"Are There Any More At Home Like You?"

An item in Walter Winchell's column of 23 June 1944:

"A Baltimore paper reported an auction sale included a pearl, once owned by a Florodora Girl. The auctioneer stated: 'We are not at liberty to reveal the name, but it is a family that would not care to be listed as part of the Florodora Sextet.' What a story O. Henry could have done on that!"

Although this image of New York City's Broadway is simply dated "1920," let's examine it a bit more closely.

It appears to be early afternoon, judging by the angle of shadows cast by pedestrians and street lamps, and the theaters and signage places us at the corner of East 38th Street --- looking uptown along Broadway.

The Knickerbocker Theater is featuring "Listen Lester," a forgotten musical comedy featuring Gertrude Vanderbilt and Clifton Webb, and the Casino Theater is home to "A Lonely Romeo," an equally obscure production that starred Lew Fields amidst a large cast that included his son, Herbert --- who'd eventually turn from performing to writing the books for an impressive string of Broadway musical successes.

Just around the corner from the Casino Theater, on 39th Street, is the Maxine Elliott Theater (an illuminated sign with a pointing hand indicates the way), then featuring the play "39 East," with a cast that included Henry Hull and Allison Skipworth --- while the Winter Garden Theater gamely lures audiences uptown to it's 50th Street location, where "Monte Cristo, Jr." was playing again after being suspended for a month due to an Actor's Equity strike. Described as a "Musical Extravaganza," with melody supplied by Sigmund Romberg and Jean Schwartz, the massive cast contained but a few names recognizable today --- among them, Charles "Chic" Sale and female vocalist Esther Walker.

The productions in place at the time this photograph was taken suggests that it's date of origin is 1919 --- specifically July or August of 1919, and not 1920, as indicated on the photo itself.

By 1930, both the Knickerbocker (1893) and Casino (1882) Theaters would be demolished, and thirty years later the Maxine Elliott (1908) would vanish too --- the last remaining Broadway house below 41st street --- after serving duty as both a radio and television studio for CBS. It's ironic that out of all the theaters represented in the photo, only the Winter Garden --- once thought to be oddly placed, so far uptown as it was, is the only survivor --- and still thriving today.

The Casino Theater, seen here in a much earlier view which reveals its graceful yet majestic East 39th Street side, it's cupola already blackened with the city's coal soot after only fifteen or so years, would --- in time --- be forever linked with the musical production that opened there on November 10th if 1900, "Florodora," as well as the women --- girls, really --- that made up The Florodora Sextet.

Back in 1900, on that November night, New York City was very much excited. A new show was opening at the Casino Theater. A long line of fashionable carriages were heading for Broadway and 39th street, where the playhouse stood. Silken ladies and gentlemen in dinner clothes and spats were filling the house.

The curtain went up. The show began, and before it had ended, six girls had stolen the show. They had been rehearsing for eight weeks, and they slipped into their roles of half a dozen unsophisticated maidens easily.

It wasn't hard to do. Only two of them had been on the stage before. They all came from quiet, cultured families. There was nothing of the madcap, gallivanting show girl about them. They were sweet --- and the Broadway of 1900 wanted them sweet.

Indeed, on the same December 1900 page that featured a glowing review of "Florodora," (image detail of which is offered right) is a review of a production that opened the same week (at the Criterion Theater) "The Gay Lord Quex," which made "Florodora" seem almost a religious experience by comparison. The astonishing sputtering, apoplectic review is worth excerpting here:

"One of the most uncompromisingly filthy plays ever seen in New York, and it is a shame that its representation is permitted by the police. Not one of the low burlesque theaters, which no decent person would think of visiting, would dare present such an unblushingly bawdy work for fear of clashing with the police. One redeeming feature of this festering mess is that its power for harm is limited to the theater, as it would be simply impossible to discuss in the drawing room. It is dull, soggy nastiness, pure and simple. Its basis is immorality, its development is immorality, its atmosphere is immorality and its sequence is immorality. There is not a single wholesome character in 'The Gay Lord Quex,' and, if we except the aged dowager, not a single really decent one."

Starring John and Gilbert Hare, along with Irene Vanbrugh, "The Gay Lord Quex" closed after a furtive sixty-seven performances, but would attempt a revival --- seventeen years later to the day, in 1917 with John and Louise Drew in the leads this time --- that performed even more poorly, closing after forty performances.

I'm sure you're wondering, as I was, just what "The Gay Lord Quex" was all about and what so infuriated critics and public alike, aren't you? Proving just how vast our distance from 1900 is today, a synopsis of the show reads like simple and bland fare indeed: "Sophy Fullgarney is a manicurist who learns that her foster sister Muriel is to be married, apparently much against her will, to the Marquis of Quex, a professedly reformed roue who is known as 'the wickedest man in London.' She determines to prevent their union and in doing so spies upon the titled gentleman and one of his ex-flames, a married woman, thereby getting herself into compromising situations with Quex and the younger lover of Muriel, who turns out to be the greater rascal of the two."

Reverting our attention to "Florodora," a portion of it's December 1900 review is very much in order here:

"At the outset, it may be said that 'Florodora' is one of the best works of its kind that this city has seen during several seasons. While the libretto is not startlingly original or unusually brilliant, it is clean always, even interesting at times and on the whole thoroughly acceptable. The music is bright, jingly and yet of the musical quality which composers strive after and so seldom achieve. There are any number of airs which are certain to become popular, if not with the street urchins, at least with the lady who occasionally 'favors' at the piano when company calls. The stage management was something to marvel at for the reason that the effect of constant movement was produced without the slightest apparent effort. The costuming was in excellent taste, and some of the color schemes were really unique and exceptionally effective. A rather novel feature of 'Florodora' is that it was devoid of tights with the exception of a single pair worn by the prima donna, Miss Johnston, which by reason of the fact that they were not compelled to vie with scores of others, were all the more effective."

As the review suggests, it took "Florodora" a few weeks to click, but when the tide turned the Florodora Sextet girls were largely responsible for the production turning from modest entertainment to a world wide phenomenon. New York society fawned over the girls, and at once everyone wanted to hear them, see them and meet them. They were invited to teas on Fifth Avenue. Affluent males of all ages, attending performances at the Metropolitan Opera House kept track of the time --- and a few minutes before the sextet was scheduled to sing, they would slip away, just long enough to witness their showcase number, "Tell Me Pretty Maiden," and then return to their wives, girlfriends and families at the Metropolitan --- oddly flushed and exhilarated, seemingly by whatever beefy contralto was then holding reign on stage.

In truth, there were many Florodora Girls. As the original six left the show, they were replaced. Their successors, going on to other shows or marriages, had to find substitutes as well. Then too, managers of several theaters obtained permission to book their own Sextets as the "Original Six." All in all, thousands of girls would profit by the name.


But, the six who opened the show were Marjorie Relyea, Daisy Greene, Margaret Walker, Vaughn Texsmith, Marie Wilson and Agnes Wayburn.


Marjorie Relyea, pictured left circa 1900, was the first girl hired for the sextet, and recalled in a 1933 interview, "I had played in 'Mam'selle 'Awkins,' which was my first stage venture. In August I was engaged for the sextet, and the play opened in November."

"All the girls in the sextet were ladies in the real sense of the word. The movie produced several years ago ("The Florodora Girl" - a 1930 MGM film starring Marion Davies) was centered around the sextet, wasn't true at all. We have all been indignant over it. We were never that type of girl!"

Marjorie Relyea was married before she entered the play, to William D. Holmes, a handsome young heir of an aristocratic family and relative of Andrew Carnegie. Money and looks aside, Marjorie Relyea discovered he was an alcoholic as well, and welcomed the opportunity to escape the poisonous atmosphere at home. "He was willing to support me," said Relyea, "but I couldn't stay at home under the conditions. That's why I went onto the stage. On the night we opened in New Haven, my husband fell over dead." Eventually moving on from "Florodora," Marjorie Relyea would appear in three additional productions before being wooed and won by Albert Stokes, a Wall Street broker, in 1905. At the time of her 1933 interview, Mrs. Albert Stokes and her husband had a luxurious New York apartment and a home in Saratoga, and claimed she "never missed the stage at all."

Agnes Wayburn was also married at the time "Florodora" premiered, albeit unhappily, to dance instructor Ned Wayburn. Appearing in "Florodora" for a mere two weeks, she suddenly left the show, and dodged in and out of three other shows between 1901 and 1902 somewhat frantically, and then divorced her husband and hopped a steamer for England to continue her career there. In short order, she hooked up with a wealthy fellow from Johannesburg, South Africa, married him and went home with him to his plantation where, in 1933, she still was.

Daisy Greene was the youngest member of the Florodora Sextet, just fifteen when she joined the show, but remaining longer with the production than any of the other girls. She would continue to perform on Broadway through 1909 --- which included an appearance in "The Ziegfeld Follies of 1908," before being wed to a wealthy mining man from Colorado named Waterman, to whom she was still married in 1933, with the pair living happily in Denver.

Marie Wilson, too, had been married at the time she joined "Florodora," to a fellow named Harry Wimsatt. When "Florodora" skyrocketed, Marie left Wimsatt --- all the better to play up the reputation as the most glamorous member of the group that the press had bestowed upon her. Chumming up to various Wall Street types resulted in a number of lucrative stock market tips that eventually netted her some $750,000.00 in profits. Not surprisingly, she retired soon after that (following an appearance in the 1904 musical "Glittering Gloria") and married the well known playboy Fred Gebhardt, who spent money --- both his and hers, spectacularly. Upon Gebhardt's death, Marie Wilson moved to Washington, where she still lived in 1933.

Also privy to inside stock tips was Margaret Walker, who earned a tidy sum in Wall Street profits, and then went abroad to "study music" after leaving "Florodora." She too was reported to have married a millionaire, but a divorce followed and in the 1920's she was revealed to be the companion for an unnamed wealthy and elderly woman on Long Island, New York. When the dowager passed away, she left Margaret Walker enough money to make her independently wealthy. At this point, after a twenty-two year absence from the stage, Walker suddenly turned up in the aptly titled 1925 stage play "Lucky Break," and then continued to perform --- primarily in revivals of Gilbert & Sullivan operettas, until 1935.

The final member of the original Florodora sextet, Vaughn Texsmith (actually Vaughn Smith, but show managers tweaked it to incorporate the name of her birth state, Texas) caught the eye of one Isaac J. Hall, a silk manufacturer from New Jersey. Hall would later admit that he paid keen attention to Vaughn because he believed a girl from Texas would be seen carrying a knife or sporting a sombrero. Ignorance aside, Hall enchanted Vaughn, and by the end of the first month's run of "Florodora," Texsmith had left the show and made the hop to New Jersey with her new husband. When Isaac J. Hall passed on in the 1920's, Vaughn took over the management of her husband's silk mills and greatly increased their output. By 1933 she was considered a social leader in the East, and a much admired and established female business executive.

After concluding it's run in 1905, during which "Florodora" moved from the Casino to the New York Winter Garden Theater (not to be confused with the 50th Street Winter Garden) and then to the Broadway Theater (demolished in 1929) before being left to repose as a cherished memory --- a 1900 violet corsage pressed between the pages of a book of another day and time in entertainment history.

A 1920 revival was staged at New York's Century Theater --- an advertisement for which lurks within this photograph of the Atlantic City boardwalk (can you spot it?) but uprooted from 1900, it couldn't and didn't survive --- expiring in the unfamiliar 1920 air after sixty-four performances before skulking away to comforting isolation, removed from the glare of close inspection and critique by audiences the production was never intended for.

The 1930 M.G.M. film that was said to so irk members of the original "Florodora" sextet is agreeable enough entertainment, although best viewed with the understanding that virtually nothing it represented in connection with the show (and to a lesser degree, the period of the show itself) has much to do with reality.

Starting with the opening sequence itself, in which a huge illuminated sign for both the theater and production is seen (electrical signs of this sort wouldn't arrive until after "Florodora" had closed) the 1930 film never really manages to create a sense of period authenticity, and the florid period in which the film is set is presented as if within a vacuum sealed bell jar containing tiny porcelain figures --- stiff and unreal as they are delicately pretty.

