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ESTABLISHED  1852 


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SHREVE  &  COMPANY 

Jewelers  and  Silversmiths 

POST  STREET  AT  GRANT  AVENUE 

SAN  FRANCISCO 


m  FRlMlStftN 


Joseph  Dyer,  Editor  and  Publisher 
Anthony  Page,  Associate  Editor  R.  B.  Hinkley,  Business  Manager 

Contributing  Editors 

Ex-Senator  James  D.  Phelan,  Chairman 
Charles  Caldwell  Dobie  Mollie  Merrick 

Idwal  Jones  Anita  Day  Hubbard 

George  Douglas  Marie  H.  Richards 

George  Sterling  Rowena  S.  Mason 


Contents  for  November,  1926 


Vol.  I 


No.  1 


Pagr 
Provincialism,     By  Charles  Caldu'ell  Dobie     -         -7 
Personality  and  Comment  -         -         -         -         S 

Oh,  Listen  to  the  Opera,    By  Joseph  Dyer     -         -10 
Sixty  Years  of  Sock  and  Buskin,    By  Idwal  Jones      11 
From  the  New   York  Comsponient    -         -         -        12 
'^Three  Tears,"    By  Lloyd  Buchanan     -         -         -14 
San  Francisco,  A  Lost  Lady,  By  Anita  Day  Hubbard  15 
The  Cinema's  League  of  Nations,     By  Rowena  S. 

Mason    -------       16 

Black  Songs  in  While  Mouths,     By  Mollie  Merrick    17 
Society  --------  ig 

Mostly  About  Books,     By  George  Douglas  -        -       22 
The  Adaptability  of  French  Furniture  to  the  Ameri- 
can Home,     By  R.  Bernard  Gellick       -         -23 
Designing  as  An  Art,     By  Lucien  Labaudt  -        24 

Sport,     By  Owen  Merrick       -         -         -         -         -26 

Finance,     By  Oscar  Fernhach     -        -        -        -       2S 


The  San  Franciscan  is  published  monthly  by  The  San  Franciscan  Publishing  Company,  511  Howard  Street, 

San  Francisco,  California,  Subscription  Price,  one  year  32.50.     Single  copies  25  cents. 

Copyrighted   1926  by  the  San  Franciscan  Publishing  Co. 


^ 


PROLOGUE 

^^  You  hold  in  your  hand  the  first  issue  of  L=H^^^^^J 
THE  SAN  FRANCISCAN 

'^ 

This  is  our  natal  day  and  we  hope  to  grow  into  a  lusty  youngster  whose  purpose  is  to  fill  a  niche  in  the 
social,  literary,   artistic  and   musical  sphere   of  our  region,  in  an  entertaining,  enlightening  and  alto- 
gether satisfying  manner;  yet  fearless  in  criticism,  fair  in  discussion,  and  unbiased  in  partisanship. 
If    We  are  not  grounded  in  antiquity.     We  have  no  past  to  live  down  nor  yet  memories  of  what  have  gone 
before,  to  infiuetice  us.    Our  purpose  is  to  reflect  the  life  of  today  for  the  amusement  of  those  alive.    Not 
that  we  do  not  appreciate  the  history  of  our  pioneer  fathers,  those  stalwart  men  who  laid  the  foundation 
and  developed  the  advantages  which  we  now  enjoy,  but  we  believe  the  field  of  their  endeavors  has  been 
capably  covered  by  more  aged  publications  whose  roots  were  sprung  in  the  yesteryears  of  the  Argonauts. 
Therefore  we  dedicate  ourself  to  the  Joy    of  Living,   and  to   the  I'isioti  of  a   Tomorrow  eclipsing  in 
grandeur  all  of  the  glorious  Past.     ^    We  come  to  you  with  all  the  promise  and  enthusiasm  of  Youth; 
an  Ambassador  of  the  Rising  Generation,  heralding  the  pleasantries  of  the  Time,  those  gatherings  and 
activities  which  we  shall  depict  through  the  eyes  of  a  participant  rather  than  those  of  an  observer.     We 
aspire  to  afford  the  Social  World  a  medium  with  which  to  express  itself,  avoiding  controversy  and  try- 
ing to  represent  all  sets  impartially.     ^    To  chronicle  this  era  would  not  be  complete  were  we  to  neg- 
lect political  comment,  hut  we  shall  endeavor  to  maintain  an  independence  and  a  friendship  for  all 
parties,  yet  reserving  the  right  to  indorse  those,  who,  in  our  opinion,  are  the  more  worthy.     ^  Our 
satire  will  be  unbarbed,  our  humor  unpointed,  our  wit  coined  for  laughter  only  with  never  an 
offense  intended.     ^    In  Art,  our  dissertations  upon  such  exhibitions  as  are  shown  in  this 
vicinity  will  be  ably  written  by  critics  and  reviewers  capable  and  well  qualified  to  opinionate. 
The  doings  of  artists  of  consequence  and  the  efforts  of  the  aspiring  amateur  will  receive 
attention  and  encouragement.     *\    Feature    articles    by  renowned  writers  and  impor- 
tant personages  will  occupy  pages  of  interest,  profusely  illuminated  with   photo- 
graphs and  drazvings  culled  from  the  live  incidents  of  the  day,  as  well  as  replicas 
of  the  worth-while  in  still  art.     ^    Music,  Drama  and  Cinema  features  zvill 
be  our  personal  consideration.     To  this  vital  part  of  our  cultural  exis- 
tence. The  San  Franciscan  will  be  ever  partial.     The  theatres  and 
concerts  will  he  adequately  reviewed  and  advance  notes  of  offer- 
ings  will   be   given    proper   announcement.     ^     The   Book 
Section    will    contain    reviews    on    the  gems  of  contem- 
porary literature  by  zcell  known  critics — The  Mode 
Department,  conducted  by  experts  on  style,  will 
present  the  coming  vogue  from  the  marts  of 
the  world's  greatest  designers  with  com- 
ments   and   detailed   descriptions. 
Golf,  tennis,  polo,  and  news  of 
the  turf  and  kennels  will  be 
related  by  champions  and 
connoisseurs  of  the 
sports.      K  Trai'- 
els;  items   of 
popular     in- 
terest gathered  on 
the  highways  and  in  the  byways;  tid-bits  of  doings 
of  San  Franciscans  abroad;  affairs  of  New  York  and 
other   metropolitan    centers   of  interest   to    us;   etcetera, 
etcetera;  trying  to  keep  united  our  bay  region  society  whither- 
soever dispersed.     That  is  our  ambition;  that  will  be  our  labor. 

"^  *?? 

The    San    Franciscan,  exhaling  the  exotic  charm  of  the  Golden  Gate;  bathing  in  the  sunlight  of  your 
anticipated  favor;  aspiring  to  the  world-famous  personality  of  the  city  of  its  birth,  bends  its  knee  to  its 

masters,  and  expectantly  awaits  your  approbation. 

Our  Prologue  Is  Ended!     Ring  Up  The  Curtain! 


A  bit  of  Italy  transplanted  to  'El  Cerrito;  estate  of  Jean  de  Saint  Cyr  at  Hillsborough,  Cal. 


THe 


SAW  FfWCISCAN 


(EDIXpR'S  NOTE.  Mr.  Dobie,  a  San  Franciscan 
by  birtn,  has  for  the  past  ten  years  held  the  dis- 
tinction of  being  rated  as  one  of  the  four  leading 
saort  story  writers  of  America  by  such  experts  as 
tdward  J.  O'Brien,  Katherine  FuUerton  Gerould, 
and  others.  His  third  novel,  "Less  than  Kin  " 
which  IS  just  off  the  press  of  the  John  Day  Com- 
piny  IS  being  acclaimed  as  one  of  the  leadinc 
books  of  the  year.) 

"IT  HE  word  pro\incialism  is  usually 
a  term  of  reproach.  But  it  need 
not  be.  In  fact,  provincial  places 
are  apt  to  be  places  of  great  charm 
and  flavor.  Provincialism  is  often 
the  result  of  isolation.  And  an 
isolated  people  are  self-sufficient,  re- 
sourceful and  unique.  I  think  that  the 
past  charm  of  San  Francisco  was  its 
provincialism — its  isolation.  It  was 
different,  because  it  had  to  be.  A 
community  cut  off  from  the  main 
stalk  of  the  civilization  whence  it 
sprang,  by  over  three  thousand  miles 
of  wilderness,  had  to  develop  its  own 
background.  Naturally,  in  the  pro- 
cess it  evolved  original  gestures,  orig- 
inal gestures  that  have  been  relent- 
lessly modified  by  the  pony  express, 
the  Overland  Limited,  the  telegraph, 
the  telephone,  the  radio,  and  the  in- 
flux of  Philistines. 

It  was  San  Francisco  that  invented 
oyster  cocktails  oyster  loaves  and 
Pisco  punches.  All  three  a  result  of 
dire  necessity.  Immigrants  from  the 
Atlantic  seaboard  hankering  for  succu- 
lent and  enormous  bivalves  as  an  ex- 
cuse for  horseradish  had  to  rest  con- 
tent with  midget  oysters  that  they  at 
first  scorned.  They  softened  the  blow 
with  tomato  catsup  and  tobasco  and 
oyster  cocktails  were  born.  Later  on, 
having  transplanted  larger  oysters  to 
the  western  shore  they  also  developed 
a  conscience  toward  their  better  halves. 
Though  why  this  last  should  be  so  re- 


Provincialism 

By  CHARLES  CALDWELL  DOBIE 

mains  a  little  obscure.  After  a  night 
with  the  boys,  they  felt  the  urge  to 
placate  the  lady  of  their  heart  with  a 
tid-bit  and  the  Chinaman  at  Gobey's 
saloon  thought  up  an  oyster  loaf. 

The  residents  of  the  early  "Fifties" 
found  it  difficult  to  get  good  bourbon 
whiskey  from  the  "States."  Were 
they  faint  hearted.'  Decidedly  not. 
They  imported  pisco  from  Peru,  in- 
stead. 

We  still  have  the  oyster  cocktails 
and  oyster  loaves  with  us  but  the 
glories  of  pisco  punches  have  departed. 
And  the  combination  salad  that  was 
once  the  "piece  de  resistance"  of  the 
original  "Coppa's"  is  now  a  pale  and 
watery  imitation  flashed  on  every  bill- 
of-fare  in  the  country. 

The  stamp  of  our  glorious  provin- 
cialism  was   still   upon   us   as   late  as 
1919,    that    memorable    year   when    I 
made    my    first    pilgrimage    to    New 
York.      I    planned    my   entrance   into 
Manhattan  with  the  resolve  that  the 
populace  bent  on  receiving  me  would 
never  suspect  that  I  was  not  to  Broad- 
way   and    Fifth    Avenue    born.      The 
first  place  that  I  essayed  was  the  old 
Waldorf    bar.      Said    the    bartender: 
"What's  yours,  sir.?"     Said  I:  "Make 
it  a  Gibson  cocktail."     He  fixed   me 
with  a  cold,  fishy  eye.     "You,  sir,  are 
from    San    Francisco!"    he    chortled. 
From    that    moment    on,    I    knew    it 
would  be  useless  for  me  to  deny  my 
heritage.     Nor  did  I  try.     For  I  soon 
learned  that  to  be  from  San  Francisco 
was  to  be  accounted  a  citizen  of  the 
world.     Because  San  Francisco  knew 
the  world.?     Not  precisely.     But  be- 
cause San  Francisco  knew  itself. 

Which    brings    me,    after    all    this 


seeming  digression,  to  my  point.  Would 
the  San  Franciscan,  arriving  at  the 
Grand  Central  Station  today  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  have  the  where- 
withal for  betraying  his  native  heath.? 
I  merely  ask  the  question;  I  do  not 
answer  it.  Because  I  think  that  upon 
the  answer  hangs  the  present  and 
future,  if  not  the  past,  of  this  one-time 
city  of  distinct  moods  and  flavors. 

"But,"    you    are    doubtless    asking, 
"have  the  distinct  moods  and  flavors 
of  San  Francisco  been  exclusively  bibu- 
lous and  gastronomic?"    By  no  means. 
Such     a     charge     could     scarcely    be 
brought  against  any  city  that  produced 
a  publication  like  ''The  Lark"  of  brief, 
happy  memory.     Gelett   Burgess,  the 
Irwins,  Frank  Norris,  Gertrude  Ather- 
ton,  George  Sterling,  Geraldine  Bon- 
ner, Ina  Coolbrith,  were  all  products 
of  San  Francisco's  glorious  provincial- 
ism.    As  was  Sibvl  Sanderson,  Isadora 
Duncan,   Maude' Allen,    "Tad"    Dor- 
gan.     Isadora  Duncan  taught  me  my 
first   dancing   steps,    in    a    little   prim 
dancing  school  on  Van  Ness  Avenue. 
Nance   O'Neill    is    a    product   of  San 
Francisco.     David   Belasco  flourished 
here,  along  with  David  Warfield.    We 
produced  the  first  "gentleman"  prize- 
fighter— James    Corbett.      Old    "Em- 
peror" Norton  was  ours.    And  Duncan 
Nicol,  the  inventor  of  pisco  punches; 
Addison  Minzer,  the  man  who  made 
Florida  swamps  into  dream  cities,  was 
a    San    Franciscan.      Herbert   Hoover 
came  from  this  neck  of  the  woods — at 
least  he  was  reared  here.     James  D. 
Phelan,  a  man  who  carved  a  political 
career  for  himself  in  spite  of  inherited 
millions,   is   a   native   son.     We   have 
(Continued  on  page  30) 


The  San   Franciscan 
8 


THE  visit  of  the  Princess  Achille 
Murat  next  month  is  being 
pleasurably  anticipated  by  so- 
ciety. She  is  young  and  beautiful  and 
gracious  and  rich.  What  greater  com- 
bination need  there  be  for  one  in  whose 
veins  flows  the  bluest  blood  of  France? 
She  is  the  daughter  of  the  Marquis 
de  Chasseloup-Loubat 
and  granddaughter  of 
Marquis  Prospe  de 
Chasseloup-Laubat,  sec- 
retary of  state  for  the 
navy  and  colonial  secre- 
tary under  Napoleon  III. 
Her  husband  is  a  great, 
great  grandson  of  Murat, 
King  of  Naples,  who  was 
brother-in-law  of  Napo- 
leon. He  was  with  the 
French  air  force  during 
the  war  and  received  the 
Croix  de  Guerre. 


'T*HE  lure  of  business 
■*•  in  many  forms  has 
caused  a  number  of  San 
Francisco  women  to  suc- 
cumb to  its  fascination. 

Comes  now  a  gorgeous 
purple  card  with  a  bit  of 
gilded  paper  fastened  to 
it  and  inscribed  with  the 
names  of  Mrs.  Baldwin 
Wood  and  Leon  Habit, 
Florists. 

Mrs.  Wood  uses  her 
maiden  name,  Gertrude 
Hyde-Smith.  Habit  is  a 
business  man  who  brings 
his  experience  as  an  as- 
set. Mrs.  Wood  brings 
charm  and  a  wide  ac- 
quaintance, exquisite  taste  and,  her 
friends  believe,  talent  for  decorating. 

Then  there  is  the  shop  at  Burlingame 
where  Mrs.  Gerald  Rathbone  and  Mrs. 
Eugene  Murphy  sell  undies  and  things. 
Lingerie  and  Negligees,  they  advertise. 
Mrs.  Rathbone  has  just  gone  abroad 
with  her  mother  and  sister,  Mrs. 
Charles  Josselyn  and  Miss  Marjorie 
Josselyn,  but  will  stay  only  long 
enough  to  stock  up  and  take  an 
appraising  look  at  the  French  things 


which  she  is  sure  she  can  make  or  have 
made  to  resemble  the  originals.  Not 
that  she  will  not  have  originals.  My, 
yes.  But  there  will  be  the  homemade 
ones  for  those  who  do  not  care  to  pay 
so  much. 

Mrs.   Rathbone   and   Mrs.   Murphy 
were  no  doubt  inspired  by  the  notable 


Thf  Princess  Achille  Mural 

success  of  the  Ernestine  Shop  in  Bur- 
lingame, conducted  by  Mrs.  George 
Nickel.  Miss  Cornelia  Kempff  has 
a  shop  in  Santa  Barbara  in  the  exotic 
"Street  in  Spain"  quarter  there  where 
she  sells  robes  and  cushions  and  wraps 
of  quilted  silk.  She  recently  had  ex- 
hibits of  her  work  in  San  Francisco 
and  San  Mateo.  Miss  Helen  Garritt 
achieved  a  notable  success  designing 
gowns  and  produced  some  lovely 
things. 


In  the  real  estate  business  here  are  a 
number  of  society  women,  the  best 
known  perhaps  being  Miss  Sallie  May- 
nard,  Mrs.  Macondray  Moore  and 
Miss  Marie  Brewer.  But  it  remained 
for  Miss  Mary  Ashe  Miller  and  Mrs. 
James  Swinnerton  to  start  something 
reallv  different.  Under  the  firm  name 
"The  Publicity  Engi- 
neers" they  have  opened 
a  bureau  which  sells 
fame. 

Miss  Miller  was  with 
the  publicity  department 
of  the  Herbert  Hoover 
Food  Administration  in 
\\'ashington,  later  in 
Paris  with  the  Red  Cross 
publicity  bureau  in 
France,  subsequently 
with  Anne  Morgan  and 
Ida  Tarbell  and  more 
recently  in  Hollywood 
where  she  wrote  scen- 
arios. Mrs.  Swinnerton 
writes  magazine  and  spe- 
cial articles  under  the 
name  of  Louise  Scher 
and  is  the  wife  of  the 
famous  cartoonist  who 
looks  like  Tom  Mix  and 
paints  like  a  genius. 


V^ 


EN  ICE  the  diUe- 
tante  city,  the  scene 
of  many  of  the  gaieties 
and  carnivals  of  the  "io« 
viveurs"  who  held  forth 
so  lavishly  during  the 
Renaissance  and  before, 
seems  to  be  regaining 
her  former  social  and 
festal  prestige.  The 
pleasure  seekers  of 
Deauville  and  Biarritz  and  the  care- 
less frequenters  of  the  Riviera  are  de- 
serting their  usual  haunts  for  the 
glamour  of  the  Venetian  moon  as  seen 
from  the  Lido.  The  coutourieres  fol- 
lowing their  clientele  parade  theii 
manniquins  from  the  promenade  in 
front  of  the  Hotel  Splendide  and  soon 
the  atmosphere  of  antiquity  will  have 
been  banished  and  replaced  by  a  chic 
air  of  fashionable  smartness  for  the 
pleasure  of  the  monde  soigne. 


