I knew that what I was used to was not the real thing. But I did not know anything of the most real of all things in life—worship of God. Theatrical people have little time for religion. They have a vague standard of being and doing good, but they are busy. I was on the Keith-Albee vaudeville time in the East and Pantages time in the West, both as a dancer and in a dramatic playlet. That meant I performed in two shows during the week and three on Saturday and Sunday. Sometimes there were four or even five shows on the week-end. “ Church” was a spire seen from a train window. Since I have become a Christian, a question often burns in my heart. As I toured the United States, appearing on the stage in performance after performance, many people saw me. Often the house was packed. Can it be possible that not one who saw me was a Christian? If not, then far too many people in the United States are not saved. However, I cannot but believe that some of those in the audience were Christians—nominal Christians, Christians out of fellowship, say it any way you please, but still Christians, members of churches and regular attendants. If so, they were a party to the abnormal life I was forced to live. They were, encouraging my mother in her false ideas of glamour. They were responsible for her eventual disillusion ment and death. By their attendance and support they were giving at least tacit approval of putting upon a child the strain of appearing in public. Worse, they were approving of bringing up a child in an environment which not only had no time for God, but only glorified the flesh and the lusts thereof. Surely they will be held accountable to God for the contribution they made to the unhappy life of the little child actress. (The second installment of Mrs. Haskin’s account of her actual Hollywood experiences will appear in next month’s issue.) Why I Do Not Attend theMovies Newsweek recently reported an article which the Rev. Grant H. Elford placed in his bulletin relative to excuses for not attending church. He listed them as reasons for not attending the movies, satirical imitations of church-going excuses. He said that for the following reasons he did not attend the movies: 1. The manager of the theater never called on me. 2. I did go a few times, but no one spoke to me. Those who go there aren’t very friendly. 3. Every time I go they ask me for money. 4. Not all folks live up to the high moral standards of the films. 5. I went so much as a child, I’ve decided I’ve had all the entertainment I need. 6. The performance lasts too long. I can’t sit still for an hour and three-quarters. 7. I don’t care for some of the people I see and meet at the theater. 8. I don’t always agree with what I hear and see. 9. I don’t think they have very good music at the theater. 10. The shows are held in the evenings, and that’s the only time I am able to be at home with the family. From The Clarion, First Baptist Church, Cheyenne, Wyoming. V * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * T H E K I N G ’ S B U S I N E S S * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Lina Basquette, Zoe Rae and Dorothy Clark Haskin, with Marshall Stedman, casting director of Universal Pictures, Inc.
of the room, I used to put a book on the floor and read a sentence on each bend. I was not only a dancer but an actress. That meant I had to feel any emotion the play required. When I was in "On Trial” with Edmund Lowe, I had to cry every night on the stage. At first the story of the play affected me. But I grew used to it. Then mother resorted to reading sad poetry to get me in the mood. If that failed she would tell me, “No one likes you. They think you are a hateful child.” And when I was torn to shreds emotionally, and sobbing heart-brokenly, I would be pushed onto the stage! This excessive playing upon my emotions developed in my nature a streak of brooding melancholy. I was old, far too old, for my years. What else could be expected of a child thrust into the position of responsibility that I was? When ordinary children were punished for getting into mischief, I was punished if I missed a step in my dance or failed to show the emotion the director demanded. One of the so-called advantages of being on the stage is that one travels and sees places. This might be an advantage if theatrical people went to see the places of interest, but the attitude of an actor is that, to look at anything except him self, is to be a “ yokel” ! They pride themselves upon NOT being “sight-seers.” A different town is merely a different dressing-room. To be brought up in a dressing-room, as is the child actress, is to be reared in a drafty hole of a room the furnishings of which consist of a large mirror, a shelf for one’s make-up, a few straight chairs and a number of hooks on which to hang one’s costumes. There are always waits when one is not on stage. The grown-ups spend this time playing cards or sewing on cos tumes. The lone child sits around in an atmosphere of smoke, powder and profanity. The stage and the movie lot are strictly places of make- believe. Most of the sets are built of heavy, coarse cloth, painted and braced into position. The audience sees the illusion. The actor knows it is papier-mache. Once when I was on a train, I was restless and asked, “ What can I do?” “ Look at the scenery,” mother replied. I glanced out of the window at the passing green fields and, confused, replied, “Why, Mother, that’s not scenery; that’s the real thing.” Page Eight
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