Evening Star Newspaper, July 20, 1930, Page 81

THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, JULY 15 The Millionaire Kid’'s Hozo JuniorLaemmle, Filmdom’s Twen- ty-Two-Year-0ld “Crown Prince,”’ Turned a $3,000,- 000 Hazard Into a Gold Mine That Gave Him a Big Desk on Broadzay. WORDS BY GILBERT SWAN. NCE upon a time there was a 10- year-old lad who had a vast film lot in Hollywood as his playground. There he could meet all of the characters that youngsters generally encounter in story books. There were cow=- boys who ambled past, clanking their spurs and knocking dust from their leather chaps, and as they passed they stopped to pat him on the head. There were hussars who, working under the warm California sun, stopped to take off their heavy trick hats, mop their sweaty brows, but who gave the lad a friendly wink as they dropped into some shady spot. There were princes and beggars, and beauti- ful young women in every sort of colorful and picturesque raiment. There was excitement aplenty as swords flashed on one stage and slapstick comedians staged a rough-and-tumble on another and heroes slugged villains on another. He could go where he pleased and play as he pleased as long as he didn’t get in any one’s way. For this was the kingdom of his father. This was Universal City. And he was “Junior” Laemmle, son of “Uncle Carl,” one of the pioneers in the fantastic land of cinema, ELVE years have passed. '™ “Junior” is 22, But already he has attained what they facetiously refer to as “the throne room” of the New York executive offices way up Fifth Avenue and well back of the Broad- way that now hails this youth—hails him as heartily as it would have smiled and whispered had things gone otherwise—Junior has won his right to claim the desk of the production chief, which entails the right to toss around $14,000,000 during the coming picture-making season. But to achieve this moment, to gain this recognition and prove his right to adult respect and admiration, the boyish son of one of the richest film chieftains had to pass an acid test. He created a crisis which held the power of make and break. Given sole and unquestioned rein, with his shrewd, business genius of a father vacationing in Europe; banking com- pletely on his own judgment and pushing skeptics and scoffers aside, the 22-year-old boy decided upon two big film productions. When they were ended he had spent some- thing more than $3,000,000. Whatever happened, it was too late now. The money was spent. Either he was looking into the cold eye of disaster or he was sitting on top of the world. UNIOR wasn’t a bit worried. Or if he was, he certainly gave no sign of it. But he was a bit tired perhaps. For he had been work- ing night and day; working at the office and supervising on the lots until well after mid- night, appearing at his Hollywood desk at 8:30 the next morning and then starting all over again, “Crown Prince” Laemmle, despite his youth, has a directness and a brisk busi- ness-like manner which show that his recent successes were no mere accidents. The while, both Broadway and Hollywood Boulevard whispered behind their hands. One of the pictures was “All Quiet on the Western Front” and the other was Paul White- man in “The King of Jazz.” It was the former that caused them to arch eyebrows. Sage counselors shook their heads. For the whole film world knew the story that was behind the filming of this book. When it came out and had its phenomenal sale, the picture concerns began to scramble for all the successful war books and plays. When it came to “All Quiet,” the answer was invariably discouraging. The Universal's man was no more optimistic. Junior Laemmle wanted to produce “All Quiet” just as Remarque wrote it. His advisers wanted to add “plot” and “love interest” and sugar the thing. Junior stood firm, and now they call it the greatest of all war pictures. Great book! But nothing to hang a story on. No story at all. No love interest. It wouldn't make a picture. Impossiblz. YOUNG LAEMMLE was not convinced. There must be something there. No book could have had such a colossal sale without having tremendous human appeal. He read it once, twice, 20 times. He read it as the modern youth reads; with a new young wisdom that has crept into the world. He saw the point—the tremendous, heart- breaking tragedy of youth being tossed to the cannons. He ordered work to begin immediately on the picture, hired Lewis Milestone to direct it, tossed in a million or so and sat on the side- lines. “You don't know what that kid went through,” related Paul Whiteman, the rotund jazz king. “I was in Hollywood making my picture. Both companiss were working at once. And his bunch out there would try to make the boy change that story. They came with every sort of an idea. They showed how love interest could be brought in and