The  San  Franciscan 
9 


Where  one  who  walked  down  the 
boardwalk  or  sipped  his  or  her  drink 
casually  on  the  terrace  of  a  Newport 
or  Palm  Beach  hotel  clad  only  in  a 
very  charming  suit  of  pyjamas  ''pour 
le  sport,"  would  unquestionably  be  the 
unfortunate  victim  of  a  rather  sudden 
and  painful  arrest  midst  righteous 
rumblings  from  the  Reform  and  Purity 
leagues,  at  the  Lido  such  a  costume 
would  merely  be  in  keeping  with  the 
mode,  it  seems. 

Chanel,  Drecoll  and  Jeanne  Lanvin 
display  manniquins  dressed  en  pante- 
lons  and  loose  silk  jackets,  in  a  pyjama 
style.  Thus  is  the  fad  made  comvie  il 
faut. 

Fashion  shows  in  which  charming 
actresses  from  the  Conservatoire  de 
Paris  display  sixty  years  of  feminine 
plumage,  carnivals  plus  all  the  polished 
buffoonery  of  continental  fiestas  and 
gay  abandon  of  Latin  festivities  are 
charming  events  created  to  amuse  the 
brilliant  crowd  of  spectators  who  are 
seeking  to  revive  the  glory  of  Venice 
not  as  a  commercial  power  as  before 
but  as  the  pleasure  center  of  Europe. 


*     *     + 


CAN  FRANCISCANS  have  always 
^  prided  and  preened  and  plumed 
themselves  on  the  literary  output  of 
those  writers  who  claim  our  "good 
gray  city"  as  birthplace  or  adopted 
home. 

Just  now  it  looks  as  though  there 
might  be  cause — or  causes — for  espe- 
cial chest  expansion.  A  rich  harvest 
seems  forthcoming. 

Gertrude  Atherton,  who  never  loses 
her  ability  for  intriguing  her  public  as 
well  as  her  friends,  is  living  far  out  on 
California  Street,  putting  in  decidedly 
more  than  the  legally  correct  eight- 
hour  working  day,  weaving  a  romance 
of  Aspasia. 

"Aspasia!"  society  says,  and  gasps 
in  anticipation. 

The  average  day  by  day  citizen  is 
apt  to  be  a  trifle  vague  as  to  just  how 
far  that  ancient  lady  did  go  but  every 
one  knows  that  there  is  ample  material 
in  her  career  for  a  novel  that  can  make 
the  recent  adolescent  school  of  "flam- 
ing" literature  (?)  seem  a  mere  smold- 
ering heap  of  ashes.  Just  how  far 
will  Ger  rude  go.'  Time  and  the 
published  volume  alone  can  tell. 

Charles  Norris  1  kewise  is  lost  to  his 
friends  for  most  of  the  twenty-four 
hours,  seven  days  a  week  while  he  toils 
mightily  as  he  always  does  at  one  of 
his  intensive  studies  of  present-day 
problems.  What  it  is  all  about  he  re- 
fuses to  divulge  at  present.  Not  even 
the  name  is  known  to  his  closest  com- 
panions. Those  who  have  been  given 
hints   of   the    subject    matter    therein 


declare  it  is  going  to  be  his  best  yet 
and  will  add  more  fame  to  that  already 
heaped  up  by  the  "writing  Norrises." 
Kathleen  Norris  has  just  finished  a 
new  series  of  those  quaint  and  de- 
licious Irish  tales  for  an  Eastern  maga- 
zine and  she  has  a  new  novel  under 
way  which  is  going  to  delight  her  large 
school  of  ardent  readers  as  it  deals 
with  those  puzz.ing  questions  of  love 
and  matrimony  which  are  stirring  the 
world  of  society  nowadays. 

Thomas  Beer,  whose  Mauve  Dec- 
ade has  added  materially  to  his  al- 
ready considerable  fame  within  the 
past  year,  was  in  San  Francisco  and 
hereabouts  during  the  summer  and  is 
to  be  a  Californian  actually  in  resi- 
dence for  a  part  of  every  year,  he  has 
promised. 

Charles  Caldwell  Dobie  has  given 
the  world  a  really  characteristically 
San  Francisco  novel  recently  in  his 
"Less  Than  Kin."  Although  he  has 
had  a  sufficient  number  of  flattering 
reviews  to  permit  any  man  to  sit  back 
and  realize  just  how  delightful  fame 
really  is,  he  is  thumping  the  type- 
writer just  as  industriously  on  another 
meaty  plot  as  though  he  were  trem- 
bling over  his  first  efforts. 

Hugh  Wiley,  who  is  a  modest  soul 
and  mingles  not  with  those  who  pro- 
vide literary  atmosphere  and  keep  it 
stirring,  is  living  at  Los  Altos.  His 
stories  of  that  marvelous  goat,  Lady 
Luck,  who  is  the  mascot  of  her  utterly 
luckless  colored  owner  are  looked  for 
just  as  eagerly  however  as  though  he 
gave  himself  unlimited  publicity.  And 
in  all  parts  of  that  vast  area  covered 
weekly  by  the  Saturda)'  Evening  Post, 
cries  go  up  daily  for  some  more  yarns 
of  that  ancient  Chinese  servant  who 
so  characteristically  guards  the  welfare 
of  his  employers. 

Harry  Leon  Wilson  and  Fred 
O'Brien  wander  over  the  face  of  two 
continents  so  continually  and  con- 
sistently that  it  is  impossible  to  know 
just  where  they  are  at  any  stated 
moment  but  by  their  stories  you  can 
always  know  that  they  are  still  on  the 
literary  map. 

Senator  James  D.  Phe'an  did  an 
altogether  delightful  book  of  his  jour- 
neyings,  "Travel  and  Comment,"  a 
year  or  two  ago  and  his  fasc'nating 
literary  style  has  led  his  many  readers 
to  hope  that  he  is  secretly  evolving  a 
second  example  of  what  he  does  when 
he  turns  his  versatile  mind  to  literary 
things. 

Ednah  Robinson  Aiken  says  she  is 
writing  two  or  three  novels  but  it  is 
feared  by  her  public  that  the  garden 
which  she  is  making  a  thing  of  beauty 
a  her  Palo  Alto  home  is  taking  up  too 
much  of  her  time. 


npHE  American-at-leisure  seems  to  be 
■*■  vieing  with  his  English  cousin  for 
the  role  of  cosmopolitan  and  globe- 
trotter. The  Riviera  is  popular  with 
him  for  the  number  of  amiable  places 
to  while  away  his  hours  and  dollars. 
Little  American  colonies  are  now  a 
fixture  in  most  of  the  favored  resorts 
and  Americans  are  instrumental  in  the 
development  of  many  new  ones  such 
as  Santa  Margherita  and  Rapallo. 
The  Italian  pleasure  centers,  espe- 
cially, are  getting  their  share  of  Amer- 
ican patronage  and  \'iareggio  has  be- 
come one  of  the  smartest  resorts  for 
the  'jolie  monde'  of  all  nationalities 
who  seek  the  gentle  Mediterranean- 
blown  zephyrs  and  the  azure  blueness 
of  the   waters   as   a   setting   for   their 

smart  gaieties. 

*  *     * 

\/TRS.  Oscar  Fitzalan  Long,  presi- 
-'-•'■  dent  of  the  Woman's  Athletic 
Club,  is  one  of  the  busiest  women  in 
California  aside  from  her  duties  as 
club  president.  She  is  a  devoted 
mother  to  two  daughters  and  a 
doting  grandmother  but  like  Helen  of 
Troy  her  attractiveness  never  wanes, 
for  she  has  the  imponderable  quality 
of  charm  and  lively  interest  in  life  as 

it  is  lived  by  all  about  her. 

*  *     * 

'T*HE  formation  of  the  San  Francisco 
Garden  Club  is  due  to  the  inspira- 
tion, instigation  and  executive  ability 
of  Mrs.  William  Hinckley  Taylor,  the 
president. 

But  even  she  did  not  dream  of  the 
innate  love  of  gardens  and  gardening 
that  dwells  in  the  human  heart  until 
the  Garden  Club  was  a  fact  and  her 
incumbency  as  president  drew  hun- 
dreds of  letters  from  town  and  country 
fans. 

There's  Dr.  Harry  Tevis,  for  in- 
stance. His  postoffice  is  Alma  and  his 
telephone  is  Los  Gatos,  but  his  ranch 
is  more  than  a  thousand  acres  between, 
and  forty  gardeners  dig  and  hoe  and 
prune  and  graft  under  his  personal 
direction. 

His  dahlias  took  prizes  this  fall  at 
the  San  Jose  Flower  Show,  his  especial 
pride  being  the  seedlings  which  he 
grew  at  infinite  pains.  He  loves  to 
create,  and  names  new  flowers  after 
his  friends.  There  is  a  flame-color 
one  which  he  calls  the  Senator  Phelan, 
and  another  has  been  named  for  his 
cousin,  "Edith  Haggin."  There  is  a 
cataract  near  the  house  with  a  water- 
fall of  a  hundred  feet  and  this  month 
the  place  is  a  riot  of  autumn  color  with 
Japanese  nandinas  picking  out  reds  in 
the  scheme.  Lakes  and  rocks  and 
twisted  trees,  lawns  and  blooms  of 
exotic  beauty  make  the  place  a  rare 
park. 


The  San  Franciscan 
10 


Oh,  Listen  to  the  Opera! 


T  IGHTS  down  in  the  vast  hall. 
'—'  Faint  scratching  sounds  from  the 
orchestra;  they  will  swell  anon  into 
the  agonies  of  the  overture.  Sam- 
son et  Dalila  is  being  presented  to  a 
waiting  West. 

The  lady  in  the  chair  ahead  shifts 
her  ermine  shoulder,  releasing  a  faint 
camphor  fragrance.  Mothballs!  Vital 
to  opera  as  programs. 

"There's  Marshall,"  she  whispers 
audibly  to  her  companion.  "He's 
heavy  enough  to  shove  over  the  tem- 
ple anyway." 

"Does  an  abdomen  like  that  consti- 
tute your  idea  of  an  athlete?"  counters 
her  escort,  a  typical  business  man  try- 
ing to  look  like  Otto  Kahn  with  the 
aid  of  a  dress  suit,  a  score  and  a  pair 
of  platinum-rimmed  glasses. 

"Look — here's  Dalila!  Isn't  she 
marvelous.'  Just  think,  a  grand- 
mother— " 

"Why  explain.'  God  knows  she 
looks  it." 

"I  think  you're  perfectly  horrible. 
It's  wonderful  for  a  woman  that  age 
to  be  able  to  sing  Dalila." 

"It  would  be  wonderful  if  my  eighty- 
year-old  grandmother  could  do  a  buck 
and  wing;  but  it  might  not  be  an 
aesthetic  treat." 

Silence — a  shrug  of  the  shoulders — 
another  faint  cloud  of  mothball  per- 
fume. Dalila,  with  all  the  ingenuous 
seduction  which  size  forty-six  can 
bring  to  art,  is  making  Samson  aware 
that  spring  is  here.  He  gives  a  loud 
cry,  lurches  two  hundred  and  seventy 
odd  pounds  in  her  general  direction, 
but  is  held  back  by  a  cautious  arm. 
The  curtains  close.  Applause — born 
in  the  claque  and  spreading  rapidly  to 
the  human  sea  by  virtue  of  contagion 
against  which  no  human  crowd  is 
vaccinate — sweeps  through  the  build- 
ing. A  second  and  third  encore;  then 
a  fourth,  to  make  it  even — 

On  go  the  lights.  The  audience 
slides  out  of  its  chairs  and  seeks  the 
lobby  to  battle  for  a  promenade  and 
a  cigarette. 

Random  fragments  drift  out  of  the 
jammed  foyer: 

"Did  you  ever  see  such  a  Dalila! 
To  think  she's  a  grandmother!  My 
dear — Marshall  weighs  three  hundred 
and  fifty  and  they  say  Homer  is  a 
grandmother!  Look — there's  her  hus- 
band now.  He  writes  music,  or  some- 
thing. Yes,  Sydney  Homer.  He  com- 
posed the  'Mandolin  Song' — oh,  'Banjo 
Song'  I  remember  now!" 


By  JOSEPH  DYER 

"Did  you  like  that  blue  she  wore? 
I  think  I'll  have  one;  we're  about  the 
same  coloring — " 

"Weren't  you  just  thrilled?  Wasn't 
the  orchestration  marvelous?  Saint- 
Saens  is  the  greatest  of  them  all.  I 
remember  him  here  at  the  Panama- 
Pacific  Exposition — " 

"Hideous  music,  isn't  it?  Just  one 
wild  yip  after  another!  Awful  orches- 
tration! Strings  were  too  loud.  Ans- 
seau  was  much  better  than  this  but  I 
think  this  woman  puts  it  all  over 
d'Alvarez — " 

"What'll  you  have,  Cliquot  Club  or 
White  Rock?  Opera  makes  me  thirsty; 
guess  I'll  listen  with  my  mouth  open, 
ha,  ha!  Say,  old  Marshall  makes  that 
Belgian  gink  Ansseau  look  like  a  four- 
flusher,  doesn't  he?" 

"Hello  Kim — doing  my  stuff.  One 
a  year's  my  limit — picked  a  lemon  this 
time — No  old  girl  like  that'll  ever 
come  between  me  and  my  sweet  mama! 
Hello  Mac—HelAo  Tom!  Well,  old 
timer,  you  an  opera  goer  now?  Never 
thought  we'd  end  like  this,  did  we? 
Wonderful  show  tonight.  Homer's 
great  and  that  Marshall  fellow  sure 
can  sing.  Twelve  thousand  five  hun- 
dred dollar  house — well  you  director 
guys  ought  to  quit  grousing  now  for  a 
while.  They  can't  say  now  we  don't 
appreciate  good  music  on  the  Pacific 
Coast.  We'll  make  the  old  Met  look 
to  her  laurels  yet.    Well,  so  long — " 

"I  never  was  so  bored  in  my  life.  A 
fat  old  woman  and  a  tiresome  man, 
neither  of  them  singing  well  enough  to 
excuse  their  being  there.  Hard  seats, 
rotten  acoustics.  No  more  of  this 
for  me — " 

"Hurry  up,  Sally,  let's  not  miss  any 
of  the  last  act:  Dalila's  going  to  do 
her  worst!" 

"Say,  don't  we  get  that  song  'My 
heart  at  your  sweet  voice'  in  this  act? 
I  love  to  dance  to  that — " 

"I  know  the  big  aria  is  a  bit  banal, 
but  I  really  adore  it,  it  has  the  atmos- 
phere of  passion — " 

And  so  on — 

Back  in  the  seats  again  and  the  cur- 
tains slowly  part  on  Dalila's  house.  A 
flutter  of  applause  from  upstairs; 
recognition  of  the  stage  and  scenic 
director.  Hisses  from  various  parts  of 
the  house.  Applause  interferes  with 
the  orchestra;  hissing  drowns  it  out 
completely  but  carries  the  satisfac- 
tion of  being  made  in  the  interests  of 
art. 

Dalila,  warming  to  the  great   love 


scene  with  Samson,  poses  on  the  top 
step  of  her  dwelling.  She  is  directly 
in  the  path  of  a  concealed  spot-light 
and  becomes  a  human  shadowgraph. 

"Tch-tch — isn't  that  miserable?" 
from  the  mothball  devotee,  "it  takes 
all  the  dignity  out  of  her  performance." 

"First  human  moment  in  the  whole 
thing"  grunts  her  companion.  She 
switches  away  from  him  disapprov- 
ingly. 

The  great  aria  comes — passes — the 
artists  bow  low,  hand  on  heart  and  fall 
back  into  their  roles  again.  Dalila, 
with  a  last  seductive  ululation,  floats 
across  the  stage,  leaping  as  lightly  up 
the  steps  as  great-grandmotherhood 
permits.  Samson  follows  to  the  best 
of  his  ability. 

"Tough  luck,  old  kid!"  a  voice  from 
the  dark  behind  us,  "two  pounds  less 
than  a  horse." 

On  with  the  lights.  On  with  the 
promenade.  On  with  the  endless  dis- 
cussion. It  runs  the  same  gamut. 
Isn't  it  marvelous,  or  awful,  or  fine,  or 
terrible?  Forty  opinions  can  be  gar- 
nered in  forty  yards  progress.  "Just 
think;  a  grandmother!"  is  the  watch- 
word of  the  evening. 

Back  again  for  the  final  act.  The 
cushions    are    beginning   to   feel    thin. 

A  brief  interlude — we  wait  in  musical 
darkness  for  the  curtain  to  part  again. 

"Temple  of  Dagon,"  whispers  a 
voice,  reading  from  the  program.  It 
is  a  scene  of  oriental  splendor.  Riot- 
ing colors.  Nude  feminine  beauty. 
Exotic  postures.  Abandon.  Two 
huge  pillars,  scene  of  Samson's  test, 
dominate  the  whole. 

On — to  the  inevitable  debacle.  Blind 
Samson,  glorified,  mounts  the  plat- 
form between  the  giant  columns.  In 
a  stirring  burst  of  song  he  approaches 
his  climax.  A  mighty  thrust  of  his 
body.  The  pillars  fall  outwards  in 
neat  mathematical  blocks.  From 
above  falls  a  few  scraps  of  paper.  The 
scene  is  plunged  into  darkness.  The 
curtains  close. 

Lights  on,  revealing  hundreds  of 
freed  husbands  trudging  motor-wards 
and  bed-wards  up  the  jammed  aisles. 
Boys  out  of  school. 

"Oh  Tom,  what'd  you  think  of  that 
temple  wreck?  Must  have  been  built 
by  San  Francisco  politicians,  eh  what?" 

''Sure  I'll  do  eighteen  tomorrow:  I've 
earned  some  fresh  air  tonight." 


The  San  Franciscan 
11 


Sixty  Years  of  Sock  and  Buskin 

A  Play-Reporter's  Retrospect  on  the  San   Francisco  Stage 

By  IDWAL  JONES 


THIS  city  of  ours  is  a  "great 
show  town."  Why 
shouldn't  it  be?  Or,  in 
the  superior  and  impudent  idiom 
of  the  "Coo-coos" — what  of  it? 
Haven't  we  both  the  population 
and  the  requisite  loose  change? 
Haven't  we  eighty-eight  movie 
theatres — as  you  may  ascertain 
by  checking  up  in  the  telephone 
book?  Haven't  we  also  what 
Max  Reinhardt  defined  as  the 
soul  (almost)  of  the  true  drama- 
loving  community-tradition? 

