orchestra's viola section. Bloch's music possesses undeniable greatness. In it is inherent the bitterness of a race forced to fight for centuries for its existence. But his is more than a Jewish genius. He em braces the East, comprehending it with rapid-fire moods of irony, passion and regret. He is rarely happy but when he is, it is in broad empyrean flights as in the last movement of this suite. Here he becomes Franck dressed as Khubla Khan, jubilant and all-wise. When the twentieth century has rolled by he will stand out as a master. And we write this knowing of the dangers in volved in prediction. The second half of the program re vealed the orchestra as it has not sound ed in months, perfect in ensemble, powerful, colorful and exact. The medium was the Third Symphony of Scriabin, the Divine Poem. Stock is enormously successful with this work because, although it is indubitably original, it is more Wagnerian than Russian. Music in the grand manner, it requires sweeping effects and even occasional violence. Conductor and orchestra rose to this need and the re sult was a triumphant occasion, a peak in the orchestral landscape. — ROBERT POLLAK. Current Records John Alden Carpenter's "Water Colors," Chinese tone poems for voice and piano have been recorded by an amateur organization, the Chicago Gram ophone Society and will be released in a limited edition of two-hundred sets shortly after the first of the year. The vocalist is Mina Hager, long notably as sociated with the Allied Arts, and Mr. Carpenter plays the piano accompani ments himself. We have heard a set of advance test records from the Columbia laboratories, where the discs were elec trically made, and go on the stand to tes tify that they are artistic achievements of no mean order and worthy of any gramophile's collection. Made with the set is an additional double-faced record comprising two songs of Hugo Wolf and one of Richard Strauss. The seven songs in the set (there are four in the Carpenter suite) are contained on two double-faced twelve-inch records and re tail for five dollars. They can be ob tained by writing Vories Fisher, Room 160?, 10? W. Adams or by phoning State 1934, the home office of this up- and-coming group of amateur recorders. Wolfram's Eulogy of Love and the weather-beaten Song to the Evening Star, both from "Tannhauser," are the vehicles for Heinrich Schlussnus' intro duction to the American record public. Brunswick has issued the discs which were made in Europe, probably by Poly dor. Of the excellencies of Herr Schluss nus' voice and intelligence we have writ ten no end. He has also done arias from Mignon and Faust for the same company. The numbers are 27000 and 27002. Ravel's Mother Goose Suite has been made for Columbia by Walter Damrosch and the New York Symphony. This charming work was done in the old days by Coates, Victor Blue Seal, but the discs are out of date. The new set is No. b74 and captures a great modern com poser in a moment of wistful fantasy. Newsprint Sprightly Statistics CARTOONISTS and jokesmiths have had a great deal of fun with the drug store during the past five or six years, the basis for the laugh being that the drug store sells almost everything except drugs. A booklet recently issued by one of Chicago's great afternoon newspapers indicates that these same humorists are over looking a parallel opportunity in that institution called the newspaper. Analyzing itself for the month of May, this newspaper sets out to establish the fact that only five per cent of its space each day is available to "general news." And it proves it. The purpose of this booklet is to build up for the paper's advertising salesmen a written defense against requests for "free publicity" from its advertisers. It is thoughtfully pre pared. It shows the acid test to which all items are submitted. They must be news. They must stand on their merit, whether they come from or concern advertisers or non-adver tisers. And when they have been definitely classified as news, they enter into competition with thousands of other items for a place in the paper that day. "One thing few7 readers or adver tisers understand fully is that, for every word of news published, there are at least ten words that cannot be published. Every inch of newspaper space is at a high premium," is the high point in the pamphlet. This paragraph will never be proclaimed 27 JOURNALI/TIC JOURNEY/ TUE CHICAGOAN from the billboards replacing such slogans as "All the news that's fit to print." Yet, it is one of the most informative paragraphs turned up in months. "Cannot be published" is a rather odd way of putting it. Ninety per cent of the news, which apparently never reaches