The settings are dull and oddly claustrophobic by MGM standards and the film never "opens up" in the way it should have, allowing the richly costumed performers (the studio did get it right in that aspect) to move and seemingly live within expansive sets other than the unimaginatively lit and photographed overly obvious mock-ups that the film offers. Even the few outdoor location sequences, that include a city park, a beach and a racetrack, seem inordinately staged and unreal --- tiny slices of real locations that don't feel as though they exist beyond the borders of the film's frame.

(Pictured right, the lobby of Hollywood's Pantages Theater, during the run of 1930's "The Florodora Girl.")

Never finding the same magical spark in Marion Davies that others seem to (and perhaps that's my fault) she strikes me as just another capable performer amidst an equally capable cast that really isn't given much to do once dressed up prettily and put before the camera. The film never misses a chance to point up the difference between 1900 and 1930 whenever it can, all obvious differences that should have been left to speak for themselves rather than be underlined time and again in a tiresome, poke to the ribcage manner.

As it is, the entire length of the film seems a build-up to the expected re-creation of the famous "Tell Me Pretty Maiden" Florodora Sextet number, moving along in fits and starts until this sequence arrives in the film's final Technicolor reel. Even here, artistic liberties are taken. In addition to never being given a full, uninterrupted presentation, the sequence is set upon a fairly expansive stage that while faithfully duplicating the backdrop seen in period photographs, is considerably larger than the Casino Theater's surprisingly small stage, which can be glimpsed in the 1901 photograph offered here. (Note the close proximity of the performers to the orchestra pit!) Despite that, it's within this imperfect final reel that the 1930 film blossoms and pays off, with the still beautiful, slightly muted early Technicolor tints rendering what seems to be a lovingly hand tinted 1900 postcard view of "Florodora" as it existed, and continues to exist, in our imagination --- or perhaps only in our imagination.

The original Florodora Sextet would receive scattered mention in newsprint over the coming years and decades, during which they slowly fell away, one by one. All still very much alive in 1933, they were all supposedly approached by Broadway theatrical producer Dwight Deere Wiman with an eye towards featuring them in a new production, but they all politely declined the offer. Acting as spokesman for the group, Marjorie Relya --- then Mrs. Albert Stokes of New York, said "Of course we won't. We are scattered to the four corners of the world now, and we have achieved happiness and success. There wouldn't be any reason at all for coming back to the stage."

As the 50th Anniversary of "Florodora" approached in November of 1950, the two surviving members of the sextet were sought out. Vaughn Texsmith (Mrs. Isaac Hall of Paterson, New Jersey) and Marie Wilson (Mrs. Fred Gebhardt of Washington, D.C.) --- both elderly but surprisingly active widows, were understandably reluctant to comment on the events of fifty years hence. "I'd rather be forgotten," stated Mrs. Hall to reporters. "I was in the show for only six weeks and it was a very small part of my life. I can't have any sentiments about those days. I'm much to busy taking care of my varied interests."

Mrs. Gebhardt was a bit more kind to the show that had, whether they chose to admit it or not, allowed them to live the lives that they all enjoyed. Admitting she "enjoyed every minute" of her involvement with "Florodora," she still felt compelled to add "it's all in the past now, and I would rather forget about it --- and I hope the public will too." Will we? For the most part, we already have --- but like all beautiful dreams, even those half remembered, it's lovely to reflect upon them every now and again, and give sigh for their passing... far too soon, and far too long ago.

Given the vintage of "Florodora," there's understandably little of it that survives in the way of period recordings, and those recordings that do survive often sound incredibly harsh to modern ears, given the still primitive recording techniques available. While not exceptionally notable music-wise, it's surprising nonethless that a period authentic audio re-creation has never been attempted --- but perhaps it's just as well, for any such attempts of the 1950's through the 1970's are invariably grotesque distortions.

Two surprisingly clean and (comparatively) rich cylinder recordings of 1902 are offered here, representing the production's two biggest successes --- although only one still manages to defy time and convention to sparkle nearly as brightly as it did one hundred and seven years ago. I had to pause just now while writing that, as it's genuinely remarkable to contemplate listening to voices of 107 years ago, a remarkable feat we ought not take for granted as we do, really.

The lesser known of the two, "The Shade of the Palm," is performed here by Frank C. Stanley:

"In the Shade of the Palm" (1902)


And then, of course, there's "Tell Me Pretty Maiden," as performed here by The Edison Sextet --- and while still a bit rough going, audio wise, it's a far richer recording than is usually heard of this tune, with a bit of cello and the piping of a piccolo adding an attractive fullness to it all.

"Tell Me Pretty Maiden" (1902)

"Florodora" or the visualization of the Florodora Girl would figure heavily in films of the early sound period, ripe as it was for parody by that time in much the same way we now hold the music and styles of the 1970's up to ridicule.

"Tell Me Pretty Maiden" is parodied by Rosetta and Vivian Duncan in 1929's "It's A Great Life," with Rosetta adjusting the lyrics to comic effect ("Tell me, painted oil can," she begins the song) while Vivian struts about in a grotesquely large bustle leaving Vivian to wonder if it is, or isn't actually part of her anatomy.

Warner Bros. asked "What Became of the Six Original Florodora Boys?" in their 1929 revue "Show of Shows," as valid a question then as it is now (although a doubtful prospect for an entry in these pages) and it was suggested that they all returned to perfectly ordinary workaday lives --- which is probably true, if not precisely as comic as the revue suggested. Presentation is everything here, for the most unlikely candidates for Florodora Boys are utilized in the number, which included the likes of Ben Turpin, Lupino Lane and Bert Roach.

Fannie Brice introduced "I Was A Florodora Baby" in an early 1920's edition of "The Ziegfeld Follies," and would re-create the performance for the 1928 Warner Bros. film "My Man," an excerpt of which is offered next --- interestingly, with no alteration to the lyric that refers to the show of "twenty years ago," accurate in 1920 --- less so in 1928.

Casting herself as the only (imaginary, of course) member of the sextet to escape fame and fortune, Brice's unique self-depreciating style allows us to laugh at the hapless victim of circumstance, left to live happily --- albeit sparsely, on 17 Delancey Street --- forever, bringing up her own sextet ("five I've got, the other one I'll get yet.")

"I Was A Florodora Baby" (1928)



Set in the seamstress shop where Brice works, "Florodora Baby" is performed to entertain her co-workers, but her antics outrage the shop's owner, who threatens her with immediate dismissal. Also present however, is an elegantly European accented theatrical producer who only caught the tag end of her performance and prompts her to do another. Brice obliges with "I'm An Indian," a tune she first recorded in 1921. Both the original recording, and the version performed in the 1928 (mostly talking) "My Man" are offered here, as it's likely the best opportunity to do so.

"I'm An Indian" (1921)

"I'm An Indian" (1928)

This blog's next post will be typically more diverse than this entry may have seemed, but I didn't want to attach too many ornaments to a topic that I felt worthy of standing alone --- after so many years of barely standing at all.

So, watch this space for the next entry, currently in progress and expected to post within 24 hours!

###

View of the Casino Theater, 1920

Theater Review, December 1900

Miss Ada Reeve, Florodora Girl, UK Production

Cross Promotion Ad for "The Florodora Girl" (MGM-1930)

"Florodora" proved to be an early 20th Century
marketing bonanza, with the production's name licensed
for use in connection with countless products between 1901 and 1905.

"Florodora" Shoes, Illinois - 1903

"Florodora" Cookies - Fort Wayne, Indiana - 1902


"Florodora" Chocolates - Mansfield, Ohio - 1903


Contest held by the "Florodora Tag Company," - 1904


"Florodora" Suits - New York, NY - 1901


"Florodora" Scarves - Atlanta, Georgia - 1901


"Florodora"Sextet Patent Medicine Endorsement - Syracuse, NY - 1901


Note:
The British web site, "Victorian and Edwardian Shows," is utterly unique
in that it contains the entire scores to what looks to be well over a hundred
popular musicals of the period --- all carefully transcribed and converted to
the MIDI format. The following link will direct you to the page for "Florodora,"
where you can download both the score and an exceptionally fine MIDI player (both surprisingly small files) that will allow you to not only listen to the score, but also to see the lyrics --- properly timed to the music --- while you're listening. The effect is as startling
as it is effective, and will please the merely curious as well as the serious student
of this largely overlooked period in musical theater history.