In  the  sense  that  Salzburg  had 
tradition,  or  Vienna?  Or  Flor- 
ence of  the  Aretino  days,  or 
Venice  when  the  theatre  of  Gol- 
doni  was  at  its  zenith?  Hardh- 
that.  These  towns  in  their  hey- 
day hadn't  more  than  one  good 
theatre  apiece.  Panem  et  circen- 
sis,  the  equivalent  of  hot  dog:- 
and  the  movies,  was  the  State's 
formula  for  distracting  the  atten- 
tion of  the  mob  from  politics. 
If  a  citizen  had  tried  to  chase 
away  ennui  otherwise  than  by 
going  to  hear  drama  (except  by 
getting  drunk  or  making  love)  he 
would  have  been  hauled  into  the 
cabildo  on  the  charge  of  hig.i 
treason.  A  surprising  lot  of 
quite  innocent  people  got  be- 
headed that  way. 

Drama  is  engendered  only  in 
old  communities.  San  Francisco 
was  born  a  city  full-panoplied 
after  less  than  a  year  of  camp- 
town  gestation.  The  demonic 
energy  of  her  people  gave  rise  to 
a  social  life  that  was  complex, 
mature  and  sophisticated.  She 
became  old  before  she  was  adol- 
escent. The  city  was  so  con- 
foundedly difficult  to  get  to  that 
when  players  finally  got  here  they 
stayed,  and  became  citizens  pro- 
tem.  Isolation,  and  the  resul- 
tant intensification  of  social  interests 
got  in  their  work. 

Newcomers  were  greeted  with  shouts 
of  joy.  Biscaccianti,  Matilda  Heron, 
Anna  Bishop,  Mrs.  Judah,  Catherine 
Hayes  and  Junius  Brutus  Booth,  Lola 
Montez  and  Adah  Isaacs  Menken — 
they  came,  and  they  tarried.  Most  of 
them  were  wise;  they  flattered  the 
mob,  lined  their  pockets,  but  gave  the 
town  something  money  cannot  buy — 


LaJy    Diana   Manners 
From  ihe  portrait  of  Leo  Kalz 

glamour.  Meretricious  gentry,  some 
of  them,  but  they  made  tradition,  and 
their  memory  is  caressing. 

Sixty  years  ago,  the  time  the  anti- 
macassar epoch  began,  dawned  the 
classic  age.  A  shaggy  old  Thespian, 
dewlapped  like  a  bull,  limped  with  a 
stick  and  carpet-bag  full  of  collars  and 
play-books,  walked  to  his  hotel  from 
the  Ferry.  This  was  old  Edwin  For- 
rest, weary  and  already  a  millionaire. 


With  him  was  John  McCullough, 
handsome  and  just  turned  thirty. 
"It's  nobody's  damned  busi- 
ness what  I  do  here,  Jack,"  he 
grunted.  "I'll  rant  the  Bard  at 
'em,  and  they  can  take  it  or 
leave  it." 

For  weeks  Forrest  thundered 
in  Shakespeare's  tragedies,  with 
McCullough  playing  lago,  Edgar, 
and  Macduff.  The  populace 
took  it,  at  phenomenal  prices,  and 
the  classics  struck  root.  Old 
Edwin  flitted,  and  McCullough 
tarried,  to  manage  the  California 
Theatre,  which  the  genial  capi- 
talist Ralston  built  for  him. 

My  apologia  for  rehashing 
these  ancient  annals  is  to  stress 
the  significance  of  this  event. 
For  the  establishment  of  this 
stock  theatre,  the  most  success- 
ful, classic  and  brilliant  in  any 
English-speaking  country,  had 
a  profound  influence  in  the  land. 
That  stock  acting  can  be  per- 
formed on  the  heroic  scale  was 
San  Francisco's  contribution  to 
the  culture  of  the  last  century. 

I  suspect  the  acting  was  pretty 
terrible  at  times.  At  others  ex- 
cellent. It  couldn't  have  been 
otherwise,  what  with  Modjeska, 
who  here  got  her  start,  with 
Fechter,  Dion  Boucicault,  John 
Wilkes  Booth.  Lawrence  Barrett 
and  Barry  Sullivan  glittering  in 
the  processional  of  twenty  years. 
Cn  the  boards  of  the  California 
the  eternal  wonder,  the  ecstacy, 
the  elective  affinity  of  all  dramas, 
the  pageantry  of  the  dead  whose 
resurrection  sanctifies  the  stage, 
was  observable  at  the  cost  of 
fifty  cents  and  up.  Also  comedy 
and  bucket-of-blood  melodrama, 
for  the  town,  mind  you,  went 
to  the  theatre  for  the  sheer  fun 
of  it. 

Fifty  years  ago  there  were  two 
hundred  wine  and  beer-room  halls 
where  dance  and  song  were  pur- 
veyed. The  theatre  was  the  one  pur- 
chasable wonder  in  which  San  Fran- 
ciscans enhanced  their  emotions,  or 
got  out  of  or  sank  deeper  into  them- 
selves. Today,  the  drama  has  with- 
ered in  contact  with  the  mechanical 
wonders  of  the  radio,  the  Saturday 
Evening   Post,   jazz,   the   automobile, 

(C)nlinueJ  on  pa^e  33) 


The  San  Franciscan 


12 


From  the  New  York  Correspondent 


New  York,  Oct.  29. — There's  no 
doubt  about  fall  having  sneaked  up  on 
Manhattan  and  its  suburbs.  Lo,  here 
are  the  melancholy  days  when  the 
spring  coat  from  Franklin  Simon's  no 
longer  repels  the  lumbago,  and  yet  one 
hesitates  about  a  winter  purchase  until 
it  is  decided  whether  they  are  to  be 
worn  long  like  Queen  Marie's  or  short 
like  almost  everybody  else's.  The 
leaves  fall  off  two  or  three  trees  some- 
where in  the  city  (See  the  standard 
guide  put  out  by  Cook's) — the  coal 
falls  into  the  cellars,  or  on  the  side- 
walks— and  the  pedestrians  into  the 
excavations  that  the  municipal  author- 
ities have  provided  on  most  of  the 
thoroughfares  at  the  moment.  But 
the  rents  rise.  There  is  something 
peculiarly  painful  about  the  autumn 
rental  in  New  York.  The  decorators 
never  seem  to  have  quite  finished,  and 
either  the  heat  is  a  bit  slow  in  coming 
on,  or  the  elevator  is  laid  up  for  repairs. 

Just  when  Mayor  Walker  has  filed 
away  his  notes  on  "Salutations  Appro- 
priate for  Returning  Swimmers," 
thinking,  of  course,  the  water  must  be 
too  cold  for  butcher's  daughters, 
school  teachers,  or  mothers — these 
being  the  only  types  qualifying  to 
date — Mrs.  Schoemmell  is  sighted  by 
the  look-out  some  miles  off  shore.  She 
is  reported  to  be  in  even  better  condi- 
tion than  when  she  started  a  few  weeks 
ago,  and  to  newspaper  men  who  asked 
her  whether  operatic  ambitions  spurred 
her  on,  or  papa  had  promised  her  a 
new  roadster,  she  announced  her  in- 
tention of  bringing  suit  for  divorce 
from  her  husband  upon  her  arrival. 
Of  course,  it  is  not  known  how  great 
a  spur  this  has  provided  along  the 
way — but  it  seems  a  pity,  too,  that 
the  idea  did  not  occur  to  her  earlier. 
The  advertising  possibilities  of  being 
the  first  divorced  woman  to  win 
aquatic  honors  should  not  have  been 
overlooked. 

And  since  mention  has  been  made  of 
the  mayor's  heavy  season  in  oratory — 
what  with  every  boat  and  train  bring- 
ing in  shipments  of  Channel  mermaids, 
queens,  and  prizefighters,  it  is  no  won- 
der he  confines  his  greeting  for  the 
wife,  on  her  sundry  returns  from 
abroad,  to  the  single  monosyllable 
"Oh!"  Even  after  reading  his  inspir- 
ing address  to  Tunney  on  behalf  of  the 
city,  that  "Oh!"  seems  entirely  ade- 
quate. It  has  never  been  disclosed 
what  he  whispered  in  the  ear  of  Queen 
IVIarie  of  Roumania. 

This  has  certainly  been  an  emotional 


year  for  New  York,  a  year  in  which 
strong  men  have  time  after  time 
rushed  from  their  adding  machines 
and  typewriters,  to  seek  relief  for  their 
pent-up  feelings  in  the  throwing  of 
ticker  tape.  And  think  of  the  twenty- 
eight  girls  who  lost  a  shoe  apiece  as 
they  valiantly  battled  their  way  toward 
the  casket  of  their  favorite  film  lover! 
Two  shoes  apiece  would  have  somehow 
expressed  less  anguish! 

But    Broadway    begins    its    season, 
and  relief  is  in  sight.     For  some  time 


QUEST  METROPOLITAN 

I  sat  on  the  curb  and  I  said  to  the  moon 
With  a  mellow  September  inflection, 
"Admitting  the  sky  is  terribly  high 
And  your  view  is  in  every  direction, 
Just  whisper  to  me  some  things  that  you 

see 
In  your  lofty  and  lunar  inspection," 

The  pallid  moon  sighed  before  she  replied, 
And  then  she  said,  "Since  you  demand  it. 
On  Avenue  A  I  can  see  plain  as  day 
A  cop  in  pursuit  of  a  bandit. 
A  boat  full  of  gin  is  just  coming  in 
And  the  crew  is  preparing  to  land  it. 

"On   Riverside  Drive  where   the  chorus 

girls  thrive 
I  perceive  a  divorce  in  the  making; 
And  up  in  the  Park  where  my  shadows  are 

dark 
A  fugitive  killer  is  waking; 
While  all  I  can  spy  in  Great  Neck  and 

Rye 
Is  dancing  and  cocktails  a-shaking." 

"I  hate  to  disturb,"  said  I  from  the  curb, 
"Your  tale  of  the  sights  in  the  city." 
.^nd    I    also   said,    "I'm    amazed    at   the 

crime; 
Is    there    nothing    that's    righteous    or 

pretty.'" 
The  moon  looked  with  care  through  the 

town  everywhere 
.■\nd  discovered — one  innocent  kitty! 

—P.  G.  W.  in  The  Ne:o  Yorker. 


the  more  popular  dramatic  offerings 
have  tended  to  put  less  and  less 
strain  upon  the  emotions  of  the 
pleased  populace — or  upon  its  mental 
equipment.  In  an  atmosphere  where 
the  mind  may  slip  itself  into  a  negligee 
one  ought  to  find  peaceful  reaction 
from  the  hectic  summer.  In  "Gentle- 
men Prefer  Blondes"  one  does  indeed, 
with  no  need  for  an  apology  from  the 
authors  or  one's  conscience,  for  it  is 
just  what  it  pretends  to  be — good 
entertainment,  nothing  more.  "lolan- 
the"  continues  to  gather  in  housefuls 
of  elderly  and  middle-aged  Gilbert  and 
Sullivan  fans  left  over  from  the  mauve 
decade,  and  a  most  encouraging  num- 


ber of  this  generation  who  are  sur- 
prised to  find  out  how  good  a  show  can 
really  be — for  it  is  exquisite.  To  be 
sure,  there  are  always  a  pitiful  few  who 
can't  imagine  what  it's  all  about.  But 
they  hunt  up  a  revue  or  a  movie  the 
next  night  and  recover  their  poise. 

The  Guild  Theatre  seems  to  like 
Werfel,  though  many  of  its  patrons 
are  not  so  sure  how  they  feel  about 
him  until  after  they  read  the  papers 
the  next  morning.  In  "Maximilian 
and  Juarez"  a  most  creditable  amount 
of  thought  and  originality  has  been 
expended  on  spectacular  effects.  It 
appears  almost,  from  this  and  recent 
Guild  productions,  as  if  the  manage- 
ment were  depending  more  and  more 
upon  the  eye  of  the  audience — less 
and  less  upon  its  understanding  of 
dramatic  values.  Then,  too,  Alfred 
Lunt  is  submerged  and  inadequate  in 
the  leading  role. 

"The  Captive"  and  "Broadway"are 
the  only  two  plays  so  far  that  have 
quieted  the  despairing  howls  of  the 
critics.  Even  they  have  admitted  the 
gripping  drama  of  the  first,  and  the 
excellent  showmanship  of  the  second. 
An  unusual  and  unpleasant  theme  is 
artistically  woven  into  "The  Captive" 
plot,  with  no  useless  word  or  gesture, 
and  one  carries  away  an  effect  and  a 
sensation  of  the  perfect  unity  of  it  all. 
"Broadway"  is  of  course  melodrama, 
but  the  night-club  life  it  depicts  is 
melodrama  too. 

The  public  has  adopted  a  sweetly- 
complaisant  attitude  toward  "The 
Countess  Maritza" — one  of  those  me- 
lodious shows  that  ends,  as  it  should, 
with  the  correct  juxtaposition  of  hero, 
heroine  and  villain.  With  the  winter 
coming  on,  and  the  troubles  everyone 
is  bound  to  have  with  the  ash-man, 
and  the  laundry-man,  and  the  furnace 
— it  is  just  as  well  to  encourage  senti- 
mental vibrations.  "Deep  River" 
seems  to  be  a  disappointment — with 
the  authors  gently  reproached  for 
having  missed  "that  something"  every- 
body obviously  anticipated. 

Down  in  Aeolian  Hall  brave  young 
singers — and  some  not  so  young  but 
certainly  as  courageous — are  making 
debuts,  and  trying  not  to  care  much 
what  the  papers  say  about  them.  The 
flowers  are  always  lovely,  but  with 
all  these  months  during  which  the  hall 
has  been  dark,  nobody  has  thought  to 
dust  off  the  fixtures  hanging  over  the 
stage! 

{Continued  on  page  32) 


The  San  Franciscan 
13 


MADAME  CLAUDIA  MUZIO 

The  great  dramatic  soprano  who  returns  to  the  Chicago  Opera  Association  after  a 
triumphant  engagement  at  San  Francisco. 


The  San  Franciscan 
14 


Th  ree  Tears 


In  Which  an  Angel,  Discontented  with  Celestial  Joy,  Finds  Earthly  Sorrow 

By  LLOYD  BUCHANAN 


AN  angel  was  unhappy;  not  that 
•^^  he  had  any  fault  to  find  with 
Heaven.  It  was  perfect — too  per- 
fect, and  therein  lay  his  discontent. 
The  celestial  monoton}'  was  unre- 
lieved by  contrast.  For  remember: 
he  was  an  Angel,  had  never  been  mor- 
tal, and  knew  no  other  life. 

Humbly  he  went  before  the  throne 
of  God,  and  humbly  begged  to  wander 
through  the  world.  An  all-knowing 
God  understood,  knew  that  it  wasn't 
Life's  joys  that  he  craved,  but  Life's 
sorrows — Sadness  by  which  to  meas- 
ure Happiness;  Darkness  to  appreciate 
the  Light;  Life  to  value  Death;  and 
Earth  to  know  Heaven. 

So  God  sent  His  Angel  on  a  quest  of 
tears;  three  tears  to  bring  back,  for  all 
eternity  to  keep,  and  treasure. 


L 


'T'HE  night  was  bitter  cold  and  crys- 
tal clear.  Snow  covered  the  city 
like  a  mantle,  softening  the  hard  out- 
line of  the  buildings,  showering  a  rare 
tenderness  over  the  squalor  of  the 
slums,  as  if  trying  to  wipe  out  the  dirt 
and  filth  in  its  own  enveloping  white- 
ness. 

A  disillusioned  child  lay  wide-eyed, 
gazing  through  his  tiny  window  at  the 
stars,  so  bright  and  far  away,  fighting 
a  fight  that  was  very  hard.  He  had 
betrayed  a  friend,  to  find  his  friend  a 
myth,  and  he  was  alone  in  his  sorrow. 

Deliberately  he  went  back  over  the 
smashing  of  his  idol,  each  detail  of 
that  wretched  hour  in  school.  He 
heard  again  the  shuffle  of  little  feet  on 
a  dirty  floor,  the  endless  noise  of  the 
city  streets  seeping  through  the  grimy, 
tight-shut  windows.  From  over  his 
head  came  the  tinny  notes  of  an  old 
piano,  with  the  sweet  thin  sound  of 
children's  voices.  "Peace  on  Earth, 
Good  will  to  Men" — and  then  the 
teacher's  voice,  soft  and  rather  velvety. 

"Children,  I  want  to  talk  to  you — 
about  Christmas." 

There  had  been  a  rustle  of  excite- 
ment; then  a  silence,  tense  with  ex- 
pectancy settled  down.  Slowly  and 
in  turn  she  asked  by  name: 

"Johnny,  do  you  believe  in  Santa 
Qaus.""'  and  Johnny,  with  all  the 
sophistication  of  the  streets,  had 
answered : 

"Naw." 


He  laughed  a  bitter,  all-knowing, 
unmirthful  laugh.  So  it  went  on;  each 
questioned  child  had  answered  "No," 
and  then — (the  wide-eyed  boy  trem- 
bled as  he  lay  in  bed),  the  soft,  modu- 
lated voice  asked  so  trustfully,  hope- 
fully, yet  so  despairingly: 

"Do  any  of  3'ou  believe  in  Santa 
Claus?" 

\Mth  all  the  strength  and  force  of 
his  little  soul  he  believed;  had  believed 
in  a  reality  more  real  than  God,  closer 
and  more  intimate,  who  came  each 
year  from  the  far  North  Pole  to  bring 
him  toys  and  comforts  because  he  had 
been  good.  They  were  cheap  toys  and 
poor  comforts,  but  that  he  didn't  know. 

He  had  sat  motionless  at  his  desk, 
powerless  to  raise  his  grubby  little 
hand,  ashamed  to  profess  his  faith. 
He  had  gone  back  on  a  friend  he  loved. 

Awful  revelation  had  followed  this 
devastation.  He  was  told  of  poverty, 
but  poverty  he  knew — had  known  all 
the  years  of  his  short  life.  He  heard 
of  little  girls  and  little  boys  like  him- 
self who  had  no  parents,  little  clothes 
and  less  food,  no  love,  no  home,  way 
over  somewhere  across  an  ocean.  No 
Santa  Claus  came  to  them  because 
they  were  poor. 