the linotype machines, could be published, but not in the space assigned to news. To present it to the readers would require more pages and consequently more expense. Even the casual reader of newspapers has been conscious of the tremendous changes taking place in newspaper organization. Where, a few years ago, his newspaper used to scream over its triumph in some campaign for civic betterment, he now reads full page announcements claiming that in the first six months of 1927 his favorite paper carried more lines of Idaho potato advertising than any two other newspapers in the city. He has not realized, however, that this start ling intelligence is given him at the cost of eight full columns of general news. He has not realized that all of these editors, reporters, and specialists are busy preparing a five per cent veneer over a conglomeration consisting of 65 per cent advertising and the balance of features and departments, including comics, how to play bridge and advice to the lovelorn. The paper mentioned, to reflect its concern for the reader, points out that during May only 64 per cent of its space was given to the advertiser, while "it is interesting to note that the advertising average of the leading Chicago morning newspaper for the same period was 69 per cent." Just to give the reader a clear idea why he has a vague idea "there is nothing in the paper this morning," this column suggests that the news papers devote a page advertisement occasionally to a statement of the amount of news published with all the embellishments now showered on ad vertising statistics. —EZRA. ? The slop barrel — dirty, stinking and fly attracting — is still found on too many farms. Not only is it an eyesore but it is unhealthy for the hogs. The slop, all of which is never removed, sours and brews, especially in summer-time, until it is almost as bad as bootleg whiskey. — The Farm Journal (Phila.). And bootleg whiskey isn't fit for a hog. I Always Look Ufion THIS is a story of prima donnas. Came eleven o'clock, and the usual gathering of feature writers and photographers in the train-shed of the Dearborn street station, bent on inter cepting the usual Hollywood movie star en route to New York. It was, if anything, a rather exceptional turn-out for what Mr. Rodenbach referred to as a forty-year old umplatz. But this was a Saturday. Gang wars never hap pen on Saturdays. So there had assembled on this dull morning, vers eleven a. m. on the head, the Poet Laureate of the Balaban and Katz enterprises, and chief greeter to incoming movie stars, Mr. Andrew Mil ler, most good natured of the fraternity of grouchy-looking photographers, Mr. Rodenbach, head writer of funny stories about animals for The Daily Tiews, Miss Romola Schutz, regular movie-queen-meeting reporter for the Evening American, and various other leading cameras and pencils. "Mae Murray?" said Mr. Rodenbach to Miss Schutz. "Mae Murray," Miss Schutz ac knowledged her quest. And the pho tographers proceeded to borrow plate- holders from each other as they set up their cameras in anticipation of the coming formalities, • and the atmosphere was most genial, for nowhere are mem bers of the newspaper fraternity as Chicago as My Home fraternal as under the hospitable reaches of a trainshed awaiting a movie star. In such a situation the competi tion is nill, the underlying animosity of the "scoop" seeker is absent, the story is certain to arrive with the ar rival of the train and to depart shortly thereafter, closing any possibilities of special stuff gotten by one reporter after all the other reporters have de serted the prey. The movie star will come off the train, will be pointed out by a porter — for movie queens coming off trains have a disconcerting habit of looking a great deal like other people coming off trains — she will then gurgle greetings, say something about Chicago's weather while she is being dragged to the sun light beyond the trainshed to be pho tographed; this over, she will disappear into a cab while all the reporters will adjourn into the station restaurant for some coffee and an exchange of the latest gossip as to who has been fired cm 28 TI4ECI4ICAGOAN from what sheet. They will then share a cab back to Madison and Wells, and part to their respective offices to write features about the visiting movie star. So, with this pleasant prospect, the assembled reporters and photographers, headed by the P. L. of B. 6? K., made their way alongside the train, dodging porters wheeling baggage trucks. Pres ently a lady in expensive clothes was nabbed hopping off the stairs of car 106a. "Will you pose please," commanded the photographers, and started the pro cession toward the