"Florodora" - Colin M. Johnson's Victorian and Edwardian Show Transcriptions

It's an astounding example of one man's devotion.
Be sure to explore his entire web site!

~~~

An .mp3 transfer of the MIDI file for "Tell Me Pretty Maiden" is
offered here --- as well as the complete lyrics, as a convenience.
The seldom heard second chorus, in which the the girls
"turn the tables" on the boys, is especially interesting,
and rather jolting for a 1900 production!

"Tell Me Pretty Maiden"

((intro))

Boys:
Tell me pretty maiden, are there any more at home like you?
Girls:
There are a few kind sir, but simple girls, and proper too.
Boys:
Then tell me pretty maiden, what these very simple girlies do.
Girls:
Kind sir, their manners are perfection, and the opposite of mine.
Boys:
Then take a little walk with me,
and then I can see,
what a most particular girl should be.
Girls:
I may love you too well
to let you go
and flirt with those at home you know.
Boys:
Well don't mind little girl,
You'll see -- I'll only want but you.
Girls:
It's not quite fair to them
if you -- told them that you were true.
Boys:
I won't care a pin for your sisters if you love me.
Girls:
What would you say if I said I liked you well?
Boys:
I'd vow to you...
Girls:
On bended knee?
Boys:
On bended knee!
Girls:
If I loved you -- would you tell me what I ought to do,
to keep you all mine alone,
to always be true to me?
If I loved you -- would it be a silly thing to do?
For I must love someone...
Boys:
Then why not me?
Girls:
Yes I must love someone really,
and it might as well be you!

(bridge)

Girls:
Tell me gentle stranger, are there any more at home like you?
Boys:
There are a few, sweet maid, and hotter boys you never knew.
Girls:
Then tell me gentle Sir, the things these very rakish fellows do.
Boys:
Dear maid, they flirt with girls too freely,
and it's not the same girl twice.
Girls:
Then take me round and let them show for an hour or so,
how far such fellows can really go.
Boys:
I never introduce them to a girl I intend
to be my most particular friend.
Girls:
I won't mind what they do, no man would ever flirt with me.
Boys:
It's not worth risking it,
I know with them you won't agree.
Girls:
I don't want to know them,
if you will do the flirting.
Boys:
Of course, I will try, for we're doing very well.
Girls:
I'll vow to you...
Boys:
On bended knee?
Girls:
On bended knee!
Boys:
If I loved you, would you tell me what I ought to do,
to keep you all mine alone,
to always be true to me?
Girls:
If I loved you, would it be a silly thing to do?
For I must love someone...
Boys:
Then why not me?
Girls and Boys:
Yes, I must love someone, really,
and it might as well be you!

((Outro))

###

Magic Casements

As the Christmas holiday season of 1920 swiftly yet almost imperceptibly dissolved into the New Year of 1921, readers of newspapers across the country had been following --- with steadily increasing interest --- a story that had begun with complete absence of attention, on December 13th of 1920 in Rockaway, New York.

On the afternoon of December 13th if 1920, an experimental naval balloon arose from the Rockaway Naval Station. Planned as a casual overnight training mission, the 35,000 cubic foot capacity balloon held ten day old stale and impure gas that carried at it's base an open "basket"which carried three men, eight sandwiches, two thermos bottles of coffee and four carrier pigeons.

The passengers consisted of Naval Lieutenants Stephen Farrell and Walter Hinton, and Navy Reservist and Lieutenant Louis Kloor, the youngest of the three and affectionately dubbed "the kid" by the elder Farrell and Hinton.

A carrier pigeon released from the balloon arrived at the Brooklyn Naval Yard in the evening hours of the day they left, indicating all was well and that the trio expected to arrive in Northern New York State sometime the next morning --- and then, to the world at large, the balloon and its contents appeared to vanish from sight, seemingly forever.

As days passed and turned into weeks following the disappearance, the story was picked up by the news syndicates and by the third week it was a media event of national importance and the basis for scores of articles, essays and letters which filled news pages across the country. This, despite the fact that by the eighth day, many newspapers carried stories that allowed little room for hope of any sort, headlined "Airmen Believed Dead in Hills."

On January 3rd of 1921, three weeks after leaving Rockaway, New York, the telegraph wires fairly crackled with the astonishing news that the three "aeronauts," had been found alive in the snowy wilds of Canada, twenty miles from Moose Factory, Ontario. The trio's savior was a lone Indian trapper who had spotted human footprints amidst animal tracks and lost no time in investigating their source. Nearly starved from hunger, and without protective gear or clothing of any sort, news of the trio's discovery was relayed via foot messenger to the nearest telegraph office and then flashed outward to a disbelieving world.

In a day when one would expect to be plucked upwards and away from a remotely similar ordeal within moments and guesting on television news shows the following day, the half dead trio would have to travel --- by foot and then dog-sled, --- guided by their rescuer, through twenty miles of frozen woodlands before they'd reach the trading post of Moose Factory, Ontario and then, amazingly, they'd have to trod on for another fourteen days in sub-zero weather before reaching Mattice, Ontario!

Met by throngs of reporters in Mattice, Ontario upon their arrival, and still not entirely in control of their faculties, the weeks of resentment that had been building between the two elder Naval men --- with each blaming one another for the disaster --- exploded when details of a letter sent by Hinton to his wife upon his arrival in Moose Factory were made public, in which he claimed that Farrell had crumpled in the days before their rescue, and begged his companions to slit his throat and utilize his body as food. Farrell denied to reporters that any such occurrence had taken place, and when Hinton tried to pull him from the wide-eyed reporters, he pulled back and delivered a blow to Hinton's chin, knocking him to the ground.

At the moment Farrell delivered the punch, the news stories shifted focus from the trio's miraculous survival, and instead reveled in tales of insanity, proposed cannibalism, and all manner of sensational but vastly unimportant details. In other words, they behaved precisely as journalists have always done, and continue to, to this day.

But what of "The Kid," Lieutenant Louis Kloor? Overshadowed by the drama enacted by his two elders (who were both quickly signed by newspapers for "exclusive" interviews --- one of which is on display at the close of this post) the quiet and unassuming young man would find himself on the front pages of newspapers in July of 1921 --- and for reasons having absolutely nothing to do with his late ordeal.

For now however, we'll leave Lieutenant Kloor right here, and rejoin him a bit further along after exploring other matters first. It'll be well worth the wait.

Before comfortably settling ourselves into position from our usual vantage point that looks out upon the entertainment mediums of the late 1920's and early 30's, we've a view here instead of the New York City of 1908 --- which you'll want to see at full size, by clicking here.

It's a Spring or Autumn Sunday of 1908 and we see Fifth Avenue at midday, almost free of carriage traffic while throngs of residents walk to or from unknown destinations. How crisp and new everything seems in this image! The grand buildings haven't developed the patina of age that the coming decades would bring before most would vanish, and everything is awash in the near blinding, brilliant sunshine that has always struck me as peculiar to New York City at certain times of the year.

To me, most striking of all is how quiet this street must have been, despite the number of pedestrians. The street traffic is entirely limited to horse-drawn vehicles save for one lone motorcar (can you spot it?) and surely the only sounds that could be heard were limited to the low mummer of voices dotted with occasional laughs and coughs, the clip-clop of hooves and mellow rolling of carriage wheels upon the pavement, the sharp snap of banners and flags caught in the wind and ruffled, the sound of the wind itself whistling through the ornamentation of the buildings, the swish of the movement of fabrics that clothe the pedestrians and, surely the tolling of church bells and clocks --- both close and distant --- marking the hour.

It's not impossible to imagine any number of these people carrying a melody within their head as they walk --- perhaps some humming or even gently whistling to themselves. If so, chances are that one or more of the melodies in the following audio offering is what they carried with them, for this was the music of their day --- and it's via music that we can join them, if only for a moment and from a great and insurmountable distance.

Turn of the Century New York City Medley

Heard within this meticulous, spot-on period re-creation: "The Bowery," "The Sidewalks of New York," "Rosie O'Grady," "Daisy Bell," "Comrades," "Little Annie Rooney," "And the Band Played On," and "After the Ball." Just try not to smile, however wistfully, while listening!

A leap ahead now from East to West Coast, and from 1908 to 1929 where we see a wonderfully silly publicity photo heralding the release of Brunswick phonograph recordings of tunes from MGM's "The Broadway Melody." The film's three major players (Bessie Love, Charles King and Anita Page) can be seen here, surrounded by Earl Burtnett and his Biltmore Hotel Orchestra, but front and center is a beautifully crafted gigantic mock-up of a Brunswick disc that likely made the rounds of theater lobbies and retail stores alike, designed to fold at the center for easy transport and storage.

Earl Burtnett's orchestra would go on to record an impressive number of tunes from early sound musicals, one of which was "Low Down Rhythm," from Metro's "Hollywood Revue" of 1929. In addition to a great orchestration, the recording is unique in that the vocal is provided by the same dark haired lady that performs it in the film, June Purcell. If you've ever wondered who she was, and why she was called upon to present the tune in a film otherwise chocked full of recognizable stars, well... I've wondered too, and I'll share my findings with you.

Our earliest view of June Purcell (born 1903 in Indianapolis, Indiana) is in December of 1924, where she could be heard singing on the very new medium of radio, first for WKNX and WFWB, out of Hollywood, California, either as a soloist with piano accompaniment, or on the "Little Symphony" show, where she was a featured performer in 1925. By 1927, she was apparently popular enough to enter into vaudeville, where she toured the West Coast and the Midwest --- prominently billed as "June Purcell of K.N.X. - The Voice of Hollywood." Radio work and sporadic vaudeville tours continued throughout 1927 and 1928, and she effortlessly entered the medium of talking films with a Vitaphone short titled "Songs and Styles," in which she was credited as "June Purcell, Hollywood's Radio Girl."

Early in 1929, a little news item announced that Purcell had won a contest as "The Most Popular Radio Entertainer in the West," and was rewarded --- in additional to invaluable publicity, a trip to Hawaii.

Given her wide popularity and name value, perhaps it's a bit easier to understand now why she'd be given so coveted a spot in Metro's "The Hollywood Revue,"that of introducing a song early in the film that would go on to become one of the major music hits of the year.

Following "Hollywood Revue," Purcell would appear in only one additional film, the Warner Bros. all-Technicolor musical "Viennese Nights," which while announced early in 1930 would not arrive on screens until early 1931 --- and suffer terribly because of it. No matter to Purcell (billed in a small role as a stage vocalist,) for radio was still very much her realm.

News wires carried an item on March 3rd of 1932 announcing that: "June Purcell, singer from KNX , Hollywood, has signed a network contract and presents her first chain program on March 8th. Miss Purcell will be heard regularly on WEAF-NBC after April 3rd, presenting five programs a week at 8:45PM."

All seems well and good until mid-1933, at which point she vanishes from radio listings and instead turns up back in vaudeville, and in her birth state, Indiana.
Many return engagements (and mostly at the same theater) are seen throughout the remainder of 1933 --- and the nothing whatsoever, not even an obscure death notice indicating an unfortunate illness that might have prompted her to leave Hollywood and return home to Indiana.

The last, and latest mention of June Purcell I could find just further compounds the mystery, a 1950 syndicated column of entertainment reminiscences by one Tom Lindsay who, in speaking of his early radio career, discussed the origins of WKNX radio and says:


"I sang on the opening night. Milton Sills was the emcee and a young girl with her ukulele, June Purcell, an unknown at the time, scored a tremendous hit with her songs and skyrocketed to radio fame overnight. Then she went out like a light. I've always wondered why."

Mr. Lindsay is not alone in wondering, but save discovery of additional information, we may never know why June Purcell went "out like a light," and lingers on today to puzzle viewers of "Hollywood Revue" trying to guess not only who she is, but why she's there at all. Hopefully, at least these two questions have been answered.

A somewhat noisy disc that defied much improvement, but still fairly decent --- save for the thundering vibration of footsteps by goodness-knows-who, I assure you --- not I, whenever this particular transfer was made!

"Low Down Rhythm" - Earl Burtnett Orchestra, Vocal by June Purcell

A smattering of musical offerings and fulfilled requests follow now, after which we'll return to balloonist hero, Lieutenant Kloor for our big (ok, big-ish?) finish. Stay tuned!

One disc of two tunes from "Fox Movietone Follies" (1929 - Sue Carol and David Rollins, picture right) that surprised me not only because they're so good and so different from the usual renditions, but also because I'd never heard them until the other day. You can read more of "Fox Movietone Follies" in an earlier in-depth post on the film ("For the Last Time Anywhere") if you like, or you can just listen and enjoy Arnold Johnson & His Orchestra, with "Scrappy" Lambert providing the vocals via 78rpm:

"The Breakaway" (1929)

"Big City Blues" (1929)