There  was  a  sob  from  the  child  in 
bed.  Another  sob  came  that  he 
couldn't  keep  back,  and  then  another 
— then  tears,  hot  scalding  ones  that 
stung  his  eyes.  There  was  a  lump  in 
his  throat  that  he  couldn't  swallow, 
and  somewhere  inside  his  heart  it  hurt. 

*  *     * 

An  unseen  hand  had  gathered  a  tear. 

*  *     * 

n 

""THERE  was  a  cheap  smartness  in 
her  dress,  extreme,  flimsy,  and 
verging  on  the  tawdry.  Sheerest  of 
silk  encased  her  slender  ankles,  though 
her  shoes  showed  the  first  signs  of 
shabbiness.  Peroxide  explained  the 
straw-gold  of  her  hair,  which  gleamed 
beneath  her  small  hat.  There  was 
youth  in  every  line  of  her  body,  more 
revealed  than  concealed  by  her  scanty 
clothes.  Happiness  danced  in  her 
eyes,  and  an  unconscious  smile  played 
with  the  corners  of  her  lips. 

The  girl  was  humming  now,  a  gay 
tune  of  the  cafes,  as  she  turned  into  a 
building  bearing  the  sign  "Two  and 
Three-Room  Apts."  It  didn't  add, 
"No  questions  asked."  You  were  sup- 
posed to  know  that. 


She  was  not  unusual — a  type  found 
everywhere,  neither  prostitute,  kept 
woman  nor  a  virgin.  She  is  known  on 
the  broad  highways  of  loose  living,  yet 
fails  to  recognize  sin  in  her  surround- 
ings, giving  freely  of  herself  and  love 
where  her  affection  leads,  forsaking  all 
others  and  keeping  only  to  the  (some- 
times temporary)  one.  She  is  faithful 
and  true  as  a  die,  above  deception,  a 
good  play-fellow — a  voluntary  "mis- 
tress." 

With  difficulty  she  let  herself  into 
her  rooms,  whistled  to  a  canar}*  that 
chirped  a  welcome,  dumped  her  par- 
cels in  the  absurdly  small  kitchenette, 
and  turned  a  pirouette  or  two  in  the 
living-room. 

Just  a  year  today  she  had  been 
living  here. 

"Oh,  Jacky,  you  sweet  old  bird! 
Sing  your  very  best  song!  It's  an 
anniversary — he's  coming  tonight  and 
tomorrow's  Sunday!  I  do  love  him 
so — " 

Two  hours  and  a  half  went  by  like 
minutes,  but  a  very  noticeable  change 
had  been  accomplished.  Her  street 
dress  had  given  place  to  a  filmy  negli- 
gee of  palest  rose.  The  drab  little  box 
of  a  living-room  looked  cozy  in  the 
glow  of  the  shaded  lights.  A  small 
table  laid  for  two  was  drawn  up  to 
the  not-too-uncomfortable  davenport. 
\'iolets  were  everywhere,  huge,  lus- 
cious, fragrant  ones,  dark  as  a  mid- 
night sky. 

"Jacky,  do  you  think  he  will  remem- 
ber I  wore  violets  a  year  ago.'  I  know 
he  hasn't  forgotten  it's  an  anniversary. 
He  telephoned  to  say  he'd  come." 

She  forgot  the  disappointment  of 
his  week-ends  spent  elsewhere,  in  the 
joy  of  this  one  to  be  shared.  She  gave 
her  home  its  final  inspection,  re- 
arranged the  bowl  of  violets  in  the 
bed-room.  The  rolls  were  piping  hot, 
the  coffee  hadn't  boiled  over.  Surely 
if  love  could  flavor  food,  this  was  a 
savory  feast.  Such  happiness  could 
never  be  contained  in  the  narrow  con- 
fines of  a  wedding  ring.  Ceremony 
could  add  nothing  to  a  love  so  perfect. 

There  was  a  footstep  down  the  hall, 
a  key  turning  in  the  lock,  and  he  was 
there!  She  rushed  gayly  to  embrace 
him. 

"Dick!  What  day  is—"  She 
stopped  where  she  stood,  her  ques- 
tion unfinished.  Something  had 
{Continued  on  page  31) 


The  San  Franciscan 
15 


San  Francisco,  A  Lost  Lady 


By  ANITA  DAY  HUBBARD 


A  GARDENIA  on  the  shoulder  of 
a  leather  golf  jacket.  Rouge 
laid  deeply  on  lips  that  are 
deeper  red  underneath.  A  painted 
woman  who  trusts  her  hair  to  the 
wind,  and  tramps  the  hills  in  the  sun- 
shine, with  deep  and  simple  laughter. 
A  grand  dame  of  family  who  walks 
sedately  in  somber  colors  with  short 
skirts  and  high  heeled  shoes. 

A  city  that  takes  an  earthquake  as 
an  invitation  to  Charleston  with  Na- 
ture, and  accepts  the  morning  after 
with  philosophy  and  a  laugh.  A  city 
that  makes  of  a  devouring  fire  an 
illumination  to  dance  to — and  to 
build  by. 

A  city  veiled  like  a  bride  in  the 
ocean  fog,  and  revealed  like  a  great 
breasted  amazon  lying  in  the  blue  bed 
of  the  ocean  when  the  sun  shines. 

A  city  to  live  with,  and  to  love,  and 
to  be  tormented  by,  beloved  and  dis- 
tressing for  the  self-same  qualities. 

San  Francisco  has  lived.  She  has 
been  the  mistress  of  poets.  She  will 
never  settle  down  to  the  placid,  hum- 
drum of  married  life  that  a  thousand 
municipal  Mrs.  Babbitts  are  thriving 
under. 

She  is  bad,  mad,  and  dangerous  to 
know.  She  is  mysterious,  and  care- 
less— and  generous  to  her  favorites. 
She  has  no  time  for  bores  and  charla- 


tans, save  they  be  amusing  charlatans. 
She  is  petulant  with  her  artists  and 
her  poets  and  musicians.  She  will  lis- 
ten to  them  only  when  they  have  won 
fame — singing  the  songs  she  has  taught 
them,  to  other  less  fastidious  ears. 

She  is  an  exquisite  and  a  gourmet, 
living  elaborately  and  regarding  food 
as  a  fine  art,  and  dressing  well  as  a 
religion.  She  plays  at  being  earnest 
about  this  and  that,  and  even  con- 
vinces herself  sometimes.  But  she 
will  toss  down  her  sword  at  a  moment's 
notice  if  a  fiesta  promises. 

She  has  few  of  the  Christian  virtues, 
and  all  of  the  pagan.  She  has  neither 
humility,  nor  meekness  of  spirit,  nor 
does  she  love  her  enemies.  She  is 
tolerant,  though,  of  all  but  bigotry 
and  dullness,  nor  does  she  care  what 
God  a  man  may  worship,  nor  for  his 
grandfather's  reputation,  if  only  he 
be  a  good  fellow  in  his  own  right,  and 
mind  his  own  business. 

She  was  born  of  roaring  youth  and 
glorious  courage.  She  was  fed  at  the 
breast  of  the  gold  veined  hills,  and 
warmed  by  the  sun  that  glows  into 
fire  even  as  it  sets,  back  of  the  Golden 
Gate.  She  learned  to  dance  from  the 
wind  along  the  sea,  and  to  sing  from 
the  deep  sweet  crashing  of  the  surf. 
She  laughs  with  the  strong-throated 
courage   that    she   inherited   from   the 


virile  youngsters  who  violated  the 
mighty  hills  and  dammed  the  rivers 
in  the  gold  rush.  She  knows  the  mad- 
dening charm  of  the  castanets  that 
sound  through  all  her  moods  in  deli- 
cate over-tones.  And  when  needs  be 
she  can  suffer  and  be  strong  with  the 
spirit  of  Fra  Junipero  who  knew  and 
loved  her  first,  and  whom  she  has  not 
forgotten. 

She  yawns  delicately  at  uplift.  She 
giggles  at  pomposity.  She  knows  the 
world,  and  has  chosen,  through  whim 
and  willfulness,  what  she  wants  of  it. 
She  is  almost  frantically  maternal  to 
her  own  children,  and  perfectly  in- 
different to  strangers,  though  kindly 
enough  and  generous  in  small  ways. 

She  starts  great  projects,  and  ends 
by  squabbling  over  the  color  of  the 
sealing  wax  on  the  documents.  She 
builds  heroes,  for  the  wanton  pleasure 
of  destroying  them.  She  takes  nothing 
seriously  but  her  own  pleasure,  and 
the  precious  traditions  of  her  vari- 
colored youth. 

There  is  no  city  like  her,  nor  any 
people  like  her  people,  and  perhaps 
that  is  just  as  well.  There  is  excite- 
ment enough  in  this  complicated 
scheme  of  things. 

To  those  who  know  and  love  her  she 
is  the  most  distractingly  charming  city 
in  the  world. 


The  San  Francisc  an 
16 


The  Cinema's  League  of  Nations 

Facts  and  Reflections  on  Hollywood's  Foreign  Invasion 

By  ROWENA  S.  MASON 


AMERICA  rules  the  motion  pic- 
ture industry.  That  is  merely 
the  statement  of  a  more  or  less 
moth-eaten  fact.  But  here  is  a  ques- 
tion that  begins  to  bother:  "Do 
Americans.^" 

"The  time  has  come"  when  there  is 
no  denying  the  so-called  foreign  in- 
vasion. But  after  all  why  deny  it  for 
actually  it  marks  the  injection  of  red 
blood  into  an  anemic  body.  Further- 
more it  shouldn't  be  called  a  new  and 
alarming  problem  for  this  immigra- 
tion to  Hollywood  has  been  going  on 
for  the  past  two  years.  Because  the 
"man  in  the  street"  has  suddenly  be- 
come conscious  of  it  he  brands  it  as  a 
"menace"  and  waves  his  arms  in  pro- 
test. 

To  those  who  have  been  close  to 
the  picture  for  years  it  is  curiously 
interesting  to  watch  the  pendulum 
swing  back  on  itself.  Five  summers 
ago  a  capable  European  played  the 
title  role  in  "Trilby."  The  excellence 
of  her  interpretation  meant  nothing  to 
America.  She  was  an  alien  and  she 
was  resented.  A  Los  Angeles  theater 
had  to  withdraw  the  film  from  its 
screen  at  the  angered  demand  of  its 
patrons.  "Trilby's"  return  to  the 
continent  was  forced  for  there  were  no 
more  American  contracts  offered  her. 

Today,  we  dance  to  a  different  tune! 
There  is  no  little  scramble  to  secure 
the  services  of  the  Negris,  Bankys, 
and  Garbos.  Raquel  Meller  has  signed 
a  3120,000  contract  to  play  Josephine 
for  Chaplin.  She  is  the  lovely  Latin 
for  sight  of  whom  New  York  paid 
twenty-five  dollars  a  seat,  even  as  we 
of  the  West  paid  eleven. 

There  are  many  who  raise  their 
hands  in  gloomy  horror  at  this  race 
after  that  elusive,  delectable  attribute 
known  as  "continental  charm."  They 
are  foolish  mourners  for  we  have  every- 
thing to  gain  and  nothing  to  lose. 

Who  could  even  whisper  that  Erich 
von  Stroheini,  the  Austrian,  or  Ernst 
Lubitsch,  the  German,  have  been  any- 
thing but  needed  assets  to  Hollywood? 
And  there  are  other  German  invaders. 
Lothar  Mendes  and  Michael  Curtiz; 
Paul  Leni,  with  his  uncanny  mastery 
of  the  unusual  and  grotesque;  F.  W. 
Murnau,  with  his  passion  for  detail 
and  emphasis  on  simplicity;  and  that 
latest  arrival,  the  German  with  a 
French  name,  Andre  E.  Dupont,  whose 
"Variety"  is  a  milestone  in  motion  pic- 
ture progress. 


Both  Lubitsch  and  Murnau  were 
students  under  Max  Reinhardt.  They 
are  artists  with  a  background  of  cul- 
ture and  study  that  stands  them  in 
good  stead. 

They  have  the  tolerance  to  grant  an 
audience  the  intelligence  that  it  actu- 
ally possesses.  They  do  not  "write 
down"  to  an  imaginary  level  at  which 
the  average  mind  is  supposed  to  hiber- 
nate. Masters  of  light  and  shade  they 
give  their  pictures  a  veiled  beauty  that 
is  a  relief  after  our  American-directed, 
stereotyped  productions  with  their 
flood  of  glaring  light.  Frequently  they 
resort  to  symbolism  confident  that  the 
audience  will  be  able  to  interpret  it. 
Often  the  event  in  the  sequence  of  a 
film  is  left  to  the  imagination.  What 
an  innovation!  Time  was  when  every 
detail  of  the  story  must  be  filmed  and 
plentifully  subtitled.  These  Germans 
have  the  courage  merely  to  show  a 
man  wiping  the  blood  from  his  hands, 
as  in  "Variety,"  and  leave  the  murder, 
the  feature  of  the  story,  to  be  imagined. 

Realists.''  Of  course!  And  why 
not.'  Isn't  it  better  than  the  diet  of 
sticky,  sanctimonious  tales  on  which 
we  have  been  fed  for  so  long  a  time? 

To  the  criticism  that  the  Teutonic 
mind  is  ever  profound  and  morbid, 
dealing  only  in  the  sordidness  of  such 
productions  as  "Variety,"  I  offer  Lud- 
wig  Berger's  "Waltz  Dream"  as  argu- 
ment. Could  anything  be  more  frothy, 
more  amusing  or  dealt  with  more 
casually.'' 

These  Germans  combine  suave  so- 
phistication with  the  most  charming 
naivete.  They  are  able  to  do  things 
simply,  subtly  and  with  a  poignancy 
that  is  refreshing  in  its  lack  of  self- 
consciousness. 

But  to  Germans  alone  all  superla- 
tive directorial  praise  is  not  due.  There 
are  Marcel  de  Sano,  the  Roumanian; 
Alexander  Arkatov  and  Dimitri  Bu- 
chowetski,  Russians;  George  Archen- 
band,  and  George  Fitzmaurice,  French- 
men all;  Benjamin  Christiansen, 
Mauritz  Stiller,  and  Victor  Seastrom, 
from  Sweden;  Svend  Gade  from  Den- 
mark, and  Herbert  Brennon,  from 
Ireland,  who  has  just  completed  "Beau 
Geste,"  with  no  little  credit  to  himself. 
Each  of  these  Europeans  has  added 
his  different -flavored  portion  to  the 
pot-pourri  that  is  labeled  "Made  in 
America." 

Recently  a  motion  picture  magazine 
conducted   a   popularity  contest.     An 


examination  of  the  names  that  ap- 
peared on  the  winning  list  proved  a 
revelation.  First  among  the  men  came 
the  name  of  Rudolph  Valentino.  That 
was  yesterday.  Today,  Rudolph  Val- 
entino the  man  is  gone  but  the  mem- 
ory of  him  remains  warm  in  the  hearts 
of  a  work-a-day  world  that  found  in 
his  shadow  the  symbol  of  Romance. 

Second  on  the  role  of  honor  came 
Charles  Chaplin,  formerly  of  London, 
ruler  of  our  world  of  comedy  with  the 
fragile  scepter  of  pathos.  In  third 
place  came  Adolphe  Menjou,  the 
French  "menace  to  the  love  interest," 
who  holds  the  world's  record  for  being 
the  cause  of  screen  heroines  leaving 
their  handsome  screen  husbands. 

The  rest  of  that  list  read  like  the 
roll  call  of  a  League  of  Nations.  From 
England  besides  Chaplin  there  were 
Ronald  Colman,  Ernest  Torrence, 
Percy  Marmount,  Reginald  Denny, 
Clive  Brook,  Herbert  Rawlinson,  and 
Ralph  Forbes.  And  from  her  domin- 
ions came  Jack  Pickford,  of  Canadian 
birth;  Marc  McDermott,  of  Australia, 
and  Montagu  Love,  of  India.  Ireland 
boasts  of  the  three  Moore  brothers, 
Tommv  Meighan,  Creighton  Hale,  and 
Pat  O'Malley. 

Spain  carried  off  honors  with  An- 
tonio Moreno  and  Ricardo  Cortez. 
Our  neighbor  Mexico  claims  Ramon 
Novarro,  while  Lars  Hansen,  of  "Scar- 
let Letter"  fame,  and  El  Brendel,  the 
comedian,  come  from  Sweden,  the  land 
of  the  Viking  gods.  Gustav  von  Seyf- 
fertitz,  from  Germany;  Jean  Hersholt, 
from  Denmark;  and  Sojin,  from  Japan, 
completed  the  list  of  masculine  names. 

Among  the  women  Pola  Negri  tied 
for  first  honors  with  Mary  Pickford, 
"America's  Sweetheart,"  who  was  born 
in  Canada! 

The  rest  of  the  favored  included: 
Renee  Adoree,  French;  Dorothy  Mac- 
kail,  English;  Vilma  Banky,  Hungar- 
ian; Greta  Garbo  and  Greta  Nissen, 
Scandinavians;  Norma  Sherer,  Ca- 
nadian; Enid  Bennett,  Australian; 
Jetta  Goudal,  French;  Anna  Q.  Nils- 
son,  Scandinavian;  Gilda  Gray,  Polish; 
Pauline  Garon,  Canadian;  Eileen 
Percy,  Irish;  Flora  le  Breton,  English; 
Marie  Prevost,  Canadian,  and  Arlette 
Marchal,  French.  Add  to  these  names 
the  newer  ones  of  Lya  de  Putti  from 
Hungary  and  Dolores  del  Rio  from 
Mexico  and  it  leaves  little  doubt  that 

{Coutinutd  on  page  30) 


The  San  Franciscan 
i7 


Black  Songs  in  White  Mouths 


LOUDER    and  louder  it  comes  from 
gold-spangled   jungle    depths 
stamped  with  the  rhythm  of  the 
winding    Kongo;    one    with    the  lush 
black  earth  that,  in  torrid  darkness,  is 
opulent  of  life. 

It  is  the  song  of  Africa's  people:  the 
song  that  only  the  sons  of  Africa 
should  sing. 

