Casper Daily Tribune Newspaper, June 26, 1921, Page 9

_ Gow Job-Hunting Caused Her “Golden Smile” ‘tc Early Struggles jal Mary Pickford’s worst case of stage- sy 6 fright came the night her mother iff made her stage debut.—How Mary ( U who read this may have talked with Mary Pickford unawares. Impossible? Not a bit of it! For two seasons Mary—who was known at the t ‘ ime as Gladys Smith—worked during the summer with carnival companies at funny little country fairs in the small towns of New England. Her own Fife story was actually dictated little star herself. iy bassin persisted in her desire to work under Belasco, and how a cocky office boy and a haughty stenographer, sta- tioned as bulwarks against intrusion a on the peace of their employer, al- ways frustrated her desire. “MY LIFE” y As Told By MARY PICKFORD To HAYDEN TALBOT Copyright, 1921, by The McClure Newspaper Syndicate and Hayden Talbot, Hayden Talbot, who recorded Mary’s revelations exactly as she expressed herself, travelled nearly 6,000 miles to induce her to narrate the most intimate and personal details of her life. Three children—Mary, Lottie and Jack—were left for their mother to care for when the father of the family died in Toronto. Canada. At first Mrs. Pickford took in “‘roomers”, then a chance with stock “ Aan company opened up for Mary, who made her debut at the age A short time later, with a barnstorming theatrical troupe, Lottie and Jack also found a place as child actors. Then came Mrs. Picks ford’s own tum to go on the stage. m. N, 0. y Zan ee, | =— ss Z, = SS ra fl ; Understand that Mrs. Pickford ‘or, to use her own name, Mrs. Smith) had never spoken a line behind the footlights. Nevertheless, her three children were so talented that the theatrical manager offered the mother a part for herself, believing that she was an actress. as\ Ne SSS A ceriemeiestiecnel Mary’s “golden smile”. “‘It’s so easy to do it before the camera,” she said. “But with your last season’s savings rapidly melting away, to go on and on seeking a next season's job, and then to smile— that is something bigger than mere acting!” HEN the manager told us that before my mother made her first en- mother must play the, char- trance! acter part {f we were to be ., 0%, most auful forebodings filled ; t o ng o » included in his company, I looked and being tongue-tied. Tae oe ant helplessly at my mother. Thank ordered out of the theatre and back heavens I didn’t say anything. For yaad AS awe tha the season only An “ “4 gun—and with no chance of e manager went on talking him- finding other work! Oh, it was most self. dreadful! “But I've heard such good things But at last the moment came! I about your daughter,” he was saying partes ga ps kneoe ‘Knocking . rand my chin quivering until : mother, “that I don’t care how it seemed I must be presenting’ s very ad you may be in your part. You fair imitation of St. Vitus dance. On ez7) \ Ray Ss ( aA v SS ESS can have it if you want. I never came my mother—head high and per- heard anything about your work, but I dco know all about Gladys Smith.” Mother and I both realized at the same instant that he was taking it for granted that she was an actress! He was doubtful enough about her being a clever actress, that was plain; but that she was the rankest amateur never entered his mind. For a moment my heart stood still as ! waited for njother to speak. Then to my joy she said quite calmly that if this were the only condition under which he'd agree -to take us, she would consent to play the character part! Sarah Bernhardt herself .couldn’t have been. more calmly confident than mother. The manager was deeply impressed. 1 could fairly see his mind groping to recall some per formance of my mother’s. Her self- assurance had made him wonder if his up-to-the-minute knowledge of the theat#e and its player folk were rezlly as comprehensive as he had imagined. “Let’s see," he was saying—and again my heart leaped into my throat —"what was it you did last?” Again mother rose to the situation beautifully. If only she could act as well on the stage as she was acting now, there'd be no doubt about her making/ good. For she was saying that shé had last played “characters” in the stock company in Toronto! She was taking a chance that the manager would not be too familiare with that organization, and she didn’t specify any especial year. And it was all right. When we walked out of his office we had a contract— placing all four of us upder salary for the ensuing season! I'l never forget those days and nights that followed! Of course my mother wasn’t completely “green” about the theatre., She had watched me rehearse and had stood in the first entrance many times while reg- ular performances were going on. But when she got the part in her hand dnd began to read it, she had no idea whethor “L U EB” was a spe- cial form of grease paint or a typo- graphical error. I remember I had to draw a dia- gram of the stage and mark every- thing on it so she could learn just where the Left U,,er Entrance was! Fortunately the sage director was a nice old man with children of his own —who put down all mother’s ner- vousness to her natural anziety over us! Mrs. Pickford’s Debut. The first night of the tour—in a manufacturing city in New Jersey— was the most awful thing that ever happened to me. Of course as I had progressed in my work T had come to learn what all actors learn—that dreadful ordeal of an opening. The better you are and the more impor- tant your part the more terrible your nervousness becomes. Only the rankest amateur approaches an open- ing with unshaken nerves. But all the nerve-racking experi- ences of this kind I had ever gone through were as nothing at all com- pared with the violent case of stage fright that overcame me that night fi eo = = fect psise expressed in her every movement! I don’t suppose the great Ellen Terry would have had cause for Jealousy by anything my mother did on the stage that night. As a matter of fact.candor compels the admission that her inexperience showed iteelf in more than oné faux pas before the play was over, But she did manage to get through with- out forgetting her lines or letting the audience (fortunately not too critical as it was) know that for the first time in her life she was acting a part! And so kindly disposed Dame. For- tune favored us and all my dread fears were dissipated. That, how- ever, was not the best part of it. Thank the stars—my. mother’s head was hot the least bit turaed by the event. Although she. continued to play the part the whole season she never showed the slightest in- clination to keep on as an actress, and in fact; never again spoke a line on the stage! Stage-struck girls are bad enough, heaven knows! For a daughter to have a stage-struck mother! That would bo too dreadful! The Call of New York. And now I come to the turning point in my career. entering the world of pictures, as you It had nothing to do And yet, that is not quite the truth—vyiewed in one light. For I suppose it had a distinct bear- ing on my subsequent success before But at the time, had anyone told me that the wonderful experience I was about to know was only a stepping stone to an impor- among motion picture actors I should have been highly in- For in those days motion might suppose. with pictures. the camera. places into which one could go for five cents and in all wisdom of my “Prince of producers, maker of stars—David Belasco,’”’ who was, says Mary Pickford, the idol of her dreams. At the age of thirteen Mary started out to get an interview with Belasco, for she felt that even eight years of hard work under the guidance of a master like Belasco was none too much to prove her fitness for the really big things in the theatre. 