Month: February 2014

Past Paper: All New in 1958!

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This post first ran on May 30, 2012, but we’re revisiting it because today’s our birthday.

Our Folks, around the time of our birthThe piece of ephemera that inspired this post falls just outside the Cladrite Era, but we were so tickled by it, we just had to share.

A couple of years back, our aunt presented us with a stack of photographs, letters and other documents that had belonged to her parents (our grandparents), and below is the announcement our parents sent out on the occasion of our birth (to give it proper context, we should explain that our father, who’s still going strong at 85, was, for more than thirty years, a Volvo dealer).

This pleases us to no end, we have to say. It’s so clever, and we love imagining our folks, who were 29 and 25 at the time, working on this together.

A birth announcement
A birth announcement A birth announcement

As always here at Cladrite Radio, you can view a larger version of each of the above images by clicking on it.

365 Nights in Hollywood: The Ghost Run

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Jimmy Starr began his career in Hollywood in the 1920s, writing the intertitles for silent shorts for producers such as Mack Sennett, the Christie Film Company, and Educational Films Corporation, among others. He also toiled as a gossip and film columnist for the Los Angeles Record in the 1920s and from 1930-1962 for the L.A. Herald-Express.
Starr was also a published author. In the 1940s, he penned a trio of mystery novels, the best known of which, The Corpse Came C.O.D., was made into a movie.
In 1926, Starr authored 365 Nights in Hollywood, a collection of short stories about Hollywood. It was published in a limited edition of 1000, each one signed and numbered by the author, by the David Graham Fischer Corporation, which seems to have been a very small (possibly even a vanity) press.
Here’s “The Ghost Run” from that 1926 collection.

THE GHOST RUN

 
 
The last Hollywood car left the Hill Street station in Los Angeles at two-ten. There were few passengers.
It was called the ghost run.
The motorman dreaded it.
The conductor hated it.
Few of the passengers, if any, knew of the ghost run.
The massive red car clanged and rumbled along. The air brakes sizzled. Another stop. Another customer. The car groaned on its way.
A dirty-looking individual in the back lit a cigarette.
“Hey, can’t you see the sign: ‘No Smoking’ in here!” yelled the conductor.
The dirty-faced man reluctantly stepped on his cigarette.
The car rumbled on.
A middle-aged woman nodded in the front seat. The man in back of her rattled his early edition of the morning paper. A newsboy sat hunched in his seat reading a paper-covered novel.
The noisy clank of metal sounded as the car switched onto Hollywood Boulevard from Sunset.
The motorman turned on the power.
More noise as the car sped over the crossing at Western Avenue and Hollywood.
More power.
A hideous scream rent the silent night air!
“God! I’ve got her!” cried the motorman, jamming on his air brakes.
The sudden jar shook the passengers from their seats. The air-controlled doors slammed back as the conductor and motorman rushed from the car.
The sleepy passengers scrambled to the street.
An auto stopped and turned its spotlight under the front trucks of the heavy car.
The middle-aged women screamed and fainted. A man caught her.
The form of a woman lay mangled under the car trucks. men were pulling the body out. The sound of raising windows could be heard from near-by apartment houses.
Men shut their eyes on the sight.

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365 Nights in Hollywood: Synthetic Scenarios

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Jimmy Starr began his career in Hollywood in the 1920s, writing the intertitles for silent shorts for producers such as Mack Sennett, the Christie Film Company, and Educational Films Corporation, among others. He also toiled as a gossip and film columnist for the Los Angeles Record in the 1920s and from 1930-1962 for the L.A. Herald-Express.
Starr was also a published author. In the 1940s, he penned a trio of mystery novels, the best known of which, The Corpse Came C.O.D., was made into a movie.
In 1926, Starr authored 365 Nights in Hollywood, a collection of short stories about Hollywood. It was published in a limited edition of 1000, each one signed and numbered by the author, by the David Graham Fischer Corporation, which seems to have been a very small (possibly even a vanity) press.
Here’s “Synthetic Scenarios” from that 1926 collection.