The next group of offerings was inspired by a photo submitted by reader Anthony Morelli of New York City, depicting an undetermined family member at an Army camp during the First World War. As he said, it's a "jolly" photo despite the ominous situation, and truth be told there's no getting around the incredible savagery and loss of life connected with that great struggle. As much an area of fascination as it is for a history buff such as myself, I've avoided the topic in these pages as I didn't think it could be handled as delicately as it ought to be, but in light of the brave and impossibly cheery smiles in this photo, and the kindness of a reader, perhaps you'll enjoy this brief excursion into those dark yet optimistic days.

From the United Kingdom comes this odd recording --- the origins of which I've been unable to determine, save for the fact that it certainly appears to be of the early electrical period, and that the performers are, indeed, "The Band of His Majesty's Coldstream Guards." An unusual presentation, this --- more like a series of flashes of music, with each selection heralded by a drum roll and then fading into nothingness --- ironically not unlike living memory of the War itself. The selections include "Colonel Bogie March," Ivor Novello's still shattering "Keep the Home Fires Burning,""Pack Up Your Troubles," and "It's a Long, Long Way To Tipperary." A memorable and strangely unsettling recording, this.

Medley - H.M. Coldstream Guards (circa 1926)

Invariably, when a film of the early sound period strives to evoke the period of the Great War with music, one melody turns up time and again --- and it's not a war-themed song at all. "Smiles" (1918) remains familiar to this day and it's sweetly optimistic melody --- so filled with hope and promise of life beginning anew, was carried far and wide by soldiers via voice, musical instruments and the phonograph, to places where smiles seemed all but forgotten.

Smiles (1918) Lambert Murphy, Vocal

The bewilderment and disillusionment that swept the globe following the end of the Great War was reflected in a myriad of events and mediums, and surely was a major influence -- if not the main influence --- on forming the decade that was to follow. A decade which seemed so intent and unrelenting in it's desire to distance itself from tragedy and sorrow. This strain of melancholy can be heard and almost felt in numerous popular melodies of the period between which the War ended and the 1920's began to take hold on public consciousness. Nowhere is it more evident than in the late 1918 tune "I'm Always Chasing Rainbows," which was introduced in a now forgotten stage presentation titled "Oh Look!"that featured Harry Fox and the Dolly Sisters.

The lovely --- almost painfully so, melody and lyrics that question one's self worth and value, speak with undiminished vibrancy even today. Or perhaps, even more so today.

"I'm Always Chasing Rainbows" (1918) Vocal by Charles Harrison

The arrival of MGM's magnificent "The Big Parade" (1925) jolted cinema patrons like few films had before, and maintains the same level of power today. Recently restored, re-scored and scheduled for DVD release this year, the film appears to have served as inspiration for a fascinating recording from 1926.

"My Dream of the Big Parade" (performed by Henry Burr, Billy Murray and the Peerless Quartet) begins as what seems to be a plaintive musical recollection, but then... almost out of nowhere, the recording takes an incredibly introspective turn as Billy Murray uncharacteristically unleashes what seems almost like a stream of consciousness speech on the sheer futility of war that is bound to stir the emotions of even the most stoic of listeners.

"My Dream of the Big Parade" (1926)

Once you've composed yourself, we'll take a moment to fulfill some reader requests and then --- I promise, the conclusion of our opening story.

Phonograph recording artist Irving Kaufman may well be experiencing popularity today approaching that which he experienced during his prime, if the number of comments and questions I've received are any indication --- and that's just fine by me! While Kaufman could (and does) sound incredibly crude sometimes on the cheapest of dime-store record labels that frequently released his work, his voice still shimmered with vibrancy and power when he was fortunate enough to be well recorded, and backed with a corker of a band. We have just such a combination of vocalist and orchestra in perfect harmony in this recording -- of which I have conflicting information --- so we'll put it up with just what I know. A dizzy, swirling mixture of jazz, violin and that unmistakable voice! Enjoy, all fans of Mr. Kaufman!

"Blue Baby" (circa 1928) - Irving Kaufman with Roy Leonard AHO

Equal to "Blue Baby" in its ability to prompt toe tapping is Nathaniel Shilkret's rendition of "Thinking Of You," dating from 1927, with soaring vocal provided by the more than capable and always welcome Lewis James.

"Thinking of You" (1927) Nat Shilkret & the Victor Orchestra, Vocal by Lewis James

A reader who craves "I Like To Do Things" from the 1930 Universal revue "King of Jazz" will find much to enjoy in the following rendition from the UK, by The Riverside Dance Orchestra, which was a recording pseudonom for Harry Bidgood's Broadcasters. Whatever the name, his work is alway exceptionally fine --- and the alternate lyrics heard in this version are an unexpected treat.

"I Like To Do Things For You" (1930) - The Riverside Dance Orchestra


The Comedian Harmonists' rendition of "Wedding of the Painted Doll" in an earlier post prompted no small degree of interest, although it should be noted that German versions of popular American tunes make up only an extremely small portion of their very prolific output. To bookend that previous post, here's a somewhat later recording (1934) of a much earlier tune (1920) that's vocalized here in English, and beautifully at that.

"Whispering" (1934) The Comedian Harmonists

Glum though the survival rate of the earliest of sound films tends to be, our ability to hear radio broadcasts of the same period borders on the futile. Invariably, surviving pre-1932 material tends to be incredibly dull, often unimportant, and obscure at best. "Obscure" neatly sums of a nearly complete set of transcription discs for an odd serialized radio from 1931 is titled "Abroad With the Lockharts," of which one representative entry is offered next.


Focusing upon a "typical" middle-aged American Chicago couple --- a stodgy, pig-headed husband and his patient and perceptive wife --- the series follows their trip from start to finish and plays almost like a tutorial on travel procedures, suggesting that the series was sponsored by a business concern seeking to pry jittery Americans (and their money) from their Depression mauled cities.

In this twelve minute episode, the couple arrives in Southampton via steamship, and the process of disembarking and boarding a London bound train is clearly dramatized as being a simple and effortless procedure. Once aboard train, the couple encounters a theatrical charictature of a British woman whom the couple cautiously engages in conversation. The moronic American husband ("England, the land of marmalade and monocles!") is neatly cut down to size by their sharp British traveling companion before the train pulls into the London station, providing a very satisfying conclusion indeed. It's interesting that today, some seventy-five years later, a good many of the misconceptions Americans have of the British --- and vice versa, are still very much in place today, despite rumors of a "global community!"

"Abroad with the Lockharts" (1931) Radio Transcription Disc

Finally, let's introduce Art Gillham, "The Whispering Pianist," who's early electrical recordings have long been a source of pleasure for anyone who happens to encounter his work and his unique performing style --- so different from quite anyone else of the period I can think of, and perhaps that's part of his attraction --- that he really seems to be a performer far ahead of the mid-1920's.

Art Gillham's recording of "I'm Sitting on Top of the World," dating from late October of 1925, displays the artist at his best --- not exactly whispering, but more like a smooth breeze from Alabama.

"I'm Sitting on Top of the World" (1925) Art Gillham

When last we left rescued Naval balloonist Lieutenant Louis Kloor, he was doing his level best to distance himself from the sordid verbal and physical battle playing out between his two companions, and in the end managed to do just that --- perhaps by focusing on a budding romance that was destined, he thought, to end in marriage sometime in 1921.

The object of his affection was one Alexandria Flowerton of Far Rockaway, New York and there's no doubt that his balloon misadventure and accompanying media frenzy did much to elevate feelings between the two. Upon his return however, the heroic aura that surrounded Kloor initially began to fall away --- and when Miss Flowerton, accustomed to the finer things in life, realized that Kloor's misadventure wouldn't prompt any swift rise in either his rank or salary, opted to cut him loose and fix a bright eye on better prospects.

On July 12th of 1921, newspapers carried an announcement by Alexandria Flowerton's mother (Alexandria had fled to the Thousand Islands to "recover") that the engagement had been broken by mutual consent, and explained that "it was under the spell of the romance of the balloon adventure that the young couple plighted their troth and that recently they had decided Kloor's pay was so little there was no present prospect of their being able to marry."

Then as now, there was one story for the press --- and then there was the truth. In this case, the truth was that Alexandria had a beautiful sister, Consuelo --- who had reached fame as the model for a number of Howard Chandler Christy red-cross posters during the Great War (including the one at left) and was reported to be a Ziegfeld starlet by 1921. By all indication an opportunist and a master of self-publicity, Consuelo snatched Kloor from her sister and then, when the expected media buzz didn't seem to amount to much, didn't know what to do with him.

Surprisingly, the diminutive Lieutenant Kloor had been exploring his own options as the Flowerton sister romantic entanglement was being played out --- and before Consuelo could dismiss him, a new player arrived on the scene.

Enter Irma Harrison, a young and pretty actress who entered films in 1919, and would go on to appear in D.W. Griffith's "One Exciting Night" and "America" in supporting roles, and co-starred with Lloyd Hamilton in the 1925 comedy "His Darker Self."

Just one week after Mamma Flowerton's press announcement, papers carried the item depicted to the right, revealing (much to the chagrin of the Flowerton family, doubtless!) that the real reason for the broken engagement was that Kloor's heart belonged to actress Irma Harrison --- and that the pair would be wed shortly, no matter how meager Kloor's salary was.

For reporters and newspaper readers alike, the Kloor and Harrison match-up served as a satisfying end to the entire mess, and it's here where Lieutenant Kloor largely vanishes from the press --- as does any mention of the outcome of Kloor and Harrison's romance, with no indication that they ever were actually married.

In Roland West's technically astonishing 1929 film "Alibi," there's a small but memorable role of a singer and dancer in a night club (identified as either "Toots" or simply "The Girl" in credits for the film) that stands out because she's so very different in appearance and style from the countless night club singers and dancers portrayed in films of the period.

Petite, a bit plump, curly-headed and possessing a self-assured way about her that's hard to describe, she vocalizes the film's theme song, "I've Never Seen a Smile Like Yours" that's staged in such a way that seems more akin to a 1933 film than one being filmed in late 1928 --- no matter that the singer's voice is thought to have been dubbed by radio vocalist Virginia Florhi.

The sequence fades in from blackness as the melody begins, and The Girl steps forward as the camera pulls back to reveal she's standing in front of one of the night club's small tables, at which sits a beaming Regis Toomey. Holding a small mirror, she catches an overhead light with it and beams it onto Toomey's face --- now frozen in a besotted, half-inebriated grin as he watches The Girl perform. Standing stock still --- her only movement relegated to her hips, The Girl is joined by two lines of chorines behind and then alongside her --- also equipped with mirrors, round and sewn into their costumes as the bottom portion of a stylized musical note.

The sequence prompted one Zanesville, Ohio reviewer to call particular attention to it, although almost entirely missing the downright creepy aspect of Toomey's character: "In her lovely, melodious voice, Irma Harrison sings the theme song of the picture to Toomey. If anyone ever deserved to have a song like this sung to him, it is this young man. One could be inspired to write poetry to a smile like that -- so full of the joy of living -- clean and wholesome it is."

Likewise, the sequence also prompted a member of a vintage film newsgroup to recently and justifiably wonder just who "that strange woman" was who sang in the film.

Some eight years after rescuing the hapless Lieutenant Kloor from the clutches of the Flowerton sisters, Irma Harrison was singing "I've Never Seen A Smile Like Yours" to a beaming Regis Toomey in "Alibi."

Although she didn't know it at the time, it would be here that Irma Harrison would find her forever --- sweetly singing about "the man with the wonderful smile," on a moment of film that would survive long after details of her career, life and romance with a heroic balloonist faded from living memory.

"I've Never Seen A Smile Like Yours" (1929) Irma Harrison

###














Lambert Murphy (vocalist of "Smiles") far right,
Leopold Stokowski, center - 1916

Note: The Irving Kaufman recording "Blue Baby" has been
identified by reader Glen Richards as being recorded by Hal Leonard
& His Waldorf Astoria Orchestra, for Columbia, in July of 1927.
Glen is webmaster of "The Hot-Dance & Vintage Jazz Pages,"
a beautifully designed website I've enjoyed for many years.
###

Harlequinade

At first glance, the Warner Bros. 1932 film "Winner Take All" seems like just another boxing story --- but like almost all the studio's output during this period, even the most familiar or pedestrian of themes is often surrounded by production and story elements that seldom fail to baffle, surprise and delight. No matter that the main character is a secretary, salesman, nurse, doctor, taxi driver or a dairy employee --- presumably people like us, working lugs all, the world they exist in within these films is often as foreign and unreal a territory as the fictitious fairy-tale European cities seen in Paramount's glistening fluff or Metro's chromium and lacquered penthouse suites.