Greatest  gift  to  modern  music,  this 
young-old  thing  that  fascinates  and 
repels  but  draws  you  on  and  on  for  it 
has  the  one  quality  that  marks  all 
things  great.  It  is  not  imitative.  It 
is  frankly  original.  It  is  determinedly 
so.  Modulate  it — moderate  it, 
even — and  the  essence  of  it  is 
suddenly  gone. 

You  cannot  separate  this 
gleaming  stone  of  song  from 
the  dark  matrix  which  con- 
ceived it.  Flaws  must  remain 
— character  must  be  kept — 
the  familiar  whites  who  touch 
this  greatest  gift  of  the  Al- 
mighty to  the  negro,  pay  the 
swift  sure  price  of  mediocre 
accomplishment. 

Black  songs  in  white  mouths : 
how  futile  they  are  when  you 
can  hear  them  sung  by  the 
sons  of  Africa ! 

Roland  Hayes  may  sing  the 
"Adelaide"  of  Beethoven  and 
be  a  transcendent  artist;  he 
may  read  Santoliquido's  "Per- 
sian Poem"  in  a  manner  that 
no  artist  has  ever  done  before; 
he  can  put  into  German  lieder 
all  its  lines  of  classic  beauty. 

But  when  he  sings  "IM-hhh 
Didn't  It  Rain.?"  or  "Sit  Down"  or 
"Crucifixion,"  he  does  something  for 
the  genre  that  no  white  can  do. 

Then  he  sings  out  of  his  blood  and 
his  inherited  instincts,  fallow  with 
suffering,  heavy  with  the  distilled  tor- 
rid sunshine  of  primeval  jungles,  sen- 
tient with  the  subconscious  awareness 
of  his  predecessors  who  have  lived 
close  to  Nature.  Then  he  is  magni- 
ficent with  that  touch  of  God  which 
flowers  now  and  again,  in  man. 

The  listener,  thrilled  by  the  name- 
less something  which  we  have  come  to 
recognize  by  the  word  genius,  bows 
before  an  artistry  that  is  uftique  be- 
cause the  past  has  held  no  such  phe- 
nomenon and  the  future  can  only 
challenge  him  through  a  member  of  his 
own  people. 

I  remember  a  little  negro  man — 
Leviticus  N.  S.  Lyon  I  think  they 
called  him — who  sang  in  Scottish  Rite 


By  MOLLIE  MERRICK 

Hall,  San  Francisco,  one  evening 
almost  two  years  ago.  He  opened  his 
program  with  some  old  Italian  and  his 
voice,  a  slender  lyric  tenor  with  the 
husky  minor  of  the  black  race,  was 
passably  good.  The  interpretation, 
though,  was  sadly  lacking. 

The  tiny  African  with  the  dignified 
name,  passed  on  to  an  English  group. 
Tosti's     "Good-Bye"     was     probably 


Roland  Hayes 

never  before  so  parodied  in  the  name 
of  seriousness.  Smiles,  freely  released, 
were  put  to  shame  a  little  later,  when 
Lyon  broke  into  "L'Heure  Exquise"  of 
Reynaldo  Hahn.  Lit  by  some  ageless 
memory,  his  senses  reached  out  and 
caught  the  sophisticated  beauty  of  the 
Hahn  and  gave  it  out  to  us  inimitably. 
Encored,  he  managed  a  repeat  that 
would  do  credit  to  the  greatest  of 
artists. 

That  Reynaldo  Hahn  kept  us  in  our 
seats  until  the  final  group.  Who  would 
leave  a  concert  hall  where  such  para- 
doxes were  being  wrought.?  And,  with 
the  coming  of  the  last   group — negro 


spirituals  and  secular  songs — the  art  of 
Leviticus  N.  S.  Lyon  came  into  its 
own. 

He  sang  as  a  lark  sings  in  the  morn- 
ing sun.  He  threw  back  his  head  with 
that  "Swing  Low,  Sweet  Chariot"  and 
the  notes  that  came  forth  sprang  from 
such  hidden  sources  of  melody  as  the 
hermit  thrust  calls  upon  at  close  of  day 
in  the  still  aisles  of  the  wood.  Those 
who  laughed  at  the  Tosti  with  its 
banal  sentiments,  applauded  until  their 
palms  ached. 

In  him  it  would  seem  that  the  arc 
which  is  the  negro  nature  can  touch 
two  extremes — the  extreme  of 
sophistication,  as  revealed  in 
the  Reynaldo  Hahn  and  the 
extreme  of  primitive  song  as 
given  us  in  the  negro  seculars 
and  spirituals.  The  mediocre 
became  a  jest  on  his  lips  even 
though  he  sought  to  endow  it 
with  the  threadbare  dignity 
which  it  gets  from  most  ar- 
tists. The  primitive  in  him — 
the  tremendous  subconscious 
that  is  his  heritage  from  the 
jungle — could  not  accept  medi- 
ocrity and,  even  against  his 
conscious  endeavors,  cast  it 
out  as  worthless,  to  his  em- 
barrassment and  puzzlement. 
On  the  surface  he  was  a  sim- 
ple creature. 

Another  voice — Paul  Robe- 
son— the    basso-baritone    who 
originated  the  role  of  "Empe- 
ror Jones"  but  who  has  never 
come   to   this   coast.     Like   a 
black   opal,    that    voice,    fire- 
shot,  color  drenched,  thick  with  velvet 
and  molded  in  the  sure  glorious  lines 
of  ''the     primitive.       His     record     of 
"Water    Boy"    and    "Nobody    Knows 
What  Trouble"  were  played  one  night 
in  the  House  of  Little  Ships — it  was 
tone    that    the    white    throat    cannot 
compass. 

John  McCormack  introduced  a 
group  of  spirituals  into  one  of  his  San 
Francisco  concerts  early  this  year. 
Admirably  done  as  is  everything  which 
this  tenor  sings,  they  )'et  fell  short  of 
the  mark.  Because  they  are  the  folk- 
expression  of  the  negro  and  John 
McCormack  is  not  of  them.  He  may 
sing  the  melodic  line  which  the  Celt 
has  spun  out  of  his  heartbreak,  his 
years  of  oppression,  his  smile  and  his 
tear.  But  the  folk-song  of  the  negro 
is  not  for  the  white  mouth. 
(Continued  on  page  32) 


The  San  Franciscan 
18 


1 


MRS.  WILLIAM  HINCKLEY  TAYLOR 

in  the  beautiful  garden  of  her  San  Francisco  home. 


A  garden  is  a  lovesome  thing.  God  wot! 

Rose  plot, 

Fringed  pool. 

Ferned  grot — 

The  veriest  school 

Of  peace;  and  yet  the  fool 

Contends  that  God  is  not — 

Not  God!    in  gardens!    when  the  eve  is  cool? 

Nay.  but  I  have  a  bign; 

"Tis  very  sure  God  walks  in  mine. 

Thomas  Ed:vard  Brown. 


The  San  Franciscan 
19 


SO  MANY  socially  important  things 
have  happened  within  the  last 
few  weeks  that  the  season  may 
be  said  to  have  partially  receded  into 
perspective. 

There  was  the  Opera,  the  gowns  and 
general  reclame  of  which  were  much 
more  interesting  than  the  repertoire, 
which  boasted  not  one  new  thing. 

The  Symphony  was  launched  with 
by  no  means  all  of  fashion's  approval. 

There  was  the  wedding  of  Charles 
Crocker  and  Miss  \  irginia  Bennet  at 
Denver,  attended  by  the  bridegroom's 
parents,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  William  H. 
Crocker,  his  sister.  Miss  Helen  Crocker, 
and  his  cousins,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Temple- 
ton  Crocker  and  his  sister,  the  Coun- 
tess  de   Limur. 

There  was  the  party,  still  something 
to  dream  about,  at  which  Miss  Janet . 
Whitman  was  presented  to  the  friends 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robert  Henderson  at 
the  Burlingame  Club. 

There  was  the  marriage  of  Miss 
Eleanor  Martin  and  John  B.  Casserly 
at  San  Mateo  October  23rd  and  the 
succession  of  town  weddings. 

Which  brings  us  to  the  debutantes 
and  the  Welch-Bruce  wedding  on  No- 
vember 11th.  Miss  Florence  Welch 
chose  that  date  because  it  was  the 
nuptial  day  of  her  parents.  She  will 
become  the  bride  of  Starr  Bruce  at 
the  home  of  her  parents,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Andrew  P.  Welch,  at  their  town  house 
in  Broadway,  near  Broderick  Street. 
There  is  a  private  chapel  there,  a  ball- 
room and  spacious  drawing  rooms 
which  will  be  sumptuous  setting  for 
the  ceremony.  Miss  Marie  Welch  will 
be  her  sister's  maid  of  honor  and  the 
bridesmaids  will  be  Aliss  Eleanor  Mor- 
gan, Miss  Idabelle  Wheaton,  Miss 
Kathryn  Chace,  herself  just  engaged 
to  David  A.  Conrad,  and  Miss  Frances 
Stent.  Baltzar  Peterson  will  be  the 
best  man. 

*     *     * 

^HE  debutantes,  naturally,  will  oc- 
cupy much  of  the  stage,  since  youth 
will  be  served.  Mrs.  George  D.  Boyd 
will  give  a  tea  on  December  28th  at 
which  her  second  daughter.  Miss  Cyn- 
thia Boyd,  will  be  presented.  The  tea 
will  be  given  at  2300  \'allejo  Street 
where,  the  next  night,  Miss  Boyd  herself 
will  be  hostess  at  a  dancing  party  for 
some  two  hundred  guests,  all  of  the 
younger  set.  On  the  evening  of  Decem- 
ber 28th  Miss  Patricia  Clark,  daughter 
of  Mrs.  Cecelia  Tobin  Clark,  will  be 


T! 


formally  presented  to  society  at  a 
dinner  dance  to  be  given  by  her  uncle, 
Richard  Tobin,  at  the  Bohemian  Club. 
Richard  Tobin,  who  is  American 
Minister  at  The  Hague,  will  return  to 
California  the  first  of  December  for  a 
leave  of  absence  from  his  diplomatic 
duties  and  will  be  here  several  weeks. 
When  he  was  here  a  year  ago  he  gave 
a  similar  affair  for  another  niece.  Miss 
Mary  Clark. 

IMiss  Eleanor  Simpson  also  will  be 
a  debutante  of  the  winter.  She  is  the 
daughter  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thomas 
Simpson  and  attended  Miss  Burke's 
school  here  until  last  June.  Mrs. 
Simpson  was  Miss  Edwina  Crouch  of 
Sacramento  and  has  been  identified 
with  the  Sacramento  set  which  includes 
the  Crockers,  the  Alexanders  (Mrs. 
Loring  Pickering  and  Douglas  Alex- 
ander), and  Mrs.  Alountford  Wilson. 
Miss  Simpson  will  make  her  debut  at 
a  large  affair  which  her  parents  will 
give  at  their  San  Mateo  home  in 
December. 


'T^HERE  has  come  about  a  custom, 
an  unwritten  law,  as  it  were,  that 
induction  into  membership  in  the 
Junior  League  automatically  makes  a 
girl  one  of  the  season's  buds.  There 
is  a  whole  garden  full  of  them  this 
year,  the  list  including:  Misses  Mar- 
tha Ransome,  Ynez  Mejia,  Mary 
Clark,  Geneva  White,  Virginia  Phil- 
lips, Carol  Klink,  Constance  Horn, 
Florence  Loomis,  Jean  McLaughlin, 
Patricia  Clark,  \'ere  de  \"ere  Adams, 
Emily  Clift  Searles,  Margaret  Fuller, 
Betty  Klink,  Geraldine  Bliss,  Claire 
Gianinni,  Eleanor  Simpson,  Cynthia 
Boyd,  Frances  Stent,  Dorothy  Wil- 
liamson, Katherine  de  la  Montanya, 
Evelyn  Lansdale,  Olive  Watt  and 
Ruth  Langdon;  and  Mesdames  Alex- 
ander Isenberg,  Gordon  Hitchcock. 
Merritt  Olds,  Andrew  Talbot,  Merrill 
Morshead,  George  Stevenson,  Albert 
Whittell,  Ray  Alford,  P.  H.  Beaver, 
and  John  Manners. 


TV/flSS  ALiry  Alice  Martin,  grand- 
^  *■  daughter  of  Mrs.  Camilo  Martin, 
is  not  making  a  formal  debut  this  sea- 
son as  is  her  cousin,  Aliss  Constance 
Horn,  daughter  of  \Ir.  and  Mrs. 
William  Palmer  Horn  (Grace  Martin) 
of  San  Rafael.  Instead,  Miss  Martin 
is  taking  a  business  course,  training  to 
become  a  orivate  secretary. 


X/fRS.  Harry  Hill,  who  was  among 
-'■  -^  the  guests  at  an  embassy  dinner 
the  other  night  at  the  Bohemian 
Club  where  the  Chilean  consul  enter- 
tained, was  handsome  in  a  flame 
colored  gown  which  accentuated  her 
brunette  beauty.  Mrs.  Hill  has  a 
young  son  of  college  age  and  a  daughter 
who  will  be  a  debutante  in  a  few  years 
— one  of  the  few  girls  who  still  wear 
their  hair  long. 

*  *     * 

npHE  Junior  League  Spanish  Fiesta 
to  be  given  at  the  Fairmont 
hotel  December  3rd  is  engaging  the 
attention  of  the  younger  set  quite  as 
much  as  the  coming-out  parties,  and 
it  is  expected  that  a  crop  of  betrothals 
will  ensue  from  the  propinquity  of 
daily  rehearsals.  Mrs.  Howard  Park 
is  the  president.  Miss  Kathryn  Chace 
the  secretary,  Mrs.  Alexander  Wilson 
the  chairman  of  the  program  commit- 
tee, and  Airs.  Kenneth  Monteagle  and 
Miss  Evelyn  McLaughlin  in  charge  of 
the  publicity. 

*  *     * 

\/fRS.  James  Parker  is  receiving 
a  warm  welcome  home.  As 
Julia  Langhorne  she  was  a  belle  here 
in  the  days  when  Airs.  Templeton 
Crocker  was  Helene  Irwin  and  Airs. 
Robert  Henderson  was  Jennie  Crocker. 
Aluch  water  has  run  under  the  bridge 
since  then  and  in  the  interim  Airs. 
Parker  has  traveled  up  and  down  the 
world  and  lived  in  many  ports,  as  the 
wife  of  any  naval  officer  is  privileged 
to  do.  But  Airs.  Parker  has  the  gift 
of  getting  much  out  of  any  experience 
and  the  consequence,  or  rather,  the 
result,  is  a  most  fascinating  Airs. 
Parker,  one  who  has  a  sparkling  bit  of 
reminiscence  to  tell  apropos  of  about 
any  subject  that  may  raise  its  head. 
She  is  with  her  mother.  Airs.  James 
Potter  Langhorne,  in  Pacific  Avenue. 

*  *     * 

\/fR.  and  Airs.  John  B.  Casserly, 
■'■  ■*  whose  marriage  took  place  Octo- 
ber 23rd,  are  to  live  for  the  winter,  at 
least,  in  the  home  of  his  sister,  Aliss 
Cecelia  Casserly,  at  Alontecito. 

Aliss  Casserly  built  one  of  the  most 
artistic  homes  in  that  part  of  the 
state,  the  architect  being  George 
Washington  Smith,  who  is  said  to  be 
the  last  word  in  Spanish  and  Aloorish 
architecture.  Aliss  Casserly  and  her 
mother  have  planned  to  spend  most  of 
the  winter  in  New  York. 


The  San  Franciscan 
20 


r^IPLOMATIC  receptions  and  din- 
-^  ners  and  teas  could  be  so  much 
more  in  San  Francisco  than  they  are. 
The  reason  for  the  present  state  of 
affairs?  No  one  knows.  But  they 
contribute  to  the  gayety  of  nations  in 
Washington  and  European  capitals. 
San  Francisco  is  not  a  capital,  to  be 
sure,  but  it  is  a  metropolis  and  a  sea- 
port set  apart  from  other  cities  and  by 
geographic  rule  of  thumb  should  have 
a  diplomatic  cosmos  all  its  own. 

The  English  Speaking  Union  fills 
the  void  in  degree,  but  after  all,  it  is 
only  English  speaking.  There  is  a 
line  in  Kipling's  poem  on  the  English 
flag,  "What  do  they  know  of  England, 
who  only  England  know?" 

With  its  nearness  to  South  American 
cities  which  have  an  opulence  that 
permits  of  the  most  lavish  of  enter- 
ing, it  would  seem  that  there  might 
be  more  of  the  sort  of  thing  which 
Garcia  Huidobro  of  Chile  did  the 
other  night. 

*  *     * 

ly/TR.  and  Mrs.  Theodore  Tuttle 
^^^  Smart  have  returned  to  Seattle 
after  having  spent  part  of  their  honey- 
moon here  as  the  guests  of  the  latter's 
aunt,  Mrs.  William  Hinckley  Taylor. 
Mrs.  Smart  was  Miss  Clementine 
Lewis,  and  is  the  only  daughter  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Allen  Lewis  of  Portland.  She 
has  frequently  visited  with  Mrs.  Tay- 
lor and  Mrs.  George  D.  Boyd,  her 
aunts,  and  has  many  friends  in  peninsu- 
lar and  town  society.  The  Misses  Jean 
and  Cynthia  Boyd  were  bridesmaids 
at  the  wedding,  which  was  one  of  the 
most  important  events  of  the  season 
in  Portland. 

*  *     * 

'TPHE  marriage  of  Miss  Harriet  Paul- 
-*■  ine  Clagstone  and  Harold  A. 
Edmonson,  whose  engagement  was  an- 
nounced early  in  the  summer,  will  not 
take  place  until  after  the  graduation  of 
Miss  Clagstone  from  the  University 
of  California,  according  to  present 
plans. 

Miss  Clagstone  is  one  of  the  prettiest 
girls  in  society  and  among  the  most 
popular.  She  is  a  protege  and  the 
namesake  of  Mrs.  Arthur  F.  Schermer- 
horn  (Harriet  Pullman  Carolan)  who 
has  always  taken  a  keen  interest  in 
her.  She  is  the  daughter  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Paul  Clagstone  of  San  Mateo, 
and  a  sister  of  Kirk  Clagstone,  named 
after  his  mother,  who  was  Miss  Kirk 
of  Chicago.  Young  Edmonson  has 
been  a  frequent  visitor  to  San  Mateo 
from  his  home  in  Santa  Barbara. 