sunlight. But here begins the story: Mae Murray coyly balked. "Oh, no," she said, chiefly to the P. L. of B. 6? K., "I couldn't think of posing in these clothes. Y' see I never photograph well except in white. I'll change at the Blackstone and then you can all come over." "She says she's got to be in white, boys," said the P. L. to Messrs. Miller et al. "Uh," said Mr. Miller. "Uh," said the gang. "Now, please, Miss Murray," said Mr. Miller, "you understand we have to make an edition. . . ." And all the other photogs pleaded, and the P. L. brought out his oiliest innuendos of diplomacy, but the Movie Queen remained firm. Only in white. So all the photographers drew aside in a circle and buzzed. Presently Andy Miller shrugged his hands, and shouldered his camera. Fol lowed the rest of the photographers with shouldered cameras, and Miss Schutz close to Miss Murray pleading with the queen to do the boys a favor, and the P. L., unpoetically, dashing up and back between the photographers and Miss Murray trying to arrange for one half hour later at a hotel. "I can grant you an interview," said Miss Murray to Miss Schutz and Mr. Rodenbach, "but you see I must change costume before I can be photographed. Oh, I enjoy picture work so much," she went on, "I wish you could really understand the great thrill it gives me to think that my beautiful productions are being shown in forty theatres all at the same time, and that hundreds of thousands of people are thronging to the doors of these palaces to get their evening's freedom from the cares of life. Of course I enjoy my glorious career, but really you know the thing that gives me most happiness is the thought of that great dear public — " "How much is that statue worth?" "Quarter of a million, Madam' — that is the proprietor." "Hey!" the yell came from Andy Miller. "Look — " The object was an Indian. An Indian with feathers and a wife in a blanket. "Public," Miss Murray was saying, but only the Poet Laureate was near enough to hear, and in a moment he was dashing after the photographers who were dashing after the Indian. "Hey, boys, she'll pose; all she wants is a little coaxing," said he. "Nix, this guy ain't only an Indian, he's an opera singer," said Mr. Miller, busily engaged in setting up his camera. "Look at them feathers, will you. "The old umplatz got all the eagles himself, too," said Mr. Rodenbach. Meanwhile Miss Murray stood ir resolute. She ambled vaguely one way and the other, casting eyes toward the group of photographers, going toward a cab, hesitating. "They'll be through in a minute," said the P. L. dashing back to her side. "It doesn't concern me," said Miss Murray. "I'll go to the Blackstone." "Wait," he implored. His eyes flashed around the station. "Uh — you'd better phone first. Uh — they may be full up. Here's a phone booth." And in an instant he had crowded Miss Murray into a phone booth. He wiped his brow, looked to the Indian, saw the photographers folding up their cameras, and sprinted once more. "I got her in the phone booth," he said, with hard-won triumph in his voice. "Come along. She'll pose." But alas! The asture photographers shook their heads. "We got the In dian," said Mr. Andrew Miller. "And we have to make an edition." "Yep," said the reporters, for the reporters always back up the photog raphers. And there they left him standing. The Poet Laureate of the Balaban and Katz enterprises shook his head sadly. He heaved a great sigh, and walked slowly toward the exit, in the opposite direction of the phone-booths. "When," he wearily moralized,"when will these prima donnas learn that no body, not even a movie queen, can stand up against an Indian chief! Especially when he's got his feathers on. And a wife in a blanket at that." — MEYER LEVIN. Art John Storrs — Sculptor i i X"> HICAGO has retained a cer vix tain freedom from opinion ated prejudices which makes it an ideal background against which to project the creative effort towards a new cycle of world thought." This is the reason given by John Storrs for leaving the historic background of the Continent and returning to the city of his birth for the culmination of a distinguished artistic career. This sentiment is characteristic of John Storrs both as a man and as a sculptor. He has acquired a mental perspective which displays an aston ishing facility for dealing in realities. At first his opinion regarding the im mediate artistic future of Chicago may seem unduly optimistic — even to Chi- cagoans. But Storrs knows whereof he is speaking. The first white man who passed through the Chicago River said about the present site of Chicago that "Here is the seat of empire," and Chicago has already exceeded