SYNTHETIC SCENARIOS

 
 
It was just seven-forty-five.
The tiny Inn, partly covered by a large pepper tree, seemed to lean against the studio wall. The coupe came to a sudden stop in front.
Betty, the taller, hopped out, a cold November wind greeting her. The expensive monkey-fur on her heavy black and graceful dress tickled her neck. She looked unusually fresh this morning. Her gray humorous eyes blinked in the cold, and her white shiny teeth almost chattered. Her rouged lips seemed to lose of their brilliancy as she stood waiting on Ann.
Ann, with dark brown eyes and long lashes, was having trouble dislodging a silken cord of her dress which had caught on the emergency brake handle.
The stools at the counter were filled with electricians, grip-hands, assistant cameramen, second assistants and office boys. They found places at the small table in the corner by the door.
“Gosh, it’s chilly,” Ann shivered.
“Yeh, something like South America.” Betty expected a laugh, but only got a glare from Ann.
Ann was reading Barney Google in the paper.
“Johnny,” called Betty to the office boy, “will you please light the stove in our office when you go in?”
He muttered something which sounded like yes with a mouthful of doughnut.
The studio displayed some signs of life by the time Ann and Betty had taken off their hats and stood rubbing their hands over a small gas stove, which should have been in a telephone booth.
By a quarter to nine both girls were seated at their desks with letter openers, stripping the edges of many bulky envelopes, which had been dumped on the center table by the mail boy.
Their day’s work had begun.
It was like this every day for six days a week.
They were scenario readers de luxe, as one producer had called them.
After reading a scenario—as far as possible—they typed brief outlines of the story on small cards which were indexed and filed away in the steel cases which lined the walls.
Their daily mail was never less than fifty stories. Sometimes it reached the amount of two hundred. And they came from all parts of the world.
“That was the interesting part of it,” Betty had once said, while reading one from India.
“Yes, that may be, but why do people who live in foreign countries always write about this country?”
Ann waited for Betty’s response.
“You’re better at riddles than I am.” And with that Betty started another story entitled, “Sadie, the Sinner.”
She finished the first paragraph with an effort. The little card was already inserted in her typewriter. She then wrote a little brief outline of the entire story from the first paragraph.
Ann had been watching her.
“What was this one like?” she asked.
“Just one of the synthetic ones,” Betty giggled.
“What do’ye mean—synthetic?”
“Same as synthetic gin. Darn rotten imitation of the real stuff. Something like near beer is to the honest-to-goodness lager. Leaves a bum taste in your mouth after reading—in this case.”
“Oh,” murmured Ann.
Silence.
Ann was thinking. Betty was reading another would-be scenario. This time it was from a housewife in Iowa, who had given her efforts the thrilling title of, “Her Mother’s Only Daughter.”
“That’s a good idea of yours,” Ann said finally.
“What?”
“The synthetic stuff.”
“It sure is the fake labels, kid.”
“Never mind the thing you’re reading now, tell me more about that idea of yours.” Ann had put down the scenario she was holding, and waited for Betty to begin.
Betty gladly dropped her manuscript on the desk and turned to face Ann.

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365 Nights in Hollywood: Stealing Cupid’s Stuff, Pt. 2

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Jimmy Starr began his career in Hollywood in the 1920s, writing the intertitles for silent shorts for producers such as Mack Sennett, the Christie Film Company, and Educational Films Corporation, among others. He also toiled as a gossip and film columnist for the Los Angeles Record in the 1920s and from 1930-1962 for the L.A. Herald-Express.
Starr was also a published author. In the 1940s, he penned a trio of mystery novels, the best known of which, The Corpse Came C.O.D., was made into a movie.
In 1926, Starr authored 365 Nights in Hollywood, a collection of short stories about Hollywood. It was published in a limited edition of 1000, each one signed and numbered by the author, by the David Graham Fischer Corporation, which seems to have been a very small (possibly even a vanity) press.
Here’s Part 2 of “Stealing Cupid’s Stuff,” a not-so-short story from that 1926 collection. (Here’s Part 1, in case you missed it last week).