more girls. He patiently shook his head. The story was going to be just as it was in the book—no monkey-shines. He was sure he was right. If he was wrong—well, it was on his head. “Yes, sir; many times I looked in on what was happening. You've got to hand it to the lad. He sat tight. He was smart in getting Maxwell Anderson to write the film story. Anderson was enthusiastic about the assign- ment; took a great personal interest in it. And Junior worked night and day. Don't know how the kid stood it—except he’s so young.” Well, that's all over now. One glance at Variety's box office sheets tells the rest of the story. “All Quiet” has been almost unanimously accepted as the best of all war pictures. It will make a great fortune. Old “Uncle” Carl, back from Europe, has passed the “bless you, my child,” to his son and gone back to California to count up the cash. And Junior sits at the big desk of the amble' W hile his father was in Europe young Carl Laemmle “shot the works” on twe pictures and the Universal lots buzzed with activity as the millions went inte the hopper, under the guidance of & mere boy. ‘ chief of production. The “old man” is pleased beyond dreams. For this is a clannish, close= knit tribe and there has long been a tremendous affection between father and son. An affection and a great confidence, too! There is Rosabelle, a daughter, who alse comes into the scene. For just as the old troupers of the European circuses trained their children to follow them, so Laemmle Sr. reared his youngsters in the atmosphere of film mak= ing. 2 WAY back, they will tell you, he liked to rely on their judgment. Whenever an important film was being shown in the projection room of the lot he would seat the children beside him. Then he would call, for their opinions. As Rosabelle grew up, she was given screem stories to read and pass on. Then she read. books and magazine tales in an effort to ume cover a good film situation. . She married, bud she still keeps a finger in the varied activities, And if the junior Carl appears to have had amazing confidence at a erucial moment, recall that he all but opened his eyes to the kleigs, rather than the sun. “My first picture—don’t laugh,” he narrated, - using his friendly, slightly quizzical smile, “was made when I was 10. I was playing about my father's lot, inventing the wusual childish - games, when it occurred to me that I'd like t@ play a game of picture-making. I went to my father and said I'd like to make a picture. “In those days there were always a large number of players around the lots, either be= tween pictures or waiting for work. So they let me use some actors who had nothing else to do. I invented a story which had something to do with button-button-who's-got-the= button. I remember it concerned a missing button and a missing safety pin. - “The players entered into the spirit of the picture with a sort of play spirit and soon we had out a short production. I had written, directed and titled it. All, of course, as part of a game.” They'll tell you around the headquarters office that Laemmle Sr. has a library of thou= sands of valuable films of every sort and de= - scription. They are a precious record of move ing picture history. But he prizes higher than any of them his own boy’s first picture. Every now and them he takes it out and runs it off and has a good chuckle over it. As Junior grew up he was given much spe= cial tutoring and then went to grammar school. He was just starting into college when he go@ a chance to try his hand on the lot.” So he appeared one day ready for work. E was an imaginative, quick-witted lad, and was placed in the production end. The business end has always been handled by the highly efficient Laemmle Sr. It is mot likely that Junior will ever inherit this pare ticular branch of the concern. Seated at his rangy desk, he might seem at first like a college boy during vacation season holding down a job in his dad’s office. Al about is a great battery of stenographers and clerks and underlings. And just outside the endless Fifth Avenue parade marches by. Five minutes with him, and you know thag this young man may be a boy, but he has ma- ture executive ability., He has a disarming and youthful approach, a quick tongue for turning a joke, but at the same time a direct= ness and a brisk, business-like manner which leaves no doubt that his recent experience was no mere accident, no “flash in the pan.” The “young film wizard” knows exactly what he's doing and exactly what he wants to do. I begams talking with him about youth in the film business. “Of course! Absolutely, it’s a business that needs youth. It needs courage in its system,” he began. “There’s no business, I believe, which cannot be snapped up by the injection of young blood. But the pictures—particularly the o Continued on Twenty-first Page