his dreams. This commercial giant of the plains is grinding out a new race of men to accomplish her destiny. Upon the solidity of her economic location she is realizing the new urban conscious ness of the world. "Why not then a Chicago of superlative intellectual achievement?" asks John Storrs. "Shi- cago has managed to grow great with out losing the vital sap of her pioneer- TUECUICAGOAN 29 ing strength. She has escaped the descent into the meaningless dribble of sophisticated empiricism." . . . Here, then, one would gather from John Storrs, is the seat of the New Acropolis. Storrs believes that Chi cago possesses a race of builders whose courage and practical stamina are equal to the task of creating a new aesthetic era. And John Storrs has a way of making you feel that he is right. He is himself a living exponent of those stern ingredients whereby genius has ever tempered her desires towards the realization of a beauty everlasting. The sculpture of Storrs lives be cause it has emanated from a mind thoroughly steeped in tradition, and yet of a caliber so great that it could build upon those traditions a structure entirely its own. His compositions breathe a freshness which is as new as tomorrow. His forms have a final feeling about them which proceed from his understanding in relating his masses to the main line. They have that illusion of entity which we ordi narily ascribe to the sphere; the mind gravitates at once towards the funda mental core of his main idea. John Storrs is bringing sculpture back into its pristine unity with archi tecture. Sculpture has never thrived apart from the wall and the column. This feeling of monolithic severity which he so faithfully represents car ries with it an atmosphere as serene as the snows of Mount Olympus. In his abstract studies of pure architec tural forms he exceeds even himself. These exquisitely balanced creations mount upwards with a sheer sweep and rythm harmonious like straight pine trees against the curtain of the sky. There are dreams built into the sculpture of John Storrs. Dreams of a city exceedingly beautiful. There is an abiding faith in them. A faith born of knowledge and an unswerving devotion to a life ideal of accomplish ment. It means much to the future Chi cago to have John Storrs back again. "At this point is the seat of empire." We share that faith with John Storrs. We are also thankful to be reunited with an artist of his accomplishment, and to the Arts Club for letting us see his works in such congenial sur roundings. — OSKAR J. W. HANSEN. WH AT PARTY! HEREVER you see a lot of nice people having an absolutely wonderful time — which means whenever you find the younger crowd en gaged in being themselves — you're pretty certain to run into a whale of a lot of Fatima smokers. ATIM A Everything that makes a cigarette stay liked! MYERS TOBACCO CO. LUNCHEON— DINNER— SUPPER T HESE are names to conjure with— Yaschenko for his rare Russian-French cuisine — Kaissaroff for his brilliant art creations and decorations Stcherban's Gypsy Orchestra for its inspiring music — Khmara the Master of Ceremonies — Miraeva, Kitaeva, Sankarjevsky, Wadi- moff and Goulieff for their delightful entertainment. Complete new program of a dashing, original and entirely exclusive character. $etrugf)ka Club Phone Wabash 2497 403 S. Wabash Ave. Spend Sunday Evening in ORCHESTRA HALL 216 S. Michigan Avenue at the famous ^uttdag iEuetting (Eiuh 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 30 TM£ CHICAGOAN . . . And so we bring HOT SPRINGS to Chicago! For more than seventy years, physicians have recommended a trip to Hot Springs ... to drink Mountain Valley Water. Many wished to have the benefits of this fa mous water all the year 'round. . . . So, for more than twenty years, we have been delivering it direct from the Springs in handy sized bottles. 'Phone or write for Booklet We Deliver Mountain Valley Water Co. 739 W. Jackson Blvd. Monroe 5460 'North Shore Branch, Evansten 2609 Broadway. Ph. Greanleaf 4777 The Chicagoman Dresses for La Salle Street Importers Offer a very exclusive selec tion of gowns and sport cos' tumes for Southern wear. 6 J{. Michigan Ave., Chicago, III. GENERAL CLEARANCE OF FALL AND WINTER MODELS A New Year Resolution I Will Go to g pit of &>totbtn For my next luncheon, after noon tea or dinner and be served with matchless foods and delicacies. Parties a Specialty ion Rush St. - Del. 4508 OPEN EVENINGS UNTIL 9 O'CLOCK LA SALLE STREET has its very defi- * nite place as a guide to what well dressed Chicagomen are wearing. The dominant note is, as expected, conserva' tism. Somber, business' like clothes for the most part. Often they have a rich elegance — but