If you're an X-ray technician in a 1934 Warners film such as the incredible "Bedside," you'll find yourself treating nymphomaniacs feigning a twisted ankle one moment, and a morphine addict faking an asthma attack in order to get a fix the next. Even the most mundane of professions are rife with danger at every turn in the Warner Bros. Pre-Code world. If you're a salesgirl, you'll find yourself lured into customer's beds with astonishing regularity, and if you manage a small corner pharmacy, you're likely to be strong-armed by gangsters into manufacturing knock-offs of brand name lipsticks one day, and life-saving medicine that kills rather than cures, the next.

"Winner Take All," while arguably not a good film then or now, nonetheless veers off into unexpected territory almost immediately. Cagney, here still so young as to have an odd element of male prettiness about him that makes his characterizations seem even more inadvertently complex --- playful and coy one moment, cold blooded and incredibly cruel the next, is a boxer sent out west for a rest cure. He boards a train and as it pulls out from New York City, the music that accompanies the onscreen montage of train wheels chugging across a map segues from "The Sidewalks of New York" to "Beyond the Blue Horizon," a tune most closely associated with the Paramount film of two years earlier, "Monte Carlo."

The odd becomes even odder in the following scene, where we find Cagney ensconced at "Dr. William Bett's Rosario Ranch & Hot Springs," where the nighttime atmosphere is anything but restful, what with the constant mournful yelps and yowling of desert coyotes. Investigating the source of the wailing chorus, Cagney finds not a pack of roving mammals, but a typically pensive Marion Nixon on the outside patio instead, and there is a glimmer of recognition between the two.

It's here, that Cagney learns that he once encountered Nixon not behind a lunch counter as he supposes, but at Texas Guinan's infamous speakeasy where Nixon admits to having once worked. It's this moment in the film that results in "Winner Take All" being discussed here, for it's at this juncture that viewers can see all they're ever likely to see of the much sought after early 1929 talkie, "Queen of the Night Clubs," which starred the legendary Texas Guinan.

Utilized to introduce a brief flash-back depicting Marion Nixon as a speakeasy singer (she warbles a bit of "Was That the Human Thing to Do?" which dates from 1932 and not 1929, however) our glimpse of footage from "Queen of the Night Clubs" amounts to a scant 13 seconds or so of splendid looking but mute footage (the soundtrack has been replaced to accommodate a musical lead-in to Nixon's little song) consisting of seven quick shots (six actually, with one being split into two) in which we see Texas Guinan holding reign above a festive crowd in her re-created nightclub (publicity items claimed the set was an exact duplication of her night-club's main floor --- which perhaps it was, albeit far more brightly lit and dramatically less smoke-filled!) as well as equally quick flashes of dancing girls, "Georgie" Raft leading the club's band, and a glimpse of Arthur Housman at a table which dissolves into 1932's "Winner Take All Footage." To the credit of the 1932 film, more than a bit of care was taken in matching the new footage with the old, with props from the 1929 film (a tablecloth and lamp) being dug out to ensure a fairly seamless transition despite the sudden absence of ziggurat wall designs in the 1932 re-creation.

Depending on your taste, the poster for "Queen of the Night Clubs" depicted right may seem either attractive or hideous, and the film itself was received in much the same way --- with reviews pointing neither one way or another, and box office returns decent but unremarkable.

Clearly, the concept of "Notoriety = Celebrity" was already much in place by 1929, and while not carried to the sickening extreme it is today, (where it seems the more despicable one's behavior, the more one is admired, revered, lauded and embraced by the media and public alike) the early decades of the 20th Century --- and earlier, were filled with cases of acquitted murderers and all manner of society dregs being paraded across vaudeville stages as "celebrities," drawing crowds equal to those for persons of genuine worth and quality.

Of course, Texas Guinan's only crime (that I know of) was in being the over-the-top, rather ingenious character that she was in real life, but after a decade of nearly constant mention in newspapers --- always seemingly in connection with a sensational albeit largely toothless scandal of some sort --- she was thought justifiably ripe for presentation in a talking film that, while fictionalized (her character is named "Tex Malone" in the film) surely struck viewers as being as real and contemporary as last week's headlines.

In actuality, "Queen of the Night Clubs" wasn't Guinan's first appearance on the talking screen, as she could be seen in a lengthy segment from a late 1928 (I believe) Fox Movietone newsreel, that survives today but is usually overlooked by historians and authors. The nightclub we see in the newsreel --- the real one --- is a dark, dangerous looking place --- claustrophobic, cluttered, featureless, seen in half shadows and swirls of cigarette smoke, littered with confetti and serpentine streamers. Guinan herself is far from the glittering and groomed blonde we see in the 1929 film, here being overly powdered and carelessly painted, wearing an unflattering and shapeless dress from which emerge thick, flabby arms --- and a metallic headpiece atop a mane of wild, frizzy hair. No less a personage than Harry K. Thaw (murderer of Stanford White in 1906) is introduced via a title card as one of Guinan's stellar patrons --- looking old, ill, sullen and vastly uncomfortable as he shoots deadly glances at the Movietone camera lens.

We also get a bit of the club's floor show --- twenty or so graceless girls attempting a dance step on the postage-stamp sized dance floor, their arms and legs hitting chairs (and patrons) in the process, before scampering away as Guinan instructs the patrons with her trademark line, to give them "a great big hand." They do, and also fling table items at the departing dancers, with one large unidentifiable item hitting one of the girls on the head.

This wondrous bit of footage concludes with Guinan seen standing against a wall with a very plump blonde woman encased in white furs who says nothing but nods, grins and laughs in all the right spots during Guinan's well rehearsed patter. Although not introduced by Guinan or title card, the woman is Mae West, in what is probably her first appearance on film, and in a sound film --- a small but vital bit of film history that seems to have escaped most, if not all of West's many biographers.

Scrubbed clean though "Queen of the Night Clubs" is from the somewhat sordid reality of the 1928 Fox Movietone reel, I can only describe the prevailing atmosphere of the 1929 film (to be fair, it can only be evaluated today via script, images and surviving Vitaphone discs) as unpleasant, at best. It's neither a crime story, moral tale, courtroom drama, murder mystery or musical film --- although all elements are tossed in without any being really fully explored or exploited, and if the one selling point can be said to be the personality of Texas Guinan, then it's understandable why the film's success was acceptable but unspectacular, very much of the flare-up and sputter-out sort.


Once curiosity as to how Texas Guinan looked, talked and moved was satisfied, there wasn't much left to hold the attention --- and the wildly improbable and somewhat convoluted dramatic story that unfolds further frustrates matters.

Tex Malone (Guinan) is a nightclub hostess in the employ of two shifty characters, Nick (Jimmie Phillips) and Andy (Arthur Housman.) When their club shutters under mysterious circumstances, she leaves them to open her own club in partnership with Don Holland (John Davidson) creating hard feelings. Hiring talent for the new club, Malone and Holland audition vaudevillians Bee Walters (Lila lee) and Eddie Parr (Eddie Foy, Jr.) but opt to only hire Bee. Reluctant to leave her partner, Bee is soon persuaded by Malone and Holland's promise of fame and wealth, as heard in this excerpt:

"Queen of the Night Clubs" - Excerpt #1

Bee Walters is a success, and Tex Malone's club thrives. A bit of revelry can be heard here as Malone makes her grand entrance onto the stage floor, and introduces her both her business partner, Don Holland, and "the hottest little dancer in the whole world, Georgie Raft" who then proceeds to do some stepping to "Sweet Georgia Brown" as the scene ends and dissolves to a title card bridge.

"Queen of the Night Clubs" - Excerpt #2


Time passes and resentment between most of the film's players continues to ferment and bubble. Bee Walter's boyfriend, Eddie, becomes jealous of Don Holland's attention to his girl, and is heard publicly threatening him at the club one evening --- a nasty scene that Tex Malone alternately revels in and then squashes, as heard here in the following excerpt. This selection also includes the audio for the footage seen in "Winner Take All," which surrounds Malone's cry of "The winner, by a nose!" The jaunty tune that is heard as the clip opens, serving as musical accompaniment for the night club dancers, is "Cinderella," which dates (I believe) from 1920 --- and an odd choice for the film indeed.

"Queen of the Night Clubs" - Excerpt #3


Plot developments arise fast and thickly at this point, but before the film takes a darkly melodramatic turn from which it never recovers, Tex Malone performs the closest thing to a song in the film, a little bit of patter titled "It's Tough to Be a Hostess on Old Broadway," which can be heard in the following excerpt. The tune that's heard as the clip opens is "Collegianna," which dates from 1926 or 1927.

"Queen of the Night Clubs" - Excerpt #4

Don Holland puts the moves on Bee Walters in Tex Malone's office, and suddenly a shot rings out and Holland falls dead at Bee's feet, prompting her to faint. In walks Bee's boyfriend, Eddie --- and a moment later, Tex Malone --- who finds Eddie holding a gun and Holland laying dead. Guinan actually enacts a bit of frenzied hysteria rather well ("You dirty little rat, you cheap little ham! You'll burn for this!" she tells Eddie) but quickly composes herself enough to use the telephone to report the murder and, when the sound of approaching sirens signal the arrival of the police, she has Eddie hidden in a couch. This wild little scene can be heard in the next extract, which opens with the sound of a somewhat muffled gunshot:

"Queen of the Nightclubs" - Excerpt # 5

Tex Malone tries to divert attention from her office and the concealed suspect, but the Inspector and police eventually get around to investigating , and there they find the cowering Eddie, and haul him off. ("So you'd kill a man for a cheap, double crossing skirt, would ya?" snarls the loutish Inspector.)

You may be wondering (or not) why Tex is so protective of "the little rat" that killed her business partner. Well, it turns out that she was told, by Eddie's father (played by famed entertainer and one-time partner of Nora Bayes, Jack Norworth) that Eddie is her long-lost son, but she chooses to keep this fact to herself, the better to advance a plot to prove Eddie's innocence at the upcoming murder trial.

Despite the sensational aspect of the case, the murder trial moves along swiftly. After cross-examining Bee Walters and other associates of Tex Malone, the grand dame herself takes the stand for a second time (the first instance being unseen) and after spouting a Mae West type quip that she doesn't quite pull off, she's faced with photographic evidence from the Prosecutor proving that she's Eddie's mother --- a shocking moment indeed, which is depicted to the right and which may be heard here:

"Queen of the Night Clubs" - Excerpt #6

This revelation has little bearing on Eddie's guilt or innocence however, but his lawyer (the silky voiced John Miljan) has the matter well in hand, and using a bit of trickery and such highly cutting edge (for 1929) tools such as flash photography and print enlargements, he forces witness Nick Martin (Jimmie Phillips) to admit that it was his partner Andy (Arthur Housman) who fired the deadly shot at Don Holland. A courtroom shuffle --- screams, and Tex Malone's former bosses are ripe for delivery to the hoosegow, on stretchers. All that's left now is a wrap-up sequence set in Malone's nightclub, and you may experience these two final moments of the film for yourself, via the following concluding excerpt:

"Queen of the Night Clubs" - Excerpt #7

Arriving in theaters in mid-March of 1929, and still being booked into smaller houses around the country eight months later, "Queen of the Night Clubs" received surprisingly good reviews from critics who had yet to be bludgeoned by countless films of similar setting and content that were being readied for release, and therefore was greeted with good natured generosity instead of being savaged as it likely would have been a few months later. Said the New York Times' Mordaunt Hall, "Texas Guinan is in her element in the Vitaphone production... now on view at the Mark Strand Theatre. It is a somewhat entertaining thriller, with a murder or so, frowning plotters, a silly hoofer and a none-too-gifted woman who, nevertheless, appears to be worth her weight in gold as an entertainer in a nightclub. "

"Miss Guinan's voice is more powerful than melodious. It is the voice that is accustomed to ordering guests to buy and buy and give little girls a hand. Following the murder, one which must happen in every night club on the screen, Miss Guinan, as Texas Malone, admits on the witness stand that she knows more about Scotch than English, a joke that was thought to have sunk into oblivion."

"This story is told in such a way as to arouse curiosity as to how it is going to finish. The denouement, however, is by no means as imaginative as one anticipates. The author appears to have been floundering around trying to find a way out and then ended his yarn as best he could. And this, at best, is amateurishly forced."

This author is also floundering around, trying to find a way to leave "Queen of the Night Clubs" and move on to our surrounding program for this entry, so I'll attempt to do so by informing readers that a wealth of material on Texas Guinan --- her life, many careers (including silent screen actress in Westerns!) and untimely death (in early November of 1933) is yours for the asking on the Internet, via a number of beautifully designed and lovingly researched web sites and blog pages. It's for this reason that I strayed from offering biographical details of Miss Guinan, as others have done it before... and better, than I could easily attempt in this space.

