Contents of this magazine are copyrighted. Republication
of any part permitted when properly credited to
Capt. Billy’s Whiz Bang.
“We have room for but one soul loyalty and that is
loyalty to the American People.”—Theodore Roosevelt.
Copyright 1921
By W. H. Fawcett
[Illustration]
Edited by a Spanish and World War Veteran and
dedicated to the fighting forces of the United States.
_Drippings From the Fawcett_
Oh, for a modern James Whitcomb Riley! Could the incomparable Hoosier
poet be with us today, what a masterpiece he could make out of the
ordinary news of the day. With such material at hand as this from the
columns of the Chicago Herald-Examiner, he could bring tears to the eyes
of those with fond reminiscences. Under a heading, “LAST ONE IN CHICAGO
DESTROYED BY FIRE,” the newspaper states:
The last one in Chicago burned down last night. The fire engine
got around to the back yard of 1102 Hastings st., too late.
Truly, brevity is the soul of wit!
* * * * *
A news article in the daily papers say a Chicago woman has filed suit
against her husband on the ground that he refused to pare her toe nails,
and the husband comes back with the counter-charge that she smeared her
face with cold cream to such an extent that he’d get it tangled up in his
hair during the night.
To our mind, this suit opens up some wonderful possibilities, especially,
as Mr. Stillman would say, when the supply of Indian guides gives out.
Supposing, as our London co-scribe says, a woman wedded to a highlander
discovered after the nuptials that her husband refused to shave the hair
off his calves, might she not be able to file her divorce with reasonable
hope of success?
Again, we have the man who, when taking a bath, within earshot of his
wife’s bedroom, insists on singing unbearable songs of the type the Yanks
sang in France—
“She’s Mademoiselle from Armentieres, who hasn’t been kissed for forty
years. Hinky Pinky Parley Vouz.”
Surely a Chicago court would grant her a split from her spouse. And a
husband who would bite his wife’s mole also might be in danger of being
divorced by a woman who believed she was entitled to a less emotional
husband.
* * * * *
Twice, by urgent requests from ardent defenders of the fair sex, Whiz
Bang has reproduced “The pedigreed Persian Cat” from its issue of May,
last year. You’ll remember it—the story prose of the perfumed kitty who
wandered out the back door for air and was lured away by an alley tom
cat, and who, upon her return later, told her kittens their Pa was a
traveling man.
We’ve been waiting patiently for some traveling man to register his
protest and step up with straight dope to refute intimation that a feline
member of the fraternity enticed the perfumed pussy over the primrose
path. And now we have it—a poem in answer, from the pen of one who signs
“Josh M. Allong.”
“I resent the intimation that a member of my profession was to blame,” he
writes. “The original poem is propaganda to whitewash the reputation of a
loose and unprincipled female, even if she is only a cat. Therefore, I am
writing the following true version.”
_This Persian Kitty, perfumed and fair,_
_Did not go out on the porch for air,_
_But she saw that tom cat taking a stroll_
_And she laid a plan to get his roll._
_For she saw that he was a country swell_
_Who would fall for any tale she’d tell,_
_And, while acting so sweet and innocent,_
_She was full of guile and devilment._
_Then she led him along to a quiet spot_
_Where they bring it along at a dollar a “Bot”_
_And, while he spent his hard earned tin,_
_She stole his watch and his diamond pin._
_And, when she had him as clean as a bone,_
_Sneaked off with her lover and left him alone,_
_Hungry and footsore, to trod the way_
_Back to the farm and the new mown hay._
* * * * *
After reading the accounts in the Saturday Blade of the Stillman divorce
case, our hired man, Gus, asks me if he can have the job as “Indian”
guide at my Pequot, Minnesota, cabin resort this summer and fall. Gus,
however, is doomed to disappointment, because I have engaged a real half
breed Indian for the job.
* * * * *
Although, as Gus, our hired man, says, Deacon Miller, my neighbor,
doesn’t like my Whiz Bang and claims he tears it up outside his door
and lets the wind scatter the pieces of paper all over his wheat field,
we’ll have to give the Deacon credit for rearing a bunch of ladylike
cows. One of the Deacon’s bossies broke through the barbed-wire fence
which separates his pasture from mine, while I was at Pequot. The cow
unceremoniously walked into my house through the open door, looked at the
pictures on the wall and then walked up to the mirror to see if her horns
were on straight.
Not finding anyone at home, the cow, as is the custom, left her card and
departed.
* * * * *
Johnny Beaton, noted Minnesota Bohemian, told a rather good story the
other day while he and I were shopping for schnapps in Minneapolis.
During the inspection of our purchases, Johnny, who hails from Ranier,
Minn., on the Canadian boundary, said he had recently engaged in a
rip-roaring poker game. In this game were two Englishmen from the Canuck
side of the line. The Englishmen always referred to a five-dollar bill as
“a pound.” “I’ll raise you two pounds,” said the first Englishman. “I’ll
make it five bloody more pounds,” replied the second. About this time a
local bootlegger, who had been testing his own product, blurted out as he
pushed in his wad of money in the center of the table: “I’ll raise you
three tons.” The bootlegger hauled in the pot.
_Our Movie Gossips_
_Elinor Glyn is pursued by the ghost of “Three Weeks” and the
gossips are trying to catch her flirting! Mary and Doug aid
Bennie Ziedman in courtship for Marjorie Daw! Rudolph Valentino
turns the tables of his separation-wife, Jane Acker! Bill Hart
and Jane Novak may get married and live in Spanish “duplex”!