The  bride-elect  is  a  graduate  of 
Miss  Harker's  School  and  traveled 
abroad  after  a  term  at  the  University 
of     California,     returning     only     last 


June.  After  the  engagement  was  an- 
nounced she  decided  to  finish  at  the 
University  before  marrying. 

The  betrothal  was  announced  simul- 
taneously in  San  Francisco,  New  York, 
Chicago,  and  Santa  Barbara,  the 
family  connections  and  friendships 
ramifying  throughout  the  country. 

Edmonson  is  the  son  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Alfred  R.  Edmonson  of  Santa  Bar- 
bara. He  will  be  here  for  the  Thanks- 
giving holidays  and  the  two  will  be 
much  entertained.  By  that  time  Mrs. 
Schermerhorn  will  be  here  and  will 
probably  fete  her. 

^     *     * 

A  NOTHER  engagement  of  interest 
■^^  in  several  cities  besides  San  Fran- 
cisco is  that  of  Miss  Margery  Blyth, 
whose  marriage  to  Lloyd  S.  Gilmour 
of  New  York  will  take  place  early  in 
January. 

Miss  Blyth  is  the  daughter  of  Mrs. 
Mary  Blyth  of  Cleveland,  Ohio,  where 
the  wedding  will  take  place.  She  was 
a  visitor  in  Burlingame  last  winter, 
the  guest  of  her  uncle  and  aunt,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Charles  Blyth,  with  whom 
she  sojourned  in  Europe  last  summer. 

Messrs.  Gilmour  and  Blyth  have 
joint  business  interests  in  the  East, 
notably  in  New  York,  where  the 
Blyths  are  now  staying  at  the  Plaza. 

The  bridegroom-elect  is  a  former 
resident  of  Oakland,  but  for  the  last 
ten  years  has  lived  in  New  York. 
He  Is  a  graduate  of  the  University  of 
California  with  the  class  of  191S  and 
has  many  friends  in  and  about  San 
Francisco.  He  lives  with  his  mother, 
Mrs.  W.  E.  Gilmour,  at  Mayfair  House, 
Park  Avenue,  New  York. 
*     *     * 

'T'HE  number  of  amateur  actresses 
cropping  up  in  society  makes  one 
think  of  the  man  who  couldn't  see 
the  forest  for  the  trees.  Or  the  woman 
who  said  that  there  were  so  many 
people  writing  books  that  soon  there'd 
be  no  one  left  to  read  them. 

Soon  there'll  be  no  audience,  all  the 
people  being  on  the  stage.  Every  year 
the  Junior  League  Show  reveals  some 
mute,  inglorious  Bernhardt.  Then 
there's  the  Player's  Guild,  with  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Templeton  Crocker  and  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Palmer  Fuller  taking  a  most 
contagious  interest.  Mrs.  William  T. 
Sesnon  is  perhaps  one  of  the  leading 
amateur  thespians  in  the  town  set, 
her  performances  at  the  Century 
Club  and  the  San  Francisco  Drama 
Musical  Society,  of  which  Mrs.  William 
Hinckley  Taylor  is  president,  being  of 
a  high  order  of  excellence. 

Mrs.  Fentriss  Hill,  Mrs.  Howard 
Park,  Mrs.  William  Kent,  Mrs.  E.  E. 
Brownell,  Mrs.  George  Harry  Mendell 


and  Aliss  Jean  Boyd  are  others  who 
take  parts  every  few  months  in  the 
Musical-Dramatic  productions,  which 
are  always  conscientiously  directed  by 
a  professional  coach.  At  these  affairs 
the  actresses  mingle  with  the  audience 
after  the  curtain  goes  down  and  drink 
tea  poured  by  Miss  Eleanor  Morgan 
and  Miss  Laura  McKinstry. 

*  *     * 

/^UPID  has  worked  overtime  in  the 
Armsby  family  this  fall,  it  would 
seem,  two  engagements  being  an- 
nounced within  a  few  days  of  each 
other. 

Miss  Leonora  Armsby  will  wed  Al- 
fred D.  Hendrickson  and  Jeffrey  Ken- 
dall Armsby  of  Ross  will  wed  Miss 
Jane  Russell  of  Wheeling,  West  Vir- 
ginia. 

Miss  Armsby  is  a  very  pretty  and 
attractive  girl,  a  graduate  of  Dobbs 
Ferry,  and  a  favorite  in  both  the 
peninsula  and  town  sets.  She  is  now 
on  her  way  to  Paris  to  complete  her 
trousseau.  She  is  a  sister  of  George 
Newell  Armsby,  Jr.  and  the  niece  of 
Miss  Cornelia  Armsby,  Raymond, 
Gordon  and  James  K.  Armsby. 

Hendrickson  is  the  son  of  Air.  and 
Mrs.  William  Hendrickson  of  San 
Francisco,  a  graduate  of  Yale  with  the 
class  of  1919.  His  brother,  William 
Hendrickson,  Jr.,  married  Miss  Aman- 
da McNear,  daughter  of  the  Seward 
McNears. 

*  *     * 

'T'HE  history  of  Longleat,  the  beauti- 
•*■  ful  Wiltshire  place  where  the  Mar- 
quess and  Marchioness  of  Bath  enter- 
tain so  much  for  their  son  and  daugh- 
ter, Viscount  Weymouth  and  Lady 
Mary  Thynne,  is  romantic  even  among 
the  legends  surrounding  most  English 
castles.  It  was  in  February,  1862, 
that  the  owner  of  this  beautiful  house, 
Thomas  Thynne,  was  shot  at  the  cor- 
ner of  Pall  Alall  while  driving  home  in 
his  carriage  from  the  Countess  of 
Northumberland's  house  by  three  gun- 
men hired  by  Count  Konigsmark,  a 
cousin  of  the  King  of  Sweden,  whose 
jealousy  had  been  aroused  by  Thynne's 
recent  marriage  to  the  heiress  of  the 
Percys,  the  only  living  child  of  Jocelyn, 
last  Earl  of  Northumberland.  Although 
only  fifteen  when  married — against  her 
will  at  that! — she  was  even  then  the 
virgin  widow  of  the  Earl  of  Ogle,  eldest 
son  of  the  Duke  of  Newcastle. 

Thynne,  who  was  only  thirty-three 
at  the  time  of  his  death,  left  no  heir, 
and  it  was  the  result  of  his  murder  that 
Longleat  devolved  upon  a  distant 
cousin,  Sir  Thomas  Thynne,  afterward 
first  Viscount  Weymouth  and  Baron 
Thynne  of  Warminster,  a  direct  an- 
cestor of  the  present  IXIarquess  of  Bath. 


{ 


The  San  Franciscan 
21 


MEMBERS  OF  THE  JUNIOR  LEAGUE  LEAVING  THE  FAIRMONT  AFTER  REHEARSAL 


'TSS 

JiKi 

i|^^»^H||HMflii 

Mrs.  Alexander   Wilson 


Misi   Evelyn    McLaughlin 


Mrs.  Iluward  G.   Park 


Mrs.   Kenneth    Monteagle 


The  San  Franciscan 

22 


Mostly  About  Books 


W' 


in    fiction?"     she 
in    fact?'" 


'"HAT    next 
asked. 

"What    next    in    tactf"  we 
replied. 

"My  question  may  be  as  foolish  but 
is  not  so  futile.  We  are  better  pro- 
phets of  fact,  though  poorer  critics. 
The  movements  of  the  stars  may  be 
predicted  to  the  minutest  fraction  of 
a  second,  but  when  it  comes  to  what 
they  mean  there  are  as  many  opinions 
as  creeds,  whereas  a  few  weeks  suffice 
for  the  same  forgetfulness  that  is  final 
verdict  on  most  contemporary  novels." 
"I  don't  object  to  foolish  questions 
but  only  to  those  I  cannot  answer. 
But  for  the  habit  of  asking  unanswer- 
able questions  there  would  have  been 
fewer  poetries,  religions,  philosophies, 
dramas,  novels  and  political  systems. 
They  cannot  all  be  true,  but  many  of 
them  are  vastly  entertaining  and  that 
is  more  important." 

"What  is  truth?" 

"The  greatest  illusion  for  the  great- 
est number — an  admirable  test  for 
fiction,  provided  we  count  by  the  dec- 
ades and  not  merely  by  the  season's 
sales. 

"But  to  return  to  your  first  query. 
The  best  answer  I  can  think  of  is  in 
an  anecdote  by  Kathleen  Norris.  She 
had  written  a  short  story  or  novel  and 
had  sent  it  by  turns  to  every  editor  in 
the  countr}-.  When  there  were  no 
more  editors  left  she  was  prepared  to 
admit  defeat,  but  not  so  her  husband. 
Instead  he  started  the  manuscript  on 
the  rounds  again,  beginning  with  the 
first  editor  that  had  rejected  it.  He 
accepted  it  with  enthusiasm." 

"Interesting,  but  not  apposite." 

"I  think  so.  Having  gone  the 
rounds  of  every  conceivable  form,  size 
and  subject  matter  it  is  possible  that 
the  next  step  in  fiction  may  be  back  to 
where  it  first  began — in  the  effort  to 
tell  an  interesting  story  of  interesting 
people." 

"Are  vou  an  optimist  or  a  pessi- 
mist?"   ' 

"A  little  of  both  and  not  too  much 

of  either." 

*     *     * 

IV/f  RS.  Fremont  Older  was  congratu- 
■*   lating  Jack  Black  on  the  publica- 
tion  of   "You    Can't   Win"    (Macmil- 
lan): 

"Now  that  you  are  an  author  they 
may  admit  you  to  the  P.  E.  N.  Club." 
"Oh,  I've  been  admitted  to  the  'pen' 
many  times." 


By  GEORGE  DOUGLAS 

"'"pELL  it  not  in  Gath;  publish  it 
not  in  the  streets  of  Askelon," 
even  though  they  know  all  about  it  in 
Hollywood,  but  Fabian  Warner  of 
"Flaming  Youth"  is  none  other  than 
Samuel  Hopkins  Adams,  author  of 
"Success." 

Now  what  becomes  of  the  theory 
that  it  takes  as  much  sincerity  to  write 
best-selling  drivel  as  to  write  a  really 

good  novel  ? 

*  *     * 

p'ROM  "The  Doctor  Looks  at  Love 
and  Life"  (Doran)  by  Joseph  Col- 
lins: 

"  'Write  me  the  truth  about  sex,'  is 
the  publisher's  frequent  appeal  to  me. 
*  *  *  The  truth  about  sex  is  a 
large  order.  No  one  knows  the  whole 
truth,  and  if  he  did  would  not  be 
allowed  to  tell  it  *  *  »  Were  I 
to  tell  as  much  of  the  truth  as  I  know 
about  sex,  society  would  frown  at  me, 
the  postal  authorities  would  forbid  its 
printed  circulation,  some  self-consti- 
tuted censor  would  hale  me  before  a 
tribunal,  and  were  I  dependent  upon 
patients  for  a  livelihood,  want  would 
soon  stare  me  in  the  face." 

Great  Scott!  Whatever  can  it  be 
that  the  young  novelists  are  holding 

out  on  us? 

*  *     * 

VirHAT  does  a  champion  pugilist 
^^  read  in  his  spare  time? 
"Snappy  paragraphs  with  a  punch," 
the  office  wag  replies;  but  not  so  'Gene 
Tunney — that  is  if  we  may  believe 
the  New  York  Herald-Tribune.  Here 
are  the  authors  he  not  only  reads  but 
remembers  and  talks  about  entertain- 
ingly: 

Shakespeare,    Browning,   Tennyson, 
Keats,  Samuel  Butler,  Lytton,  Dickens, 
Fenimore   Cooper,  Jack  London,   and 
Jeffery  Farnol.      How    he  mixes  'em! 
But  as  Browning  might  have  said: 
I  like  to  know  a  boxer  reads 
And  that  his  sparring  partner 
writes 
The  slangy,  sanguinary  screeds 
The  papers  print  about  the  fights. 

*  *     * 

npHERE  is  more  than  association  in- 
terest in  "The  Sublime  Boy" 
(Seven  Arts  Co.),  a  collection  of  poems 
by  Walter  de  Casseres,  brother  of  the 
bewilderingly  brilliant  Benjamin  who 
almost  excels  himself  in  an  introduc- 
tion, some  tributes  in  verse  and  a 
postscript. 

Walter   wearied   of  life   at   eighteen 
and    ended    it    twenty-six    years    ago. 


"He  came,  he  saw,  he  yawned,"  writes 
Benjamin.  But  he  also  yearned  for 
things  he  could  not  find  or  finding 
found  them  not  worth  while. 

His  verse  held  more  than  promise 
and  was  frequently  full  achievement. 
The  years  had  little  to  teach  him  of 
technique,  and  perhaps  not  much  in 
the  way  of  life,  his  youthful  preface  to 
which  he  understood  so  well  that  the 
rest  of  the  volume  held  no  tempta- 
tions. 

It  is  a  sad  sign  when  one  so  young 
sings: 

Aly  world  is  built  of  dreams    #    *    * 

And  life  is  but  a  dream  that  gods 
more  grand 

Have  dreamed  and  given  us  to 
understand. 

Poe  tried  to  puzzle  them  out  and 
suffered  infinite  torture.  Walter  de 
Casseres  foresaw  the  suffering  and 
"abridged  the  agony  of  years;  *  *  * 
curtailed  his  Drama  to  a  curtain- 
raiser;  *  *  *  compressed  life  to  a 
song  and  a  curse."  It  is  not  always 
well  that  your  young  men  see  visions. 


*     *     * 


VyRITING  from  Ponca  City,  Okla., 
Will  Rogers  says  "cowboys  sleep 
in  silk  pajamas,  round  up  in  Rolls 
Royces  and  dress  for  dinner.  These 
open  faces  out  here  are  marvelous." 
That  last  sends  us  back  a  quarter  of 
a  century  to  Mr.  Dooley.  "Whiniver 
I  goes  to  a  political  meeting  and  the 
laad  with  the  open  wurrk  face  starts 
to  talk  about  Grace  and  Rome,  I 
reaches  fer  me  hat,  knowing  that  he 
ain't  going  to  say  anything  that  ought 
to  keep  me  out  of  me  bed." 


JDWAL  JONES  of  "The  Splendid 
Shilling"  (Doubleday  Page)  knows 
"South  Wind"  better  than  he  does  the 
King  James  version  or  even  the  shorter 
catechism.  At  Hollywood  recently  he 
unburdened  his  enthusiasm  to  a  gath- 
ering of  the  movie  great.  Only  one  of 
the  company  had  read  the  book. 
"Shake,"  said  the  impetuous  admirer 
of  Norman  Douglas.  "Yes,"  was  the 
reply  that  went  with  the  extended 
hand,  "but  you  may  want  to  take  back 
the  shake  when  I  tell  you  that  I  found 
it  dreadfully  dull." 

Not  much  of  a  story,  but  ever  since 
hearing  it  we  have  been  puzzled  to 
picture  the  type  of  mind  that  could 
think  "South  Wind"  dull  and  uncon- 
vincing. But  you  never  can  tell — 
Voltaire  could  not  see  Shakespeare. 


The  San  Franciscan 
23 


The  Salon  in  the  home  of  Mrs.  Harry  Hill.     A  splendid  collection  of  French  Furniture. 

The  Adaptability  of  French  Furniture  to  the  xA^merican  Home 

Bv  R.  BERNARD  GELLICK 


HERE  in  America  with  its  city 
avenues  of  towering  apartment 
houses — its  atmosphere  of  rush- 
ing, hurrying  and  something  to  be 
done,  one  is  in  need  of  a  retreat  which 
offers  the  rest  that  tired  bodies  and 
nerves  demand.  Whether  the  room 
which  affords  that  retreat  happens  to 
be  large  or  small,  what  could  be  as 
pleasing  to  the  eye,  or  possess  more 
accessories  of  comfort,  than  one  decor- 
ated after  the  French  manner? 

But  when  one  suggests  the  use  of 
French  furniture  for  the  room  one 
has  to  live  in,  it  does  not  seem  to  con- 
vey the  sense  of  true  comfort  which 
the  American — more  sturdy  in  taste 
than  his  Old  World  brother — demands. 
However,  this  is  proving  quite  the 
contrary,  for  due  to  the  genius  of  the 


decorators  of  our  day,  articles  of 
furnishing  that  were  out  of  the  ques- 
tion a  short  time  back,  are  being  em- 
ployed in  modern  decoration  with  sur- 
prising results.  In  a  very  short  time 
the  idea  that  comfort  is  not  to  be 
found  in  French  furniture  will  have 
disappeared  completely. 

What  could  be  more  gratifying  than 
after  a  tiresome  day,  to  find  oneself 
seated  in  the  luxurious  comfort  of  a 
Begere,  a  chair  that  owes  its  origin  to 
the  pannier — (a  fashion  in  women's 
dress)  t  Though  not  created  for  com- 
fort, having  been  designed  to  give 
ample  room  to  the  voluminous  folds 
of  that  mode  of  the  hour,  it  survived 
its  original  use  and  as  early  as  the 
reign  of  Louis  X\'  developed  into  a 
thing  of  beauty  and   comfort.     Con- 


structed along  the  same  lines,  the 
effect  of  these  chairs  varies  consider- 
ably, due  to  the  shape  of  the  back, 
style  of  legs,  and  covering  used.  The 
Begere  therefore  affords  an  unlimited 
range  of  possibilities,  whether  it  be  in 
the  salon  of  the  mansion  or  the  small 
living-room  of  the  apartment. 

Equal  in  comfort  to  the  Begere  is 
the  Canape,  which  varies  in  size,  from 
the  smallest,  seating  two,  to  the  large 
size  seating  as  many  as  five  or  six. 
These  delightful  pieces  with  their 
graceful  curves  and  luxurious  uphol- 
stery cannot  be  equaled  by  any  form 
of  the  settee;  with  perhaps  the  excep- 
tion of  the  day-bed  as  conceived  by 
the  French.  The  latter  masterpieces 
of  perfection  can  be  had  from  the 
(Continued  on  page  34) 


The  San  Franciscan 
24 


Designing  as  An  Art 

Relating  the  Principles  of  Painting  and  Sculpture  in  Creating  the  Mode 

By  LUCIEN  LABAUDT 


THE  main  object  of  this  series  of 
articles  is  to  promote  the  idea 
of  creation  in  America.  At  pres- 
ent we  find  ourselves  in  a  position 
where  we  can  make  a  big  step  forward. 
For  twenty  years  I  have  watched  the 
slow  progress  of  evolution  that  will  in 
time  free  this  country  from  foreign 
fashion.  However,  we  have  not  yet 
arrived;  for  some  time  we  shall  need 
Paris  as  a  source  of  inspiration  and 
knowledge. 