So, we'll leave Texas Guinan in her night club, where she'll always remain --- captured in print, newsreel, sound discs and a few seconds of film that managed to survive as, quite literally in this case, mute testimony to her fame, notoriety and utter uniqueness as an American original.

The tune "Beyond the Blue Horizon," isn't usually connected with James Cagney's pugnacious visage peering out from a train window at passing tenements as it is in Warner Bros.' 1932 "Winner Take All," and no matter how typically Warner Brothers this moment is, the melody shall always be affixed to Jeanette MacDonald and Paramount's "Monte Carlo" of 1930. The ad for the film to the right, from a Helena, Montana theater, isn't exceptional in any way save for the fact that prospective audiences for the forthcoming screening of Greta Garbo's "Romance" were assured that "Complete election returns by direct Western Union wire will be given during the showing!" It's telling commentary that today, one would usually attend the theater to escape election returns while in 1930 audiences seemed to not only expect but demand them --- even smack dab in the middle of their chosen film.

Here's a strident, somewhat dramatic orchestration of "Beyond the Blue Horizon," courtesy of Harry Hudson and his Band, recorded in the UK early in 1931.

"Beyond the Blue Horizon" (1931) - Harry Hudson & His Band

We'll stay put in the UK and with Harry Hudson for the next offering,
"The Harlequinade," which served as the "B-Side" for a 1930 recording of "The Woman in the Shoe" from the MGM film "Lord Byon of Broadway" that can be found earlier in these pages. Although never used as such, to my knowledge, the tune has always struck me as seeming to be perfect material for use as a Technicolor sequence in an MGM musical, but alas the tune doesn't appear to have made it to these shores much, if at all --- until now, that is!

"The Harlequinade" (1930) Harry Hudson & His Band

It might possibly surprise some reader to learn that renowned composer Dimitri Tiomkin contributed to a number of early MGM talkies, among them "Our Blushing Brides" (music for the fashion show sequence,) "The Rogue Song" and "Lord Byron of Broadway." While his composition for the latter film, "Blue Daughter of Heaven" seems dreadfully disconnected from the film proper, it's one of very few early Technicolor musical sequences that I'd rather listen to than see, for it's photographed unimaginatively and is almost vertigo inducing --- all swirling platforms and swirling chorus girls set against a stark backdrop, with little to attract the eye save for the simple, somewhat modernistic, vaguely Asian costumes the girls wear. That aside, the sequence is happily with us today, and can be seen in beautifully preserved prints of "Lord Byron of Broadway" as well as in an abbreviated form within the bizarre two-reeler "Roast Beef and Movies," of 1934 (which also contains a truncated presentation of the Technicolor musical number "Dust" from 1930's "Children of Pleasure.")

"Blue Daughter of Heaven" (1930) Vocal by James Burrows, Music by Dimitri Tiomkin

Recorded by the Capitol Dance Orchestra for the British label Eldorado in 1930, "Fantastique" is one of those period tunes that you feel certain you've heard somewhere before yet can't quite precisely place --- and the tune then lingers on in your head for far longer than you expected. So, consider yourself warned --- and you might wish to view the lovely girls and their balloons in the image to the right while you puzzle it all out.

"Fantastique" (193o) The Capitol Dance Orchestra

The recent DVD release of MGM's "Dancing Lady" not only features the aforementioned "Roast Beef and Movies," but overall comes as a pleasant surprise to those accustomed to the lackluster print with flat, muddy sound that's been making the rounds seemingly forever.

While claims that the film had been "completely restored" for DVD release were overly hopeful --- it's still missing some footage involving The Stooges and a picture puzzle of Adolph Hitler that was cut for the film's re-release, and the sound elements vary widely in fidelity from reel to reel, it's nonetheless a vast improvement from what we've had in the past.

I've never been overly fond of the film, as I'm apparently one of very few who finds little "magic" in the combination of Crawford and Gable, and truth be told I think the film could would have been given a much needed shot of adreniline and humanity had Lee Tracy enacted the Gable role, as originally announced he would. The film's early scenes, set in a seedy burlesque house, a night court and small apartment are the only elements of the film that ring true, and they're absorbing because of that. There's many reels left to play out before the film finishes however, and by the time the concluding musical numbers arrive they come in the form of musical fantasy that offers little contrast, and certainly no relief, from the 80 or so minutes of dramatic fantasy and artificiality that precedes them. That said, the film was wildly popular and remains so today too, although perhaps not for the right reasons.

The music that works best in the film, in my opinion, are it's more sedate moments. Heard during the film's opening burlesque house sequence, is "Hold Your Man," which was featured in numerous other films --- but perhaps never quite so effectively as here, when warbled by an older and plumper Winnie Lightner than we're accustomed to seeing (and who largely vanishes from the film after the first reel, sadly.) This 1933 recording, by Larry Murphy's Oklahoma Band, is oddly perfect somehow.

"Hold Your Man" (1933) Larry Murphy's Oklahoma Band

A more conventional overview of all the major tunes featured in "Dancing Lady" figures in the lushly orchestrated medley that follows, in which can be heard "Let's Go Bavarian," "My Dancing Lady," "Everything I Have Is Yours," and "Rhythm of the Day."

Medley from "Dancing Lady" (1933)

Just for fun, let's flip the disc over for an equally polished medley of tunes from "Footlight Parade," which includes "Shanghai Lil," "Honeymoon Hotel," "By A Waterfall," and "Sitting On a Backyard Fence."

Medley from "Footlight Parade" (1933)

In case you're wondering, I'm not being intentionally elusive as to the recording artist for these two medleys --- I simply don't know. Recorded onto reel-to-reel tape years ago, and unaccompanied by notes of any sort, this disc is one of only very few I've been unable to identify via the few excellent and indispensible 78rpm databases that can be found on the Internet. So, should any reader be able to identify this disc, I'd much appreciate hearing from you.\

Rounding out this post, a good an opportunity as any to offer two additional recordings that I've been unable to identify, try as I might.

The first, a delightfully comedic British recording entitled "Shopping On Saturday Night" that appears to date from about 1930 to 1932, is the sort of cleverly written tune that requires careful listening to appreciate. The vocalist details a Saturday evening shopping expedition with his wife, and manages to work in references to cracked eggs, greasy faces and bony fingers and still remain brightly charming. The opening montage of various marketplace vendor ethnic voices is unusual to say the least, especially the final pidgin English voice that cheerfully pipes up "Hoot-Mon, Char-lie!"

"Shopping On Saturday Night" (UK-Circa 1930)


Finally, an electrical recording circa 1926-1930 of a very old tune with roots fading into dim folklore, "The Gypsy's Warning," that relates the experience of a young woman who visits a gypsy to have her fortune told and learns more than she probably wished to know. It's the sort of tune that conjures up images of velvet flocked wallpaper and gaslight, violets and crinoline, and horse-hair stuffed furniture upon which to merely faint or perhaps waste away and fade into nothingness. Being of sturdy constitution, I shall do neither, and will return with another entry before the end of this week!

"The Gypsy's Warning" (Circa 1926-1930)

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Texas Guinan, circa 1923
Photo courtesy of reader Anthony Morelli

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"Following the Sun Around"

On June 10th of 1932, the syndicated newspaper column "New York Day by Day," by O.O. McIntyre, saw fit to lament the fact that the passage of time had, among other things, resulted in the loss of once much beloved elements from daily life in New York City and it's entertainment venues. Among them, "La Belle Titcomb and her white horse," "Cheap burlesque picking at the coverlets," and another reference now barely a living memory, "J. Harold Murray's merry twinkle." The author concludes the item by sadly noting, "But the flea circus goes on forever."

Clearly, the New York City of 1932 wasn't the same city as it was in the 1920's when J. Harold Murray's "merry twinkle" so delighted theater patrons and columnists alike --- and in 2007, even the Depression gutted city of 1932 seems as distant as a lost civilization.

It came as a surprise, and a reaffirmation of my efforts, to receive a gracious and informative note from Mrs. Linda Murray Berzok, who is the granddaughter of J. Harold Murray... Ziegfeld, stage and screen star possessed of golden voice (and merry twinkle,) thanking me for my mention of Mr. Murray in this Blog's earlier post, "The Ladder of Roses."

Although J. Harold Murray passed on before Mrs. Berzok's birth, and wasn't --- as she admitted, a frequently discussed figure within her family, she has developed an understandable interest in her Grandfather's life and career, a career which now exists as scattered papers and photographs, mentions in brittle newsprint, on cylinder and 78rpm recordings, and in existing copies of his film work --- much of it now battered and fragmented, the victims of neglect, folly and the flitting by of calendar pages.

While newspaper accounts and publicity placements are often unreliable sources of fact (Ms. Berzok pointed out that her Grandfather never owned or operated a saw-mill as one colorful 1930 newspaper item indicated, but rather that he owned an estate called Saw Mill Hollow in Killingworth, Connecticut) they do serve an invaluable purpose nonetheless --- acting as a societal mirror that indicates how figures like Murray were seen (or not) in the public eye.

Via period newspaper accounts, we can trace a performer's rise to fame --- and oftentimes, sadly, their descent into obscurity... but more importantly, they have the ability to affix a figure to a particular time and place in a way that dim recollections cannot. Then too, they often provide insight into unimportant but intriguing facts of the sort that help to bring even the most distant figure a bit closer to us.

Small, inconsequential things these, such as learning that J. Harold Murray was an expert ice-skater, and that he blushed madly whenever receiving a compliment. Delightful and very human traits that would otherwise pass unnoticed.

One of our earliest views of J. Harold Murray arises in 1923, as he moved from singer of illustrated songs, to song-writer and publisher, and then onto performer of his own material --- when all the elements clicked, and he became a featured stage performer in such vehicles as "The Passing Show of 1921,” “The Midnight Rounders of 1921,” “Make It Snappy,“ “Springtime of Youth,“ and “The Whirl of New York.“ We can view ads for the latter stage show, and even a photograph of J. Harold Murray as he appeared in the production, but nothing serves to fan away the mists of time as much as hearing his living voice. Here, in a recording of “Faded Love Letters,” is J. Harold Murray in 1923, reproducing the melody as it was performed in the 1921 production --- with the voice that would one day soar amidst Ziegfeld splendor already much in evidence.


"Faded Love Letters" (1923) J. Harold Murray and the Homestead Trio


The same year Murray recorded “Faded Love Letters,” and was appearing at New York’s Ambassador Theater in “Caroline,” a Civil War era musical comedy, his face could be seen in newspapers throughout the country, endorsing Lion-Dura collars --- looking quite satisfied indeed with their best-selling “semi-soft” variety of collar. (Film buffs who may have puzzled over the name of a character played by George Givot in “Hollywood Party” (MGM-1934) a faux-elegant lion tamer, will now understand that the character’s name was actually a bit of word play on the popular collar’s brand name.)



“Vogues of 1924,” would be Murray’s next success, a Shubert Bros. musical comedy revue in which he co-starred with still somewhat recognizable names such s Fred Allen, Jimmy Savo, Betty Compton, and Irene Delroy. The production would run for a respectable 92 performances --- adequate for topical material of this sort, and Murray escaped the mild criticism given over to the show’s other performers --- and this, while bravely battling a vexing bout of illness. To quote the reviewer, “J. Harold Murray was handicapped the first nights by a bad cold. Manly in appearance and possessing an exquisite voice, Murray labored under this handicap, but valiantly won his way into the hearts of nearly everyone that saw him. He sang and played the speilman (sic) from ‘The Miracle’ well indeed.”

Featured roles in “China Rose,” “Captain Jinks” and “Castles in the Air” would fill 1925 and 1926 for the performer, with perhaps his greatest of all stage roles, in Ziegfeld’s “Rio Rita,” arriving in January of 1927 and opening the Ziegfeld Theater --- and so successful a production that it pushed back the opening of “Show Boat” by nearly a full year!

It’s interesting to read an amusing publicity placement from January of 1927 --- moments before “Rio Rita” would open, titled “Harold Murray Does Not Believe in Vocal Training,” in which the performer (supposedly) speaks against vocal training --- citing the fact that he himself had never had a singing lesson in his life, unlikely though that may seem it's possibly true nonetheless.

Via the following 1927 recording, we can hear J. Harold Murray in a medley from “Rio Rita,” accompanied by the Victor Orchestra and members of the Victor Light Opera Company. To listen is to truly dream and yearn for another time and place.

Selections from "Rio Rita" (1927) J. Harold Murray & the Victor Light Opera Co.


With “Rio Rita,” J. Harold Murray became a stage legend. It’s lamentable that he wouldn't be utilized for the 1929 RKO screen edition, as the film would have benefited as much from his vocal ability as his very physical appearance --- that of lithe and fair, which would have contrasted nicely with the dark eyes and hair of Bebe Daniels and Don Alvarado. But, it was not to be.