STEALING CUPID’S STUFF

 
 
Pop was silent for a moment.
“Did Rodney send over the mailing list I ‘phoned for?”
“Yes; a kid brought it while you were watering the back yard right after lunch.”
“Sit down,” said Pop, pushing some of the magazines aside.
“Can you get some photos of Sonya?” Tommy repeated.
“Maybe,” slowly.
“When?”
“I’ll find out tomorrow.”
“Well, if you can do that, we’ll have some copies made and we’ll send them out to our entire mailing list.” Tommy was bubbling over with enthusiasm.
It was a week later. Pop burst in suddenly on Tommy, who sat smoking a cigarette while he read over some of the latest press clippings.
“Say,” shouted Pop, “Sonya will be here in about a week! Just got a wire from New York. She’s just arrived and is coming directly out here.”
Pop landed beside Tommy, a bit out of breath and with a yellow telegram waving. Tommy read:
 
“Pop Ewing,
“4642 Franklin Avenue,
Hollywood, Calif.:
  “Just arrived on Morcca. Will be in
Hollywood in about a week. Date
follows.          Sonya Merenaut.”
 
“That means I’ll have to get busy on the local press stuff. I’ll get all the dramatic editors interested and have some photographers down at the station to meet her.”
“That’s the stuff!” cried Pop, stuffing the telegram back in his pocket.
“Here, look at these,” said Tommy, shoving a handful of newspaper clippings into Pop’s hands. “They just came in. That picture you found of her was great. I’ve been checking up and nearly every editor used it.”
“Say, these are good,” Pop commented, approvingly.
“I’ve counted them. We have, to date, just one thousand two hundred printed articles on Sonya Merenaut, and they are still using them. And just think, we’ve only been sending this stuff out for a week and a day. That’s certainly doing our stuff.”
“Honest, Tommy, you’ve got any press agent in Hollywood beat,” Pop was saying, as he glanced over the clippings.
“I wasn’t fishing for a compliment,” said Tommy, modestly.
“I know, I know, but it’s the truth just the same. I’m going to see if I can’t get you on with Sonya just as soon as she arrives. I imagine she will want someone like you to do her publicity—if she’s going to have a press agent.”
“I would certainly like to work for her. If she is anything like her photo, she is a beautiful person.” He picked up one of his publicity photos. “Look, Pop, at those soulful eyes; soft and—and like one who would understand. Her face is round. Probably has a temper, but she’s got a lot of ambition. Her mouth is nice—and determined. In fact, she’s a darn nice girl.”
“Of course she’s a nice girl. And she’s a great author, too.” Pop stated this with pride and a swelled chest.
“She looks awfully young to be such a great success,” Tommy mused.
“Why, say, she wrote the great drama entitled ‘Poisoned Souls,’ and then the comedy-drama, ‘A Duke’s Mixture,’ and—well, there were a lot of others.”
Tommy had been writing the titles down as Pop spoke. “Do you know any of the others?”
“Wait a minute, maybe I can think of them. Is it important?”
“I would like to give it to the local press when she arrives,” answered the young press agent.
“I’ll have the complete list for you by then. Can you get something over about her locally?”
“I’m going to spend the afternoon down at the newspaper offices. I’ll tell you tonight just want my success really is.”
“Fine.”
Pop left the room and proceeded to express his thoughts by playing some very catchy melodies on the grand piano in the front room.
Tommy gathered some freshly typed sheets together and a number of pictures, and left the house, stating that he would return in time for dinner.
As he walked down to the boulevard to board the street car for Los Angeles he was suddenly stopped by a pulling on his coat sleeve. It was Mrs. Stevens, his former landlady.
“Oh, Mister Sutton!” she exclaimed, quite out of breath, “I’ve been searching Hollywood for you.”
“Yes?” he said quietly.
“Yes, I’ve got a letter for you,” she continued, as she dug into a large flat combination handbag and purse. “It came the day you left.”
Tommy looked startled. He held his hand anxiously for the letter. Finally she handed it to him. He thanked her absently, tipped his hat and walked on, leaving her slightly confused. Then he tore open the sealed flap and read:

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