My, my, what morsels of gossip we hear from our bevy of
Hollywood and Los Angeles correspondents!_
Pity Poor Elinor Glyn! Screen folk, suspicious because England’s
titian-haired authoress wrote “Three Weeks,” are reported sleuthing
around the Los Angeles hotels and cafes and the Lasky studio, trying
to catch Mrs. Glyn flirting! Leastwise, the gossips are busy, and the
dainty morsel upon which they are chewing is none other than Mrs. Glyn’s
purported fondness for dancing.
“Where’s Mrs. Glyn?” they ask around the Lasky studio.
“Oh, somewhere dancing, I suppose,” comes a reply in much the same tone
as was used during the war when the ladies danced while friend husband
dodged Whiz Bangs in France.
Mrs. Glyn’s famous novel, “Three Weeks,” might have been her worst
personal faux pas. At the great Navy ball in the Ambassador hotel, she
remained for the most part of the evening on the balcony overlooking the
ball-room floor, accompanied by one of her youthful actor admirers, and
as her gaze passed over the heads of mere ensigns, four-stripers looked
up, but feared to tread, maybe. At least, Mrs. Glyn did not dance with
many, according to the correspondent of this great family journal.
Mrs. Glyn is writing a new story for the Lasky company. Of course the
Lasky people aren’t telling around just yet what the story is to be
about, but the gossips whisper that it’s to be like this:
A girl, born of a Russian dancer mother, and a staid American father,
grows up into a beautiful woman. However, everyone who knew of her
mother’s wild, wild life, fear the girl will develop into the same sort
of female. But she never does, until, way out west, she is bitten by a
snake. Then she becomes so, so wild! Just what form her wildness takes,
has not yet been ascertained. At any rate, the hero is right there at the
climax wishing she wasn’t wild (?) so he heroically sucks the poison from
her wound and quiets her nerves again! It’s called “The Great Moment.”
* * * * *
It seems that since “Mary” and “Doug.” have been married, they have
turned into regular old match-makers. They are working on all their
friends. Can it be they are just now concentrating on sweet, blonde
Marjorie Daw, who is one of Mary Pickford’s most intimate friends?
Marcel De Sano, the dark, handsome and entirely morose Universal director
is believed infatuated with the fair Marjorie just now. He recently
attended an informal little house dance in Hollywood and lurked in a
shadowy corner all evening because Marjorie was not with him. Mary
and Doug. are quietly and intensively working overtime to interest
Marjorie in Bennie Ziedman, business manager for “Doug.” Now, Bennie
is entirely cheerful, he’s a nice unaffected little chap whom everyone
likes and they say Doug. pays him some fat salary! Bennie hasn’t his
supposed rival’s mysterious South-of-Europe eyes and hair, but he’s an
enterprising, live-wire Yankee. Now, Mary and Doug. are a couple of sly,
old match-makers. Maybe they know they will spoil everything if they urge
Marjorie to choose Bennie, or if they knock any of her other suitors,
so they adroitly throw Bennie and Marjorie together on many occasions.
Whether Bennie and Marjorie are aware of this or not is a mystery.
Quite recently, Doug. was frightfully interested in purchasing a home
at Santa Barbara. Of course, it being a business matter, Ziedman, the
business manager, must needs go along to inspect the property. I think
they even kidded several hopeful real estate dealers into believing that
Mr. Fairbanks was really intending removing his famous family to Santa
Barbara. At any rate, it made it possible for them to take Marjorie and
Bennie to Santa Barbara for a week-end trip and throw them together for
three complete days.
Nothing has developed yet, but all know Bennie’s blush and his chronic
suffering from shyness. Perhaps he hasn’t yet roused his courage, or is
handsome De Sano getting in his quiet, intense deep stuff? All Hollywood
wonders!
* * * * *
Rudolph Valentino, the handsome young Italian actor who plays the lead in
“The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse,” is the husband of Jane Acker, who
also plays leads in pictures. Valentino, it will be remembered, once was
Joan Sawyer’s dancing partner in vaudeville.
Well, anyhow, the Valentino family separated about a year ago. For a
time, Rudolph was heartbroken over the separation and urged his mutual
friends to help him make up the difference. Just then, Jane had offers
galore from film companies and she was believed upstage and independent,
and to have refused to consider Valentino for a second session. Now,
lately, the tables have turned. Valentino has made a great hit in the
Metro photoplay taken from the biggest seller of last year. He can just
about command his own salary in filmdom from now on. And, wife Janie
hasn’t had such an easy winner. With dozens of companies ceasing to
produce, offers haven’t come bounding in at an alarming rate. Or perhaps
Jane didn’t know husband was such a capable actor and could make such a
hit? Can it be she at last realizes what a precious jewel she has lost,
and that now it is Jane’s turn to hope they make up, and Valentino’s to
assert manly indifference toward the fair sex entirely? Hollywood wonders
how it will come out.
* * * * *
Close friends of Bill Hart say he is to marry beautiful Jane Novak, who
has played so many leads in Hart pictures. All the evidence seems to
point that way. Bill declared through the press that April 2 last, was
his final day in motion pictures.
Jane will receive her final decree of divorce within a few weeks now.
Bill is building on to his lovely home in Hacienda Park. The Spanish
mansion now is divided into two sections with a long roofed corridor
running between. The new wing of rooms has lately been added to the
lovely mansion. Is Bill going to be a truly modern husband and keep his
own sanctum sanctorum at one end of the mansion for himself and allow his
wife to have a number of rooms in which she, of her own free will, may
roam as she pleases? Most wives would never be bored with the sort of
Bill who planned his romantic nest with such nicety!
* * * * *