J. Harold Murray’s success on the stage in “Rio Rita” would never be matched --- although his contributions to 1932’s “Face the Music” (where he introduced the standards “Soft Lights and Sweet Music” and “Let’s Have Another Cup of Coffee”) brought fame in a very different sort of stage vehicle, in a very different world from the one that greeted “Rio Rita.” (Newspaper accounts detail that Murray was replaced by John Barker for the show’s final two months, but offer no explanation.) Another standard, “Autumn in New York,” emerged from 1935’s “Thumbs Up,” lingering long after the voice that first performed it faded into nothingness.

In some ways, Murray’s screen work isn’t much more accessible to us today than his stage work, a sad commentary on the survival rate of the early sound films. The performer's first appearance in a sound film would arrive in 1928, when he participated in the filming of a Metrotone short subject that would accompany the premiere of Greta Garbo's "The Mysterious Lady" (MGM) and Warner Bros.' "The Lion and the Mouse" in most theaters around the nation in country. In addition to musical turns by Ben Bernie and his Orchestra and Gertrude Lawrence, the reel featured J. Harold Murray singing "The Ranger Song" from "Rio Rita," and two young ladies billed as "The Rio Rita Girls" who performed a piano duet of some sort. Tantalizing though this reel sounds, it exists today only as mention in newspapers of the day.

All that remains of J. Harold Murray's first full-length feature “Married in Hollywood" (Fox-1929) aside from scattered sound discs, photos and script materials, is what amounts to the film’s final reel --- photographed in the Multicolored process, and occasionally trotted out for viewing by audiences lucky enough to be in attendance for it’s momentary exhumation.

According to the recollections of a good friend fortunate enough to see this reel when it was on display a number of years ago in the United Kingdom, the Mulitcolor reel opened with panning shots of the Fox Studio -- in which could be seen employees on the roof with huge light reflectors, set against a pure blue sky -- a credit to the Mutlicolor process. Forming the film’s finale (and providing it’s title) was a filmed “wedding” of the two principals, Norma Terris and J. Harold Murray --- staged on a huge set open to the sunlight. He continues, “music came in (the film’s theme song, “Dance Away the Night,”) with fantastic, thundering clarity. I recall the hero and heroine standing on a mounted stage --- lots of steps --- with some gorgeous reds and blues.” He accurately compares it to the finale of another multi-hued musical, RKO’s “Dixiana” of 1930, and while noting that the scene had little of the fluidity of “Gold Diggers of Broadway,” it contained some of the best two-color photography he’d seen up to that point.

The film’s theme song, “Dance Away the Night," as performed on 78rpm disc by the Columbia Photoplayers, was featured in an earlier post, but is offered here again for those who may have missed it.

"Dance Away the Night" (1929) Theme song of "Married in Hollywood"

“Happy Days” (Fox-1930) is with us, albeit in a much degraded and battered shadow of it’s former self --- eagerly traded by collectors hungry for the material that archives and parent studios have little interest in, and this while near pristine film elements for “Happy Days” survive, yet go begging for attention while a clock ticks away the dwindling moments of the film’s life.

The part-Technicolor Fox production “Cameo Kirby” (1930) followed next for J. Harold Murray, which suffered only when compared to the similarly themed “Dixiana” of the same year, but evaluation of the film remains impossible today for it’s completely gone.

In July of 1930, newspapers mentioned: "Since Paramount has canceled 'Her Wedding Night' as a starring vehicle for Jeanette MacDonald, and have nothing to substitute in its place, they have loaned her to Fox for one picture. She will play opposite J. Harold Murray in 'Stolen Thunder.' The story by Mary F. Watkins, deals with the adventures of an opera singer. Sidney Lanfield will direct."
Alas, this pairing of two of the early talking screen's most beautiful voices would not materialize as planned, for when the film reached the screen as "Oh For A Man," Reginald Denny had replaced Murray.

“Women Everywhere” (Fox-1930) exists in it’s entirety, and at last report was being kept in maintained isolation within the UCLA film archive. The blood and thunder melodrama of the Canadian wilds, “Under Suspicion” (Fox-1930) barely escaped complete loss --- leaving behind two reels of itself before vanishing altogether, which presently reside at UCLA as well.

Following this, J. Harold Murray would return East, and to the stage --- but would, over the next few years, appear in numerous short-subjects, some of them filmed at Warner’s Brooklyn Vitaphone Studio --- then curiously staging odd, two-reel condensed versions of full-length musicals of just a few short years prior.

As J. Harold Murray, Bernice Claire and Alexander Gray gathered in the historic but comparatively shabby Warner Bros. Brooklyn studio to re-create moments from “Song of the Flame,” (an all-Technicolor 1930 film --- now lost) for the two-reel “The Flame Song” in 1934, the mind boggles at the conversation that must have ensued between the former shining lights of stage and film that were now involved in a production that couldn't’t help but seem like a grade-school reenactment of “Ben Hur” by contrast to the gargantuan vehicles they had once been involved with.

If contemporary newspaper accounts are to be believed, J. Harold Murray didn’t need to work --- he simply wanted to. A performer performs, and unless they’re allowed to do so they’re unfulfilled. No matter their wealth or possessions, nothing could replace audience adulation. So, despite a news item from November of 1933 that states: “J. Harold Murray has become one of the wealthiest American actors,” he continued on in short subjects, as well as on radio, where he could be heard in an operetta “Venus in Silk” in October of 1935, and as frequent guest performer on “The Intimate Revue” and “The Troubadours.”

Two years after being cited as one of America’s wealthiest actors, an October of 1935 newspaper entry mentions an unfortunate incident: “Dozens of persons well known in Hollywood and along Broadway were revealed as victims of John J. Kemp, insurance broker, who confessed to police tonight that he had spent thousands of dollars in insurance premium money sent him by clients instead of paying it to insurance companies. Clients swindled by the broker include Mrs. Betty Rogers, widow of the late Will Rogers, W.C. Fields, John Charles Thomas, Vivian Segal, Lew Silvers, Willie Howard, Betty Compton -- wife of former Mayor Jimmy Walker of New York City, and J Harold Murray.”

For J. Harold Murray, work in short subjects continued: “Who’s That Girl,” “Nite in a Nite Club” in 1934, “The Singing Bandit,” “Phony Boy” in 1937, “Under a Gypsy Moon” and “Somewhere in Paris” in 1938, and “Wild and Bully” in 1939. Surviving scripts for short subjects titled “Hollywood Censorship,” “Tourist Camp” and “Capture” also indicate plans for J. Harold Murray’s involvement --- but reasons for their abandonment are unclear, unless the saddest of all reasons was to blame.

The performer would pass away in December of 1940, a victim of Bright’s Disease, at age 49 -- and with each passing year since, more and more of his stage and screen legacy would fall away --- leaving mere scraps of a vibrant life and voice, some of which have been presented here as best they can, with others remaining in inaccessible limbo, and still others long lost beyond salvage.

Also left behind, an adoring grandchild J. Harold Murray would not live to meet, but for whom he remains a source of boundless curiosity, fascination and admiration.

Then, at the end of it all --- a Blog writer who does his level best to keep these once bright sparks of life which generated so much pleasure and gladness for so many, from being extinguished completely... at least not just yet.

Note: Linda Murray Berzok welcomes communication with readers who are seeking information about --- or pertaining, to J. Harold Murray. She may be contacted at: berzokmr@hotmail.com

Publicity photo for "Under Suspicion" (Fox-1930)

J. Harold Murray
February 17, 1891 - December 11,1940
###


Addendum:

Revered and much missed by "New York: Day by Day" columnist,
"La Belle Titcomb" (and her white horse) is seen here as touring on the Orpheum
vaudeville circuit in 1911, sharing the bill with
elegant hobo comedian, Nat. M. Wills:


Nat M. Wills recorded for Edison and other phonograph companies during the early
part of the last century. Here is his recording of "A Parody on 'Down in Jungle Town'"
from 1909, in which President Roosevelt's much publicized hunting expedition is the target for scathing musical criticism. This set of lyrics are Nat Wills' own creation.

"A Parody on 'Down in Jungle Town'" (1909)

This news item from 1915 reveals that "La Belle Titcomb" and Nat. M. Wills
were, at one time, husband and wife.


"La Belle Titcomb" continued to perform, sans white horse, as late as 1918,
perhaps out of necessity, since alimony source Nat Wills passed away in 1917.
This ad indicates her participation in a Washington, D.C. vaudeville performance.



###

"... but the flea circus goes on forever."

Crook Dramas and Dancing Violinists

An assortment of diverse items for this entry, beginning with a striking poster design for a 1929 Columbia film presumed to be no longer with us, "Light Fingers."

Jauntily billed as a "100% Talking Crook Drama" in print ads across the country, the film starred Ian Keith as the title character --- "Light Fingers," a brilliant crook who impersonates a magazine writer to work his way into the home of a society family, all the better to get at their jewels. The family's charming young daughter (Dorothy Revier) prompts a change of heart and motive --- and after an entanglement with unsympathetic fellow members of his gang, all ends well for Mr. Fingers and his soon-to-be bride. Fortunately perhaps, the film did not seem to feature a theme song of any sort.

Mr. Keith was extraordinarily prolific an actor, appearing in some ninety-odd films from the early 20's through the mid-1950's, that ran the gamut from major studio efforts to entries in the Charlie Chan, East Side Kids and Dick Tracy film series of the 1940's. We'll leave him, however, with this view of his appearance in a 1932 touring stage production of "Grand Hotel," in which he co-starred with Olga Baclanova in the roles that would be enacted by Barrymore and Garbo in the MGM film version.

Equally prolific in his art was record vocalist Irving Kaufman, who's name has been recalled in these pages more than once owing to the fact that, much like his contemporary Billy Murray, he seems an ever present figure in phonograph history --- with work that crossed the time and technological borders marked by cylinders, acoustic discs, electrical recordings --- and somewhat beyond.

Often recording on dime-store record labels that probably never sounded terribly good even when brand new, his klaxon-like voice --- which often threatens to shatter the grooves that attempt to contain it --- can be found in just about any stack of 78rpm discs you may happen upon, and he's achieved a sort of endearing immortality among record collectors if not music critics.

In 1927, Irving joined his brother Jack for the Vitaphone short subject "The Kaufman Brothers, with Irving and Jack, Assisted by Eve Sinclair," which appears to have accompanied most bookings of First National's thriller "The Gorilla." The short subject allowed for some comic patter, brotherly duets of "High, High Up in the Hills," "Deedle, Deedle Dum" and a solo of Irving Berlin's "Russian Lullaby" by Irving that must have been mighty indeed.

While picture elements for the Kaufman Bros. Vitaphone short have survived, the accompanying sound discs have yet to be located. I suspect they shall, for there's nothing sadder than the notion of a mute Irving Kaufman.

Serving as reference, here's a snappy (and crackly, I'm afraid) recording of "High, High Up in the Hills" by Larry Archer & His Orchestra from 1927, which gives some hint at how the Brothers Kaufman might have handled the tricky chorus.

"High, High, Up in the Hills" (1927)

Fear not, we won't move on without first letting Mr. Kaufman step forward from the past, and to that end here's "My Baby Just Cares For Me" from "Whoopee!" (recorded in 1930 with Lou Gold and His Orchestra) and then, the theme song for "The Rainbow Man" (Sono-Art 1929) that I couldn't locate for a previous post, "Sleepy Valley"--- which is handled in a surprisingly tender fashion by Mr. Kaufman. Enjoy!

"Sleepy Valley" (1929)

"My Baby Just Cares For Me" (1930)

Billed as "The Dancing Violinist," the young lady pictured to the left is one Auriole Craven, who's contributions to the world of entertainment are now as dim as they are inexplicable. Much as wanted to, I couldn't find any information of Miss Craven beyond a few newspaper entries from 1927, heralding her few stage appearances and sole Vitaphone short subject --- the source for the delightful image reproduced here.


Surprisingly, Auriole figured somewhere within the stage production of Al Jolson's "Big Boy," but that fact didn't sway one reviewer of her 1927 vaudeville act that appeared in Oakland, California: "Auriole Craven, who dances and fiddles charmingly as she did with with Al Jolson, but who has been deceived into believing she can sing jazzy songs." It should be noted, however, that Miss Craven shared the stage with the youthful cast of Hal Roach's "Our Gang" films --- and who could be expected to compete with that? (Seen below left, "Our Gang" on vaudeville tour, early 1928.)

Sadly, neither picture nor sound elements of Auriole Craven's 1927 Vitaphone short are known to have survived, so in order to provide some appropriately pretty audio accompaniment (for what could be prettier than a girl dancing with a violin?) let's listen to a widely and justifiably popular melody, entitled simply "Rain," as performed here in 1927 by Jacques Renard and his Cocoanut Grove Orchestra.

"Rain" (1927)

In 1929 as in 2007, personalty sells a product --- and the magazine ad reproduced to the right, pitching "Ayer's Cherry Pectoral" makes for delightful if not oddly familiar reading, for little has changed in terms of product endorsement --- including ad copy that can't easily be imagined spoken by the film (or TV) stars being quoted. Alice White's contribution is especially ripe, for it's so merrily at odds with the screen personality she made all her own and we've come to love.