a somber elegance. For instance, the men in the Pit at the Board of Trade. Blues, blues every where, interspersed with a few dark greys and browns. Soft collars are an overwhelming favorite, and when the stiff collar is worn it is the old-fashioned "banker's" variety. Another favorite is the bow tie, which is seen but rarely elsewhere and never on Michigan Ave nue, except with a wing collar. Most of the men around the Board have a penchant for the snap brim hat and the heavy ulster. The velvet cob lared overcoat hasn't made a dent here, although the masses have taken it up wholeheartedly. On State Street it bobs up on every second or third man. Quite a few La Salle Street's older men wear wing collars. Black hats are numerous, too. Capper 6? Capper's La Salle Street store is displaying white madras shirts with English self jacquard figures and cutout monogram on sleeves, indicative of a trend by men who, wedded to the white shirt, vary the plain ones with these self jacquarded patterns. The derby is just as lonely in La Salle Street as is the velvet collar, two items of apparel which, on the first thought, would seem to be the financial district's own hallmark of conservatism. Another one of the style trends not noticeable is the plain or fancy double breasted weskit, still a bit too much for conservative La Salle Street. A friend of mine, lately returned from London, tells this story. An Englishman, living on an island in the West Indies with only natives as com- panions, wears his dinner suit once a week in order that his manners and deportment should not become affected by his surroundings. It is a tonic to him. A good idea here. Next time you're feeling blue or depressed, change clothes, wear brighter ties and perhaps a buttonhole. You'll be astonished at the results. This same friend brings me a style tip that is of real value. Dress shirts with narrow bosoms (if they're stiff) will not bulge under the soft front of the jacket, thus presenting a neater turnout. Here's another tip from London for Spring. Blacks and whites, and greys, dusted blues and browns of the tan family will be the favorite suit colors. Indistinct fancy jacquards or small de' signs are another style tip from there. The general tendency is for patterns to merge into each other, with nothing contrasted. And a new color, lavender grey, is being sponsored over there by Prince Henry, King George and Lascelles. Watch for it here. Talking about fancy waistcoats, the white double breasted waistcoat to be worn with a Dinner suit has a decided revival. Dockstader and Sandburg and Finchley's, among others, are showing it. And a type of cravat seen with increasing frequency at smart day wed dings and afternoon affairs is the "once over" or Ascot tie with the wing collar. Watch out for more and more full dress suits this season. — EDWARD GROSSFELD. TUECUICAGOAN The Chicagoenne Reviews Her Wardrobe IT is a fortunate thing that just at this time when the holidays have left one a bit limp and the wardrobe that seemed so adequate earlier in the season begins to show lacks here and there that the dressmakers and shops always have a few end-of- the- season surprises. And these last mid-winter offerings always have a delightful hint of the season to come. There is, for instance, a dark blue sport suit by Chanel which Rena Hart- man is showing that would fit in beau tifully right now and will be smart all during the coming season. The coat is plain and loose, the skirt is intricate' ly cut with a panel of pleats directly in front, and it is worn with a sweater blouse of red, blue and white striped jersey woven with the new wide mesh. The stripes are of uneven width, the red ones quite wide, the blue and white very narrow, and the chief feature of the sweater blouse is that the front is so cut that the stripes, horizontal in the body, go diagonally at the shoulders in a yoke effect. Another costume of equal utility and smartness also by Chanel and also shown by Rena Hartmann here has a tan jersey top — that new fancy weave, wide-meshed jersey with a raised stitch running in stripes at close intervals — and a heavy kasha skirt. The skirt has two wide inverted pleats in the front and the inside — the inversion, if you may call it so — is cut on the bias. That sounds impossible in the telling but ac tually it gives a chic flare that is very new and very interesting. A preview of Field's clothes for Pain* Beach and the South gives one to know that the coming season is to be a thrilling one from the clothes view point. There is a new silk tweed that is simply incredible. It looks like the hairiest, wooliest masculine tweed over-coating, one of those very sporting