13 years I was convinced that this that if sure now that I was mistaken. The ting on in years! Don't-smile. Age offerings on thea screen current im is a relative matter. At 13 I had had 1907 weren't worth very much more more actual, downright hard work than that admission charge. crowded into my life than many a And I—Gladys Smith of Toronto, woman of 40. with eight years of big and little J] tried not to be too impatient. parts in unimportant rozd companies 7 was willing to face another period —I had arrived at the conclusion of struggling as long as I had already thafthe time had come for me to known—and wait until I was 21 to blossom forth as a Broadway star! come into my own as a recognized The ‘very best was barely good star. I felt—and not ‘unreasonably, enough for me. The best theatre in surely—that eight more years were the biggest city with the principal none too many, under the guidance part mine—anything less than these of a master like Belasco, to prove my would set me down a failure! And, fitness for really big things in the incidentally, my future in the theatre theatre must be guided by no one else than the greatest managerial genius of the The Cocky Office Boy. country! I tould consent to allow But, of course, the diMiculty was in my star of destiny to shine under the convincing Belasco that it was worth direction of none other! eight years of his time to determine ‘All this I kept most secret—even this question! At least that was from my mother. It was too won- what I had supposed the diMculty derful, too tremendous to talk about. would be—in the thousand days and ‘And so when we came in off the road nights I dreamed about it, before I and took up quarters in 2 -Httle first went~to his office. But very theatrical boarding house I began quickly I.discoyered that this was by what developed into a daily pilgri s the only difficulty in my age that extended over the blisteri A much greater one existed in hot summer months—always without the person of a very young, very self- so much as the tiniest bit of en- impo couragement—a daily pilgrimage to a hau the outer office, beyond which, some- bulwar! where, dwelt the idol of my dreams fice, a —prince of producers, maker of peace of their employer. stars—David Belasco! Day after day, week after geek, I I knew my theatre pretty thor- never succeeded in getting Fereier oughly, even at 13. It had been than that outer office. Far into the eight years my business to come to night I w know it. I knew that in Belasco was might st personified the greatest and best and indiff I realized I might fail, but I knew reply t office boy, seconded by stenographer—the fitst stationed in the outer of- mst any intrusion on the puld plan new schemés that ceed against the brutally nt minions in the outer office. finest things that existed, theatrically And the next day I would put them speaking. I was bent on having him all into practice—only to be told show me how to express those things. again the same thinly-veiled, insolent Mary in a contemplative mood, “Nothin’ doin’! Mr. Belasco ain’t seein’ nobody today.” One-good came out of that experi- ence. I made up my mind then and there that {f the day ever came when I should be in a position in which I should be sought by appl{cants for jobs—at least I’d make it pos- sible for the poor people to get wishes known to me. Ever since I have been fn that posi- tion I have tried my level best always to have in my employ men and women whose natural inclinations will. make them courteous and kind to everyone who comes seeking an interview with me. Of course TI can’t always actually recelve each one in person, but nothing would make me angrier than to learn that anybody— man, woman or child—worthy or un- worthy—ever received discourteous treatment at the hands of any mem- ber of my organization! Belasco Well Guarded. It wasn’t at all the fact that the we were rolling into months, and still my ambition as far from being realized as ever, that gave me fear: it was the awful sensation these two employees made me , a sensation not dissimilar to what must come over a blind locked in a steel cell—painfully feeling for the door he knows is unlocked, but never able to find the telltale break in the smooth surface of the walls! ‘The boy and the stenographer were moved about a few other many, it is true, but a f hb being so, there t be some way to make them respond to a human appeal. The awful trouble was I didnt seem able to find that wayf And then, finally, like almost every other trouble that can come to us— the cure came when it should come, after I had demonstrated my ability to bear up under the trouble long enough to prove I deserved the cure, And it came from the office boy him self! As always when job hunting, I had put on my prettiest frock that morn- ing and looked my best. A casual observer would never have guessed that prosperity was not an intimate friend of mine. The black ink my mother had carefully applied to the places on my shoes, where the cheap outer leather had peeled off, didn’t show. Only Silk Pair She Had. There was no way to guess that my one pair of silk stockings were carefully washed every night, to be ready for me to put on in the morn- ing—nor could the beautifully fine mending jobs my mother did on them be seen! And above all there was nothing: in face to indicate the Ps air I felt. Thinking back on those days I cae afford to smile a bit now when I read some eulogistic review of a Screen perfo: of mine, in which the writer ers to myx den If those writers only how I had come to acquire thi to do it before n the brofling heat 's day in New York, kne of a mids with your last seaso: idly melting away and you. alm me—to go on and on from office to office seeking a next season's job, and TH le—that ts something bigger mere act- ing! | | em,