Proving nothing wasn't fair game for the phonograph, even colds, coughs and sniffles, here's two rather different renditions of a novelty tune from 1929 painfully titled "I've Got a Code in My Doze." The first rendition, by Fred Hall and His Sugar Babies is suitable for dancing, while the second more thoughtful version --- by our very own Rosetta Duncan, is best listened to while propped up in bed whilst mentholated vapors surround you.

"I Got A Code In My Doze" (1929) Fred Hall's Sugar Babies

"I Got A Code in My Doze" (1929) Rosetta Duncan, Herself

"Her smile, her sobs, her laughter, her tears --- what a difference when you HEAR them! 100% Talking, and 100% Perfect, too!"

So read the ad copy for Billie Dove's first venture into all-talkies, the mid-1929 First National melodrama "Careers," directed by John Francis Dillion --- and one of the very few examples of a major film star's first talking film that hasn't survived either in picture or (to my knowledge) domestic sound elements.

Co-starring Antonio Moreno, Noah Beery, Carmel Myers and Thelma Todd, and sporting the theme song "I Love You, I Hate You," "Careers" strayed far from dressing rooms, theaters and fashion salons -- a fact gratefully noted by reviewers already becoming saturated with films set within the theatrical world.

Set in the French Colony of Cochin-China, Billie Dove portrayed the wife of magistrate Antonio Moreno, who has inadvertently stalled his career by her natural prim nature. Calling on the President (Noah Beery) to see if she can't help her husband in some way, she soon finds herself being seduced by the lecherous official, but before matters get completely out of hand the President is murdered by an enemy concealed within the room, and Miss Dove soon finds herself in a far worse situation --- that of being named as a murderess!
As could be expected, her husband ultimately satisfies officials of her innocence and, in the process, sees his prim mousy wife in a new and appealing light. The couple then depart for Paris, where it is presumed they find happiness.

"Careers" received uniformly positive reviews despite it's far-fetched plot, and for once all the hype seemed justified insofar as Billie Dove's speaking voice was concerned, with equal praise going to the performances (and voices) of her co-stars.

One reviewer, however, appeared to be rather unmoved by Miss Dove's on-screen predicament, took issue with the accompanying audio histrionics: "Somehow, the sound of a woman sobbing as emitted by the "mike" is grating to the nerves. It seems to produce a most grotesque sort of sound effect, which the audience last evening readily discerned and commented upon quite too noisily."

If not a treat for the ears, the exotic setting for "Careers" provided a treat for eyes accustomed to endless parades of show-girls, rooming houses and theatrical booking offices.

According to a First National press release, "The most original and costly indoor set ever built in the First National studios was constructed for 'Careers,' the latest Billie Dove starring vehicle. The set represents the palace of the governor of Indo-China, where much of the action takes place. It covers one and one-half acres of studio space, and involved the employment of a score of artists and artisans for one month. The entire effect is authentically exotic even to the detail of flowers, plants and trees. The palace proper consists of a building 75 feet in height and containing several large elaborately decorated rooms. Gilded columns support the ceiling, tapestries and silken draperies adorn the walls. Doors, massive and faithful in design, are hand-carved and poly chromed. Back of the palace are formal gardens --- pergolas covered in vines and flowers, a limpid lily pond mirroring the stately
columns of the palace, a winding gravel road lined with trees, palms and indigenous shrubbery."

All the more frustrating then, that we can neither see nor hear anything of "Careers" beyond a set of Vitaphone discs prepared for the Spanish release version of the film. With all of the film's original spoken dialogue removed (replaced with Spanish title cards) all we're left with is close to eighty minutes of very, very dramatic and heavy music with Asian-influenced themes creeping in now and again to relieve the near constant swirling and swooping of strings. What follows are too representative examples of audio from the Spanish release version discs. The first contains the film's opening moments, which includes an odd vocalization of a tune other than "I Love You, I Hate You," the lyrics of which are a mystery to me but which might be identifiable to a bilingual reader of these pages.

Excerpt #1 from "Careers" (1929) - Spanish Release Version

The second excerpt comprises much of the film's final reel, and gives a fair representation of the sort of highly melodramatic scoring that accompanies virtually the entire length of the film's scores. Eventually, it all gives way to the lighter mood brought on by declaration of Billie Dove's innocence, and it's here that the strains of the film's theme song "I Love You, I Hate You" may be heard --- but alas, without the sound of Billie Dove's voice... or sobs, for that matter.

Excerpt #2 from "Careers" (1929)

The pretty, waltz-time theme song --- while barely evident in the Spanish release version, was hugely popular on these shores and figured prominently in the domestic release version. Quoting another First National press release, "Persons attending 'Careers' will hear the strains of a beautiful melody played throughout the showing. Not only is it played by the Vitaphone Symphony Orchestra, but it is also sung by Carmel Myers who has an important role in the film. Already the song is earning wide popularity. Radio stations are broadcasting it. Music stores are featuring it in their window displays, and almost everybody who sees 'Careers' comes out of the theater whistling or humming the melody." Ah, alas and alack... all gone.

Also gone are window displays of the sort seen to the left, in which the display of sheet music is elevated to an art form. The image would appear to date from early 1930, with sheet music from "Sweetie," "Check and Double Check," "New Moon" and "The Vagabond Lover" used to form intricate designs that must have been a joy to behold when seen in their original vibrant colors.

One wonders what would fill this window when film musicals would be reduced to a mere trickle by the end of the year, a turn-of-events helped along --- in part --- by theme songs such as this one, a theme song about theme songs! Recorded by Sam Lanin and His Orchestra in 1930, this was the most forgettable of all musical entries in the otherwise spectacular all-Technicolor Warner Bros. hit, "Hold Everything!"of which we're only left with sound discs today.

"Sing A Little Theme Song" (1930) Sam Lanin & His Orchestra

Filmed "almost entirely in natural colors," Paramount's 1929 "Redskin" is a film we wouldn't expect to have with us today in it's original multi-hued format, yet... almost miraculously, we do. The film is largely unavailable for public viewing, except by those either positioned or well connected enough to arrange for private screenings, or for those lucky enough to learn of one of the very scarce instances where the film is exhibited publically before being whisked away again.

Even the most precious and rare of books can often be read and enjoyed via faithful print reproductions, but motion pictures --- artifacts of our past, our culture and our heritage as much as any printed volume --- seem to exist in some alternate universe where common sense ceases to prevail. Having said that, here's the film's theme song, as recorded by Ben Selvin & His Orchestra in 1930, which may be as close as most readers of these pages ever get to the film.

"Redskin" (1930)

Criticism of a different sort, although no less pointed, is evident in some entires in the reader's page of a 1929 film magazine reproduced to the right, and it makes for fascinating reading from the 2007 perspective that 1929 film audiences weren't as sophisticated as we were. Considering the sheer volume of films that the average late-20's moviegoer screened, superb and awful alike, we're really not as cinema savvy as we like to think.

See if you don't find such entries as "Museums, Not Movies, Place for Skeletons" and "Take That Back, He's No Sissy" eerily reminscent of letters printed in any given issue of "Entertainment Weekly."

The more things change...!

British comedian Dick Henderson, who'd appear in two major Warner Bros. talkies of 1930, "The Man from Blankley's" and the notorious "Golden Dawn," was actively touring the country in late 1929 and early 1930 on the Orpheum vaudeville circuit billed as "The Comedian Who Sings" and alternately, "Hired Direct From England: Dick Henderson." In towns with multiple theaters, he could have easily ducked out to see himself on the screen in his 1930 Vitaphone short titled "Joke Over," --- which I imagine would have been irresistable for any performer in that unique circumstance.

How well his one-reel filmed vaudeville performance was recieved is unknown, but a review (that reads like a publicity placement) of his stage performance positively glows with praise, as well as featuring the comedian's own insight on America vs. England:

"Dick Henderson, the English comedian, is a millionaire when it comes to stage material. The rotund, ludicrous Dick insists that it is America that has given him his wealth of jokes and waggish comicalities. 'No country has as many chances for humorous situations as your country,' says Henderson. 'Although I have traveled around the world, nowhere have I found people quicker to see a joke than Americans. Because the average Englishman lives a very simple life, which is spent almost entirely either in his home or office, he has only two kinds of jokes: office jokes and domestic jokes. And England has had such hard times people there want to forget their jobs when they go to the theater, so all they like is mother-in-law jokes, little hits at the wife or husband, and other domestic wisecracks. But you in America offer a thousand new angles for laughs, for you do such an infinite variety of things. People only appreciate jokes on situations that they can understand. That is why the people who do the greatest variety of things get the most laughs out of life.'"

Pictured right is Henderson (left) with comedian George Jackley in 1924, but aside from losing the outlandish attire, he'd look much the same in his 1930 Vitaphone short, an excerpt of which is offered here featuring a bit of song, some clever patter and a tribute to Sir Harry Lauder.

Excerpt from "Joke Over" (1930)



While not strictly vaudeville, Sir Harry Lauder would play to packed houses throughout American and Canada during 1929, appearing in an astonishing variety of venues that included legitimate theaters, high school auditoriums, lodge halls, churches, and college gymnasiums. Interestingly, no matter the house, the entrance fee remained the same --- ranging from 75 cents to a very steep (by 1929 standards in small cities) of $2.50.

While many of us would give a hundred times that to have had the chance to see him in person, even in a location not easily associated with Mr. Lauder such as Reno, Nevada (the source for the ad pictured right), all that's left of that magnificent tour are ads and just perhaps, somewhere, a living memory.

Sir Harry Lauder (Medley) - Early 1930's

Most early musicals (and some non-musicals) offered to theaters were shipped with recorded Overture discs, and although many of them survive today in fine condition they're seldom offered as part of archive screenings or airings on TCM.

The previously posted overture disc to "The Desert Song" (WB-1929) has, surprisngly, proven to be one of the most popular offerings in these pages, so here's another example of this lost art form --- this time from the equally lost 1930
all-Technicolor production of "No, No, Nanette."

Overture Disc - "No, No, Nanette" (1930)

Speaking of lost films, Paramount's 1929 "The Battle of Paris"is oftentimes indicated as being either lost or existing only in fragmented form within archives, yet it's a film which exists (in fine and complete form) within private hands --- attracting little or no interest from organizations who've long strayed from their original intent to preserve and present our American film heritage.

With an atmospheric World War One setting, "The Battle of Paris" served as Gertrude Lawrence's first feature-length talking film, and boasted a host of songs --- some of the Great War era, and some new, such as the lovely melody "When I'm Housekeeping For You," which can be heard here in a recording by Ben Selvin and His Orchestra dating from December of 1929.

"When I'm Housekeeping For You" (1929)

Before concluding this entry, I hasten to fulfill a few reader requests!

While viewing the rather spectacular full-page advertisement for Warners' all-Technicolor "On With the Show," you can listen to this medley of tunes from the film --- lifted from the foreign release version discs for the film that made beautiful use of the melodies we're accustomed to hearing as vocals in the surviving domestic release version.

Medley - "On With the Show" (1929)

A trio of "hot" numbers are up next!



Betty Compson's eyes may look a bit wonky in the otherwise stunning poster depicted left, but that may well be because she's heard "Weary River" one too many times. A tonic might well come in the form of the following unusually upbeat version of the much recorded tune, recorded by Joe Venuti's New Yorkers in February of 1929. It might not re-grow eyebrows, but it'll set feet tapping.

"Weary River" (1929) Joe Venuti's New Yorkers

From that fountain of melody, Fox's 1930 "Happy Days," comes "I'm On A Diet of Love," originally performed in the film by Marjorie White and Frank Richardson and played here by the featured band in the film, George Olsen & His Music.

"I'm On A Diet Of Love" (1930)


This week's cable airing of "The Mysterious Island" (MGM-1929) struck me as looking and sounding a good deal better than it's looked and sounded before, which indicates either a behind-the-scenes upgrade of broadcast material or a diminished critical eye (and ear) by this writer, due to a lingering head cold --- which also explains the late arrival of this post.

Seeking to catch up, look for another blog post no later than Monday evening --- and until then, I leave you with a rousing rendition of "Sing You Sinners," from the 1930 Paramount film "Honey" --- performed here by Jack Martin's Musicians on a flexible disc that has more than lived up to it's claims for long-lasting durability!

"Sing You Sinners" (1930) Jack Martin's Musicians

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