patterns, a broad herring-bone weave with pronounced blacks and whites, browns and whites or blues. Actually, and you must touch the fabric to convince yourself, this rough serviceable tweed is lightest weight silk! Can't you think what pleasure it's going to be to be able to have the most correct of tailored tweed traveling suits, and yet enjoy the cool softness of crepe de chine? The particular model we admired was cut exactly like the tweed sports ensembles we enjoyed so much at the beginning of the season, long three-quarter coat, very plain and very well cut, a straight skirt, pleated and a charmingly intricate simple crepe blouse. The predominant color of the "tweed" was gray-blue and with this ensemble a soft gray-blue stitched silk hat was worn. This had rather a wider brim than we have been accustomed to seeing on a soft stitched hat and it drooped and was slightly wider in back than in front. After what one has read concerning the weirdness and wildness of loung ing pajamas and beach costumes, it was a happy relief to find that most of those shown at Field's are gay enough but not in the least bizarre. One of the nicest was a white challis coolie coat and pajamas worn over a frilly red taffeta bathing suit. Of course, 32 TUECUICAGOAN the coolie coat was brightly patterned around the bottom with oriental flora and landscapes but no one could call the soft beauties of oriental design bizarre- — at least not after one has had a good sample of what the modernists can do! Another bathing suit beach ensemble, one the practical bather would enjoy, was of processed black crepe de chine very nicely cut both for freedom of movement and smart ness and with it was worn a cape and headkerchief of rubberized satin, gaily flowered like cretonne. Nothing is smarter for sports than black and white and you can imagine the startling effectiveness of a white crepe de chine bathing suit worn with a black rubberized satin shawl square. I doubt that one would want white- crepe de chine for much swimming but the cut of this particular suit was prac tical. It ties on the shoulder just as the more prosaic bathing jersey but tons, and the skirt is detachable. In fact the skirt is nothing more than a very full three-tiered apron which ties on in a cunning bow either in back or front as its wearer chooses. Afternoon and evening dresses are charming! Picture this — a reversible wrap, heavy satin and heavy crepe with a loose sleeve on one side and a cape on the other, worn over a white lace dress, long-sleeved and full of skirt, and a broad-brimmed, floppy lemon-yellow straw hat banded with coffee-brown velvet ribbon. Or this — a vivid lip-stick red chiffon dress with a tiered skirt slightly up-at-the side, and a tremendous lemon-yellow hat, floppy and of sheerest hair braid, with a soft black velvet crown, and with this a lemon-yellow tailored lace para sol. Several printed frocks were shown, one of the most interesting being of chiffon in a large pattern of modernist leaves in orange, beiges, tan and black, the negro colorings, and worn with an enormous floppy black hat. Beside the reversible crepe and satin wrap there were two other very in teresting evening coats, both of velvet. One was a shade of old gold almost the shade we used to know as mustard and its smartness lay in its scarf collar and loose turned back cuffs which were lined with gold lame. The other was softest emerald green velvet, very loose and full, with sleeves tucked half way across horizontally, the line of tucks continuing straight across the back of the shoulders and down the opposite sleeve. This gives an effect of draping that is soft and flattering. This par ticular wrap was worn over a pale green taffeta picture dress which showed the new surplice neck, the long bodice fitted to the hip line and the very full skirt set on in cartridge pleats at a hip line higher in front than in back. It is doubtful that the square shawl will be as smart as the regulation eve ning wrap but certainly any self-re specting southern wardrobe should in clude one or two. There was one of black taffeta and gold lace, not metallic gold lace, but silk lace with a gold tint that was worn with a bouffant black taffeta dress of the Spanish type with gold jewelry, bracelet, necklace and earrings, that was worth remembering and another, an enormous deeply fringed white velvet triangle held close to the neck by a narrow scarf collar had a full blown pink rose three-quarters of a yard across handpainted upon it. Without doubt many of you know Seidler at 6 North Michigan, but there may be someone like myself who has been utterly unaware that such a really good dressmaking shop is so close at