We  are  now  beginning  to  understand 
that  creation  of  dresses  is  the  applica- 
tion of  the  fundamental  principles  of 
art  to  the  living  figure.  The  creation 
of  dresses  is  an  art  between  painting 
and  sculpturing.  Composition  is  the 
division  of  a  given  space.  The  model 
is  the  given  space  of  the  dress  creator 
as  the  canvass  is  that  of  the  painter 
and  the  block  of  granite  that  of  the 
sculptor. 

Since  designing  is  an  applied  art,  it 
follows  that  one  must  be  an  artist  to 
apply  these  principles.  The  designer 
must  know  just  what  these  principles 
are;  he  must  know  the  meaning  of  lines, 
angles,  curves  and  color.  He  must  be 
able  to  put  his  imagination  to  work 
daily.  He  has  not  months  in  which 
to  decide  upon  something  which  will 
be  an  answer  to  his  patrons'  demand. 

Designing  has  given  new  blood  to 
all  industries  for  it  is  based  upon  vital 
principles.  It  is  only  by  studying  art 
that  one  can  learn  those  things  essen- 
tial to  become  a  creator,  the  real 
architect  of  one's  work.  In  one  word, 
the  designer  must  be  able  to  apply  his 
knowledge  to  any  and  every  branch  of 
industry.  Modern  training  is  a  devel- 
opment of  the  individual's  creative 
powers  as  opposed  to  the  old  academic 
training  which  was  only  imitation. 
Because  the  academic  art  was  an  art 
of  imitation,  it  died.  "Dead  or  alive," 
which  do  you  want  to  be.'' 

San  Francisco  is  alive.  A  glance  back- 
ward will  satisfy  the  most  skeptical. 
Twenty  years  ago  this  city  was  in 
ashes;  today  it  stands  the  most  mod- 
ern and  most  active  city  in  the  West, 
with  the  best  surroundings  possible. 
It  stands  in  an  inspiring  land  which 
stimulates  the  imagination,  creates 
artists  and  makes  artists  creators. 

That  is  why  my  San  Francisco  and 
your  San  Francisco  is  already  the  art 


center  of  the  West.  Our  art  schools 
are  the  most  advanced  of  all  the  art 
schools  in  the  states  of  the  Union, 
New  York  and  Chicago  included.  Our 
women  are  the  best  dressed,  carrying 
out  that  wonderful  simplicity  of 
attire  which  always  has  been  and 
always  will  be  the  mother  of  elegance. 
This  alone  would  be  enough  to  tip 
the  scale  in  favor  of  San  Francisco 
as  an  art  center.  There  is  still  more — 
the  unsurpassed  gifts  of  nature — which 
make  her  unique  in  the  western  hemis- 
phere. 

We  San  Franciscans  have  everything, 
and  thanks  to  the  co-operative  and  re- 
ceptive public,  everything  is  flourish- 
ing. Let  us  keep  it  up  until  San  Fran- 
cisco will  be  not  only  the  art  center  of 
the  W^est,  but  of  all  America. 

Now  that  we  have  an  "apercue"  of 
how  styles  are  begun  by  applying  the 
fundamental  principles  of  art  to  the 
living  "given  space"  I  will  tell  you  of 
what  I  have  seen  in  Paris  and  how  one 
can  work  parallel  to  without  copying 
nor  even  buying  models  which  are  so 
soon  made  common  by  the  manufac- 
turing of  them  by  the  thousands. 

Paris  is  the  Mecca  for  inspiration; 
everywhere  one  finds  things  that  are 
interesting.  The  mind  of  the  creator 
of  fashion  is  always  alert  waiting  to 
catch  new  ideas,  in  whatever  field  they 
happen  to  be  and  apply  them  to  his 
particular  work.  He  gets  ideas  from 
glassware,  wrought  ironwork,  build- 
ings, landscapes,  etc.,  etc.  The  first 
thing  I  do  when  I  go  to  Paris  is  to  visit 
the  museums,  to  see  the  past;  then  I 
visit  the  modern  galleries,  to  see  the 
future,  for  painters  and  sculptors  give 
the  spark  that  sets  modern  industries 
in  motion;  then  I  go  to  the  races  where 
I  see  the  application  of  these  ideas  to 
modern  fashions,  as  advanced  models 
that  will  probably  be  worn  by  the 
"Grand  Public,"  for  from  six  months 
to  a  year  after.  I  go  to  the  theatres 
to  get  inspired  not  only  by  the  fash- 
ions of  today  but  also  by  the  beautiful 
period  costumes. 

This  season  the  striking  note  is  the 
use  of  sheer  materials — chiffons,  crepes, 
georgette,  romaine,  etc.,  for  evening, 
afternoon,  and  sports  wear.  This  is 
the  normal  evolution  from  the  cubiste 
"Degrede,"  from  light  to  dark  or  from 


dark  to  light  with  modifications.  Noth- 
ing could  give  a  better  impression  of 
this  than  layers  of  chiffon  placed  one 
on  top  of  the  other  so  that  we  have  the 
very  light  at  neck  grading  down  to  the 
very  dark  at  the  hem. 

Because  soft  materials  require  pleat- 
ing and  tucking  to  give  them  body, 
marvels  have  been  discovered  this  sea- 
son in  that  ancient  field  of  "garni- 
ture," pleating  in  lozenges,  the  box 
and  inverted  pleat,  the  sun-ray  pleat, 
and  other  combinations  of  pleating. 

Coats  after  an  attempt  at  the  flare 
effect  have  come  back  to  the  straight 
line  again.  Instead  of  being  in  one  piece 
as  of  yore,  the  piece  is  divided  into 
geometrical  patterns,  symmetrical  and 
eurythmical  to  suit  different  types. 

Furs  of  all  descriptions  from  the 
plain  little  insignificant  rabbit  to  the 
magnificent  and  sumptuous  peltries 
from  the  steppes  of  Siberia  and  the 
wildernesses  of  Labrador,  are  used  this 
season.  Here  in  San  Francisco,  I  have 
used  a  fur  never  used  before,  thanks  to 
a  customer  whose  husband  was  travel- 
ing in  the  Philippines  and  sent  her  some 
bat  skins.  This  fur  is  a  soft  brownish 
gray,  between  hair  and  down,  and 
most  remarkable  when  used  as  a  trim- 
ming. If  it  had  been  first  used  in 
Paris  it  would  have  been  heralded  as 
a  great  discovery;  here  it  would  have 
passed  into  oblivion  had  we  not  at  our 
disposal  "The  San  Franciscan." 

Painted  fabrics  are  also  used  a  great 
deal  this  season.  This  is  not  a  novelty 
to  me,  as  I  have  been  painting  scarfs, 
sleeves,  and  even  whole  dresses  for  my 
personal  friends,  for  many  years.  I 
have  also  introduced  the  use  of  egg 
shell  after  the  old  Chinese  fashion,  a 
process  brought  to  light  by  the  modern 
lacquerer. 

After  this  short  summary  of  the  fall 
fashions  we  have  also  a  forecast  for 
spring.  Our  spring  is  in  advance  of 
that  of  the  East;  we  are  bound  to  be 
ahead,  for  when  the  East  is  still  deep 
in  snow  we  have  already  worn  our 
spring  clothes  for  several  months  and 
therefore  no  longer  depend  upon  east- 
ern openings.  Many  easterners  who 
have  spent  the  winter  here  go  back 
with  clothes.  When  asked  if  their 
gowns  come  from  Paris  now  answer, 
"Oh,  no!  they  come  from  San  Fran- 
cisco." 


The  San  Franciscan 
25 


T  E  CYGNE—An  individ- 
ual creation  for  the  even- 
ing, blue  and  silver  metal 
tissue  trimmed  with  an  im- 
mense bozv'of  blue  tulle  de 
sole  attached  with  gold  and 
blue  lace  motifs. 

(Below) 


[Above) 


TDEFERSIBLE  evening 
wrap  of   black  and  rose 
velvet,  trimmed  with  platinum 
fox,  conceived  along    geomet- 
rical principles. 


lyjAVY  blue  woolen  rep 
afternoon  dress  with 
cape.  Long  waisted — semi- 
wrapped  skirt  having  pleat- 
ed inset  handed  with  gray 
chiffon,  which  matches  bat 
fur  on  cape. 

{Below) 


The  San  Franciscan 
26 


^ 


H 


ELMET  bearers  with  padded 
figures  surging  up  and  down  the 
gridirons  of  America  form  the 
sport  picture  for  November,  with  an 
ever-increasing  host  of  fans  crowding 
our  great  stadiums.  To  enthusiasts 
of  these  precincts  the  Stanford-Cali- 
fornia game  on  November  20  is  some- 
thing devoutedly  to  be  wished  for. 

In  the  glades  of  Strawberry  Canyon 
a  Golden  Bear  team,  tattered  and  torn, 
will  muster  all  of  its  strength  and  skill 
to  bring  back  some  little  honor  to  the 
institution  through  victory  over  the 
mighty  forces  of  the  Cardinal 

Banditry  will  again  come  to  the  fore 
with  holdup  men  walking  the  byways, 
searching  for  a  big  game  ticket  which 
looms  up  like  a  Kohinoor  in  late  No- 
vember. The  big  game  is  quite  the 
thing — not  only  for  the  dyed-in-the- 
wool  critic,  who  knows  every  shift 
and  every  formation,  but  to  the  curi- 
ous, the  halt  and  lame;  for  one  who 
does  not  join  in  the  festivities  on  that 
occasion  is  a  thing  apart. 

This  has  been  no  year  for  kings  nor 
for  queens — if  one  may  except  Marie 
from  the  turreted  castle  of  Bucharest. 
Proud  California  where  once  the  Won- 
der Team  illuminated  the  heavens,  is 
now  but  a  counterfeit  of  the  past, 
basing  their  hopes  on  fight  which  has 
not  deserted  them.  But  when  the  big 
game  arrives  all  pre-season  reckonings 
are  forgotten.  Form  never  counts  in 
this  gigantic  struggle  which  attracts 
more  spectators  than  any  other  foot- 
ball event  in  America. 

The  Oregon  Aggies  and  the  Trojans 
have  reached  the  heights  for  the  first 
time  in  years,  while  Washington  and 
Oregon,  glorious  in  the  past,  have 
taken  their  places  in  the  underworld 
with  California. 

The  brilliant  showing  made  by  the 
St.  Mary's  eleven  which  has  been 
running  like  a  well-oiled  machine, 
leaves  the  question  of  supremacy  on 
the  Pacific  Coast  very  much  in  the  air. 

Yale  rose  to  great  heights  early  in 
the  year  to  overthrow  the  Dartmouth 
machine,  but  later  succumbed  to 
Brown.  Then  Harvard,  just  breaking 
into  form  with  Horween  at  the  helm, 
lost  to  Geneva  and  Holy  Cross,  but 
brought  back  memories  of  the  great 


By  OWEN  MERRICK 


days  of  Haughton  by  eliminating 
Dartmouth  from  all  further  considera- 
tion as  a  champion. 

Princeton  has  not  lived  up  to  the 
standard  set  by  some  of  the  great 
Tiger  teams  of  the  past.    The  decision 


Lord  Wodehouse 


of  both  Yale  and  Old  Nassau  not  to 
scout  has  perhaps  hampered  these 
teams  somewhat,  although  the  full 
extent  of  the  move  will  not  be  deter- 
mined until  the  season  is  over. 


In  the  Middle  West  Michigan  and 
Ohio  builded  great  teams  this  year, 
but  Chicago  has  perhaps  the  weakest 
team  since  the  era  before  Walter 
Eckersall.  Coach  Yost  at  Ann  Arbor 
and  Coach  Wilce  at  Columbus  have 
developed  some  fine  material. 


/CALIFORNIA  mallet  men  are  en- 
deavoring  at  every  jump  to  popu- 
larize polo,  one  of  the  most  spectacular 
sports  we  have  in  the  realm  of  Ath- 
letics. 

The  appearance  of  Lord  Wodehouse 
here  this  season  should  do  much  to 
add  new  devotees  to  the  game.  The 
great  English  player  possesses  a  world 
of  color  properly  fitting  in  to  any 
combination  desired.  He  is  a  fine 
horseman  and  his  dashing  play  has 
earned  him  the  name  of  the  Eckersall 
of  the  greensward. 

When  Lord  Wodehouse  visited  Del 
Monte  last  year  he  expressed  a  desire 
to  return  to  California.  He  realized 
the  added  interest  in  the  game  and 
predicted  that  in  ten  years  this  section 
would  be  the  mecca  for  all  who  enjoy 
the  sport. 

He  will  return  here  this  season  to 
play  with  George  Gordon  Moore  who 
has  gathered  together  a  formidable 
aggregation.  So  enthusiasts  in  the 
bay  district  will  have  an  opportunity 
to  watch  this  very  capable  gentleman 
perform  at  El  Cerrito  and  other  fields. 

Two  years  ago  Cyril  Tobin,  who 
has  been  one  of  the  most  active  sports- 
men in  promoting  and  creating  inter- 
est in  the  game,  predicted  that  this 
section  would  have  fifty  players  of 
merit  within  three  years.  With  an- 
other year  to  pass  before  this  is  verified 
we  find  more  than  that  number  dash- 
ing up  and  down  the  field  battering 
the  willow  with  their  mallets. 

The  San  Mateo  Polo  Club  has  done 
much  to  promote  the  sport  here.  The 
public  stand  testifies  to  the  interest 
and  this  season  promises  to  be  one  of 
the  greatest  in  history.  Cliff  Weather- 
wax  who  has  thrown  aside  his  brassie 
for  the  mallet,  has  gathered  together 
some  fine  "cattle"  for  the  season.  He 
had  two  magnificent  mounts  at  Del 
Monte  last  year  that  Lord  Wodehouse 
praised. 


The  San  Franciscan 
27 


George  Gordon  IMoore  will  have  his 
stable  back  for  service  while  Tom 
Driscoll,  Willie  Crocker,  Willie  Tevis, 
Archibald  Johnson,  Lewis  Carpenter, 
and  others  will  take  the  saddle  for 
competition. 

Polo  enthusiasts  in  the  East  are 
awaiting  the  appearance  of  the  Cali- 
fornia polo  stars  with  Eric  Pedley, 
slated  for  a  place  on  the  international 
team.  The  great  showing  of  the  Mid- 
wick  team  on  the  Atlantic  Coast  has 
done  much  to  give  California  pub- 
licity— and  valuable  publicity  at  that. 

The  Presidio,  Berkeley,  Aptos,  and 
other  organizations  such  as  Stanford, 
where  the  game  is  growing,  have 
helped  greatly  to  interest  the  general 
public  in  the  sport  and  with  the  San 
Mateo  Polo  Club  setting  the  pace  we 
may  expect  much  this  season  when 
Lord  Wodehouse  arrives. 


A  NEW  record  for  yachting  interest 
■'*•  was  set  this  year  when  more  than 
Li,000  spectators  gathered  along  the 
Marina  to  watch  the  silver  sails  with 
spinnakers  up  sail  by  before  the  wind. 
The  southern  delegation  were  at  their 
best  in  light  weather,  but  with  strong 
winds  Arthur  Rousseau  and  his  Ace 
had  no  difficulty  winning  from  the 
Alert  III,  a  light-weather  craft. 

Now  that  the  public  has  taken  an 
interest  in  yachting  as  a  sport,  we  may 
expect  to  see  big  features  in  the  future. 
Clifford  Smith,  Arthur  Rousseau,  and 
other  enthusiasts  are  devoting  much 
of  their  time  planning  events  which 
will  be  of  interest.  Don  Lee  with  his 
Invader  was  on  hand  during  the  re- 
gatta and  his  work  coupled  with  the 
endeav^ors  of  Hiram  Johnson,  Jr.  did 
much  to  create  interest  in  a  sport  that 
had  lacked  the  proper  introduction. 

*     *     * 

U*EMININE  golfers  in  this  section 
are  endeavoring  to  revive  interest 
in  the  Pebble  Beach  championship 
which  promises  to  be  the  Pacific 
Coast's  premier  event  for  the  members 
of  the  fair  sex. 

The  appearance  of  Edith  Cummings, 
Mrs.  Fred  C.  Letts,  Louise  Fordyce, 
Dorothy  Richards,  Rosamund  Sher- 
wood and  a  host  of  other  stars  from 
the  East,  with  Mrs.  H.  G.  Hutchings 
from  Winnipeg,  always  a  welcome 
candidate,  indicated  that  this  feature 
was  the  one  to  look  forward  to. 

Last  year  the  interest  waned  and 
there  were  few  eastern  visitors.  Marion 
Hollins  has  been  the  perennial  cham- 
pion, and  deservedly  so,  as  she  has 
played  very  brilliant  golf  in  all  of  the 
tourneys. 


The  opening  of  the  Castlewood  Club 
this  year  will  bring  together  some  of 
the  best  amateurs  in  this  section.  Re- 
cently the  first  hole  was  opened  at  the 
former  estate  of  Mrs.  Phoebe  A. 
Hearst  and  all  who  visited  this  de- 
lightful spot  near  Pleasanton,  found 
it  Arcadia. 


npHE  "Motor  Car  of  Tomorrow" 
— This  phrase  from  the  language 
of  the  California  Sportsman  pre- 
faces a  tale  of  a  smart  powerfully 
motored  miniature  of  our  present-day 
good  car,  one  that  will  retain  the 
mechanical  excellence  of  a  Packard, 
Lincoln,  or  Cadillac. 

Present-day  traffic  conditions  cry 
out  for  this  "Car  of  Tomorrow,"  since 
town  driving  has  become  less  and  less 
a  utility  due  to  crowded  thorough- 
fares and  limited  parking  facilities,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  expense  of  upkeep. 

It  can  be  done — it  has  been  done. 
Europe  has  solved  this  problem  with 
the  tiny  models  of  England,  France 
and  Italy.  These  cars  are  dapper  and 
luxurious  in  appearance  and  the  motor- 
ist of  means  takes  a  pride  of  ownership 
in  them  accompanied  with  the  feeling 
of  confidence  one  appreciates  while 
driving  an  automobile  that  is  an  auto- 
mobile in  every  sense  of  the  word. 