hand. Mrs. Seidler specializes in copy ing French dresses. And, she does it exquisitely, exquisitely. It is somehow very nice after viewing the large collections shown in glittering backgrounds with all the appropriate accessories, even to whiffs of correct fragrances to step into a plain work manlike interior where the only plate glass is that which shelters the rows of model garments and where there are no glittering accessories, only a row of dresses on one side and the stuffs from which they can be duplicated on the other. It is obvious that nothing but style and workmanship count here. But both style and workmanship are of a quality that you will not improve upon this side of the Rue De La Paix. — EDNA CORY. Sound Suggestion Passed for Consideration THE Chicago cafeterias are having their walls and ceilings treated with sound-proofing — a process that deadens the clatter. Wouldn't it be wonderful if the walls of the buildings, the sidewalks and the streets, could also be so treated? Imagine going down Van Buren street, than which their is no whicher, and being able to hear the gentle man at your side asking you to have luncheon? In our estimation, there have been more murders, more suicides, and more general violence, caused by the by products of city noises than all the Cicero gunmen and their mother-in- laws. Friendships have been ruptured, marriages wrecked, and hearts broken, by the cornucopia of clamour in the Loop, consisting of one part car-clang, one part electric-shop window buzzer, one part cab siren, and one part flat L wheels. We have in mind the sad case of a dear friend who, in company with an other, essayed to renew old acquain tance while trudging down Wabash avenue one high noon. They started off with their arms around each other and one block fur ther down the street, were separated by the cops after each had given the other a black eye and otherwise quali fied for the penalties accorded perpe trators of mayhem. The only way to talk and not be misunderstood is to take your friend into a speak-easy. — LEIGH METCALFE. ? His injuries are painful, but serious. — The T<[ew Tor\ Graphic. That is to say, annoying but fatal. as a school ma'm would put it There were 468 contributors to a new magazine in seven months. Artists and writers. The wisest and wittiest of them have had their work published in its pages. In paint or pencil each published con tribution reflects Chicago as seen by a highly civilized, literate, and lively observer. For those who know the city and for those who do not, what a field for outside reading! It ought to be compulsory. However- <rhi Ci x- a s~ s~*\ A K I is no school ma'm. It doesn't advocate | — \ J V^/-\vJ \*Jr\ IN culture in capsules. In fact, it is inter ested solely in translating into prose and picture the gusto and glamor of this good town The civilized interests: art, music, books, stage, and sport, are treated in its pages, of course. They are regular departments offered by sprightly and knowing critics For the rest, the^ ablest and brightest writers and artists in the city facet its pages which report the things and people amusing, lively, or significant enough to claim the atten tion of an aware discriminating audience. Pray, gentles, gain a new year bright. The dotted line forms on the right. The Chicagoan 407 So. Dearborn St. Chicago, 111. Send "The Chicagoan" one year $3.00— two years $5.00. Name Address - City State Or®' « Bfif « ! ^ ¦ ® § 8 0/ Course You re Going to Florida Beautiful Hollywood-by-the-Sea Is Irresistibly Alluring SITUATED directly on the ocean front, the 500-room magnificent Hollywood Beach Ho tel is the finest and largest in Florida. Completed at a cost of $3,000,000, of fireproof construc tion, it is unsurpassed in furnish ings and service. Rates at the Hollywood Beach Hotel: $10 to $li a day $20 to $30 for two. (American Plan.) The Gulf Stream, closei to I lolly wood Beach than any other along the Florida Coast, keeps the surl at an even temperature. In J. inn ary it is 72 degrees. The bathing casino contains 800 private dree rooms. A fine 18 hole course pro vides every facility for goll de> otees, HOLLYWOOD BEACH HOTEL ^HOLLYWOOD BY THE SEA" Holly w o o d, Florida Rates of other Hollywood-by-the-Sea hotels under the same management are as follows: Hollywood Hills Inn: $8 a day for one room; $12.50 for two (American Park View Hotel: $8 a day for room; $12.50 for two (America Great Southern: $1.50 to $3 a dav/toi a room; $4.50 to $6 for two There ii i truly delightful atmosphere about tin- beautiful hotel Varied re< reations dam ing to the sti aim ol a re nowned orchestra musical recitals, song lymphoniei motoring tennis horse" inoeing motoi boating