There  are  many  small  American 
makes  that  cost  little  and  rattle  much 
— the  type  that  is  an  economical  fac- 
tor, a  family  necessity  to  those  who 
can  not  afford  the  best.  The  time  has 
arrived  when  the  man  of  means  who 
likes  to  drive  himself  and  is  willing  to 
pay  32000.00  or  more  for  the  privilege 
must  be  served. 

To  quote  a  well-known  dealer.  He 
says,  "My  factory  is  at  present  ex- 
perimenting with  just  this  type  of  car 
with  a  view  of  entering  this  field 
opened  through  traffic  conditions  and 
the  realization  of  the  small  car's  ad- 
vantages. There  will  always  be  a 
market  for  big  motor  cars  just  as 
there  is  a  market  for  steam  yachts,  but 
each  year  it  is  shrinking  in  favor  of 
small  car  development." 

Already  numerous  automobile  com- 
panies are  manufacturing  middle  size 
models,  but  these  are  not  up  to  the 
mechanical  standard  of  their  larger 
products  and  are  only  built  to  meet 
competition  in  their  respective  class. 
Authorities  predict  that  this  "Car  of 
Tomorrow"  will  be  of  a  standard  that 
America  does  not  boast  in  the  light 
car  field  of  1926.  It  will  be  new  from 
stem  to  stern;  just  when  the  American 
motor  industry  will  give  birth  to  the 
small  car  of  quality,   which  will   not 


need  the  constant  attention  of  an 
automotive  nurse,  is  a  matter  of 
speculation. 

The  January  San  Francisco  Auto- 
mobile Show  is  expected  to  bring 
forth  many  surprises.  Even  the  floor 
of  the  Civic  Auditorium  has  its  park- 
ing problems  and  the  baby  cars  will 
lessen  the  exhibitors'  space  worries. 

Wouldn't  we  love  to  sit  behind  the 
wheel  of  a  small,  smart,  quick  thing 
of  speed  with  a  speedier  motor.'  Per- 
haps we  will  when  the  designers  of 
the  automotive  industry  present  their 
brain  children  to  a  long-waiting  pub- 
lic—H.  B.,  Jr. 


T^AMSEY  HERBERHART  in  a 
••■^  recent  issue  of  "Thf  Spur"  writes 
an  interesting  article  on  the  American 
golfer  on  Continental  courses.  Mr. 
Herberhart  says: 

"The  casual  visitor  to  Rome,  going 
out  on  the  Appian  Way  to  the  Cata- 
combs of  St.  Calixtus,  is  likely  to  be 
astonished  to  find  the  familiar  cry  of 
'fore'  greeting  his  ears  close  by  the 
burial  place  of  the  early  Christian 
martyrs.  No  doubt  he  would  also  be 
astonished  to  know  that  Rome  has 
had  a  golf  course  since  1902.  A  few 
English  and  American  residents,  find- 
ing this  sport  essential  to  their  happi- 
ness in  Italy,  acquired  a  site  at  Acqua 
Santa,  less  than  three  miles  from 
town,  and  today  the  Rome  Golf  Club 
possesses  a  finely  laid  out  course  of 
eighteen  holes — with  no  artificial  haz- 
ards but  with  plenty  of  difficulties  to 
be  negotiated. 

Although  this  club  owes  its  exis- 
tence to  American  and  British  initia- 
tive, sixty  per  cent  of  its  three  hun- 
dred members  are  now  Italian — a  fine 
illustration  of  the  growing  national 
interest  in  the  sport.  With  the  King 
as  its  patron,  it  has  Don  Prospero 
Colonna,  Prince  of  Sonnino,  as  its 
president,  while  the  honorary  presi- 
dents are  Henry  P.  Fletcher,  the 
American  Ambassador,  and  Sir  Ron- 
ald Graham,  the  British  Ambassador. 
Thus  is  emphasized  most  felicitously 
the  tripartite  international  character 
of  this  organization.  R.  C.  R.  Young, 
who  has  devoted  so  much  of  his  time 
to  the  club  for  many  years,  is  the 
honorary  treasurer  and  Robert  Gor- 
don Morrison  is  the  secretary. 

The  Menaggio  and  Cadenabbia  Golf 
Club  has  been  in  existence  a  quarter  of 
a  century  or  so.  The  course  is  most 
picturesquely  located  between  Lake 
Como  and  Lake  Lugano,  some  fifteen 
hundred  feet  above  sea  level  and  a  mile 
from  the  Grandola  station. 


The  San  Franciscan 
28 


By  Oscar  H.  Fernbach 


THESE  are  the  days  when,  more 
than  ever,  the  large  cities  of  the 
western  shore  of  these  United 
States  are  striving  for  supremacy. 
Los  Angeles  to  the  southward,  and 
Seattle  and  Portland  on  the  north, 
seek  to  vie  with  the  city  at  the  Golden 
Gate,  watching  her  with  envious  eyes, 
and  hoping  some  day  to  equal  her  in 
development. 

Along  some  lines,  perhaps  they  may 
— some  day.  The  task  will  be  a 
mighty  difficult  one,  at  best.  But  in 
one  direction,  at  least,  their  hopes  will 
prove  futile.  San  Francisco  ever  has 
been,  is  and  ever  will  be  the  financial 
and  commercial  center  of  the  Pacific 
Coast. 

Its  geographical  location,  primarily, 
guarantees  it  the  eternal  champion- 
ship in  this  regard.  It  stands,  the 
gateway  to  the  Orient,  and  the  great 
relay  point  on  the  commercial  high- 
way from  the  Pacific  slope  to  the 
coasts  of  Central  and  South  America. 
It  is  most  directly  connected  with  the 
great  financial,  commercial  and  indus- 
trial centers  of  the  vast  region  east  of 
the  Rocky  Mountains.  There  passes 
annually  through  its  splendid  harbor 
a  tonnage  that  is  exceeded  only,  in  the 
United  States,  by  the  port  of  New 
York.  From  it  radiate  the  shortest 
and  most  direct  roads  to  California's 
vast  agricultural  and  mining  sections. 
To  its  warehouses  pours  steadily  the 
stream  of  California's  products,  on 
their  way  to  the  four  quarters  of  the 
globe.  In  its  strong-boxes  are  found 
the  funds  sufficient  to  promote  most 
of  California's  enterprises  without  re- 
course to  Wall  Street.  Its  financiers 
stand  in  the  highest  rank  of  nationally 
and  internationally  known  bankers. 
The  resources  of  its  financial  institu- 
tions are  surpassed  by  but  few  of  those 
of  New  York  or  Chicago.  Close  at 
hand,  the  development  of  the  indus- 
trial area  in  cities  which,  though 
politically  separated  from  it  are  part 
and  parcel  of  its  great  metropolitan 
district  in  a  geographic  and  economic 
sense,  gives  it  added  solidity  and  pre- 
eminence on  the  Pacific  shores. 

No  sudden  boom — no  inflated  oper- 
ation has  brought  about  these  envi- 
able conditions.  The  financial  strength 
of  San  Francisco  has  been  accomplished 
by  a  steady  growth,  influenced  ob- 
viously by  the  fundamental  economic 


advantages  which  were  bound  to  im- 
pel it  forward  to  a  position  which  no 
other  city  might  hope  to  attain. 

In  the  financial  development  which 
has  characterized  the  entire  country 
since  the  World  War,  the  fortunes  of 
which  transferred  the  seat  of  the 
world's  monetary  dictatorship  from 
Europe  to  the  United  States,  San 
Francisco  has  taken  an  important  part. 
The  past  six  or  seven  years  have  been 
characterized  by  a  local  growth  of 
financial  importance  exceeding  even 
the  most  sanguine  expectations.  Space 
is  lacking  here  more  than  to  touch 
upon  the  national  and  international 
expansion  of  the  business  of  the  Anglo 
and  London  Paris  National  Bank,  of 
the  Bank  of  Italy,  of  the  Mercantile 
Trust  Company  and  its  recently  ac- 
quired partner,  the  American  Bank, 
of  the  Crocker-First  National  Bank, 
and  of  others  of  this  city's  financial 
institutions.  One  may  only  mention 
briefly,  likewise,  the  vast  expansion 
of  industrial  and  commercial  enter- 
prises whose  fiscal  affairs  find  their 
center  in  San  Francisco — among  them 
a  number  of  the  big  oil  corporations, 
the  public  utility  organizations,  and 
similar  institutions. 

Perhaps  the  development  of  these 
enterprises  is  most  strikingly  reflected 
in  the  growth  of  the  local  financial 
market.  The  San  Francisco  Stock 
and  Bond  Exchange  today  stands 
second  only  to  Wall  Street  in  volume 
of  business  done,  and  in  value  of 
securities  sold  upon  its  floors.  The 
field  of  investment  has  grown  apace. 
No  longer  need  the  San  Franciscan, 
nor,  indeed,  the  Californian  generally, 
turn  to  Eastern  enterprises  to  which 
profitably  to  confide  his  funds.  One 
need  but  point  to  The  Pacific  Gas  & 
Electric  Company,  the  Pacific  Tele- 
phone and  Telegraph  Company,  the 
Paraffine  Companies,  Inc.,  the  Cater- 
pillar Tractor  Company  of  California, 
Standard  Oil  Company  of  California, 
California  Packing  Corporation — to 
say  nothing  of  the  banks  and  vast 
holding  corporations — as  just  a  few  of 
the  organizations  whose  stocks  and 
whose  bonds  have  far  greater  latent 
possibilities  than  those  of  the  greater 
number  of  corporations  that  are  listed 
on  the  New  York  Stock  Exchange. 

As  to  the  business  done  by  the  port 
of  San  Francisco,  one  need  but  refer 


to  the  statistical  statement  of  the 
Collector  of  the  Port,  for  the  month 
of  August  (the  latest  available  figures), 
to  realize  the  steady  growth  of  this 
city's  import  and  export  trade. 

During  the  month  in  question,  the 
value  of  our  exports  was  317,043,689, 
the  largest  of  any  corresponding  period 
of  any  year  save  those  of  the  World 
War.  At  the  same  time,  there  passed 
through  this  port  a  total  of  ?14,827,893 
of  foreign  imports,  to  say  nothing  of 
domestic  imports  amounting  to  316,- 
865,553. 


CAN  FRANCISCO  is  also  great  in 
'^  another  respect.  The  port  of  ex- 
portation for  millions  of  dollars  worth 
of  manufactured  goods,  textiles  and 
foodstuffs,  shipped  yearly  from  all  the 
commercial  centers  in  the  United 
States  to  the  Pacific  islands,  the 
Orient,  and  Australasia,  it  is  also  the 
port  of  entry  for  immense  shipments 
of  materials  from  distant  trans-Pacific 
climes.  Ideal  in  every  way  for  its 
office  as  the  gateway  to  the  greatest 
republic  in  the  world,  San  Francisco 
with  its  immense  population  of  thriv- 
ing people,  its  modern  and  ample  stor- 
age accommodations  for  goods  and 
materials  pending  transit,  its  markets 
and  marts,  its  sound  financial  institu- 
tions and  its  plenteous  and  splendid 
docking  and  harbor  facilities,  is  des- 
tined to  take  its  place  as  the  greatest 
seaport  in  the  world. 

To  facilitate  the  realization  of  San 
Francisco's  potential  era  of  greatness 
the  PORT  SAN  FRANCISCO  PROJ- 
ECT has  been  planned  and  is  an 
evolution  from  the  original  effort  to 
locate  a  satisfactory  industrial  plant 
location  on  San  Francisco  Bay  to  the 
realization  of  the  dire  need  for  a 
modern  industrial  center  having  deep 
water  facilities  and  finally  to  the  con- 
ception of  Port  San  Francisco  which 
experts  and  engineers  consider  the 
most  excellent  solution  of  the  manu- 
facturer-to-shipper problem.  The 
greatly  augmented  commercial  and  in- 
dustrial prosperity  that  this  compre- 
hensively conceived  and  scientifically 
constructed  project  will  bring  to  the 
San  Francisco  district  is  little  realized. 

The  Port  is  to  be  located  about 
twenty  miles  down  the  peninsula  and 


The  San  Franciscan 
29 


on  the  deep  water  channel  of  the  bay. 
Containing  about  four  thousand  five 
hundred  acres  of  land  and  with  two 
and  a  half  miles  of  bay  frontage,  it 
extends  to  the  tracks  of  the  Southern 
Pacific  and  has  liberal  frontage  on 
the  county  road  and  the  State  High- 
way. The  Bay  Shore  Boulevard  will 
also  pass  through  the  property. 

Contracts  have  been  executed  for 
the  dredging  of  approximately  twenty 
million  cubic  yards  of  material  which 
will  create  fifty  thousand  lineal  feet  of 
wharfage  with  a  depth  of  thirty  feet. 
Thus  one  thousand  acres  of  industrial 
land,  filled  properly,  no  part  of  which 
will  be  more  than  twelve  hundred  feet 
from  deep  water  will  be  made  avail- 
able for  industrial  sites.  Industrial 
highways  and  belt  line  railroads  will 
serve  the  plants  which  will  receive 
every  provision  for  adequate  freight 
express  and  transportation  service. 

The  City  of  Port  San  Francisco,  to 
be  model  in  every  respect  will  lie  on  a 
very  desirable  site  of  land  which 
stretches  between  the  boulevards  and 
is  being  designed  by  Harland  Bar- 
tholomew, the  nationall)'  celebrated 
city-planning  engineer. 

Thus  will  San  Francisco  be  bene- 
fited by  a  project  that  will  enhance 
her  prestige,  glorify  her  harbor,  utilize 
her  wonderful  natural  resources,  and 
greatly  assist  her  industries. 
*     *     * 

COME  of  the  lines  of  industry  of 
'^  which  San  Francisco  is  the  undis- 
puted center  for  the  Pacific  Coast  are: 

The  Furniture  industry;  San  Fran- 
cisco having,  in  addition  to  her  sixty- 
nine  furniture  factories,  the  largest 
and  finest  Furniture  Exchange  west  of 
Chicago. 

The  Apparel  Manufacturing  Cen- 
ter; with  a  new  eleven-story  Apparel 
Center  Building  just  being  erected  to 
provide  a  market  center  for  this  grow- 
ing industry. 

The  Coffee  industry,  with  twenty 
coffee  roasteries  in  San  Francisco.  San 
Francisco  has  become  so  well  recog- 
nized nationally  as  the  Western  coffee 
center  that  the  United  States  Govern- 
ment has  recently  ordered  that  all 
bids  for  coffee  ordered  by  the  Navy 
shall  be  opened  in  San  Francisco. 

The  Sugar  industry;  the  only  sugar 
refineries  on  the  Coast  being  here,  one 
of  which  is  the  largest  in  the  world. 

The  Steel  industry;  with  largest 
mills  on  the  Coast. 

This  list  could  be  extended  indefi- 
nitely, taking  up  line  after  line  in  which 
San  Francisco  is  the  manufacturing 
center,  an  enumeration  which  would 
lead  us  all  the  way  from  chocolate  and 
salt  to  tennis  rackets  and  savings 
banks. 


THE  SAN  FRANCISCO  BANK 


SAVINGS 


COMMERCIAL 


INCORPORATED  FEBRUARY  10th,  1868 

One  of  the  Oldest  Banks  in  California 
the  Assets  of  which  have  never  been  increased 
by  mergers  or  consolidations  with  other  Banks 


MEMBER  ASSOCIATED  SAVIXGS  BANKS  OF  SAX  FRAXCISCO 

526  California  Street,  San  Francisco,  Cal. 

JUNE  30th,  1926 

Assets - - $109,430,478.72 

Capital,  Reserve  and  Contingent  Funds  4,400,000.00 

Employees'  Pension  Fund  over  $557,000.00, 

standing  on  Books  at  1.00 


MISSION  BRANCH....  ■•- - Mission  and  21st  Streets 

PARK-PRESIDIO    BR.\NCH.... Clement  St.  and  7th  Ave. 

H.\IGHT  STREET   BR.\NCH...- Haight  and  Belvedere  Streets 

WEST  PORTAL   BRANCH ■- .AVest  Portal  .\ve.  and  Ulloa  St. 

Interest  paid  on  Deposits  at  the  rate  of 

FOUR  AND  ONE-QUARTER  (4'4)  per  cent  per  annum, 

COMPUTED  MONTHLY  and  COMPOUNDED  QUARTERLY, 

AND  MAY  BE  WITHDRAWN  QUARTERLY 


American 

Finance  & 
Commerce  Co. 

INCORPOR.\TED 

Importers  and 

Exporters 


Established 
1877 


150  California  Street 
San  Francisco 


Investment  Securities 


E.  R.  Gundelfinger,  Inc. 

Kohl  Bldg. 
San  Francisco 


Hoefling,    Hendnckson  & 
Company 

Investment  Securities 


Crocker  First  National  Bank 
Building 

SAN  FRANCISCO 


900  State  St.. 
SANTA  BARBARA 


The  San  Franciscan 
30 


produced  almost  everything  to  date 
but  an  Aimee  IMcPherson.  Which  is 
only  another  way  of  proving  that  our 
provincialism  has  been  untainted  by 
moronitis. 

But,  all  this  is  in  the  past  tense. 
The  question  before  the  house  is, 
what  are  we  producing  nozv?  How 
are  we  surviving  the  assaults  of  Main 
Street?  What  resistance  are  we  offer- 
ing to  the  blandishments  of  Broad- 
way?— which  is  after  all,  merely  Main 
Street  glorified.  Are  we  substituting 
the  provincialism  of  the  mob  for  the 
provincialism  of  individuality? 

One  of  the  charges  that  has  always 
been  brought  against  San  Francisco  is 
that  her  citizens  lack  the  goose-step 
caliber  of  mind  that  takes  program 
from  boosting  clubs  whose  real  busi- 
ness in  life  is  to  mentally  Prussianize 
us.  A  charge  which  has  never  af- 
frighted me  in  the  least.  How  we  all 
fought  and  bled  and  died  over  differ- 
ences of  opinion  regarding  everything 
about  the  Exposition,  from  its  site 
down  almost  to  fixing  the  date  of  its 
closing.  What  calls  to  arms!  What 
trumpeting!  What  dreadful  parley! 
In  short,  what  fun! 

What  was  the  result?  One  of  the 
most  beautiful  expositions  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  country.  A  thinking  pub- 
lic is  always  a  scrapping  public.  One 
learns  by  listening,  not  by  prostrating 
oneself  before  the  Juggernaut  of  the 
"puU-togethers."  If  San  Francisco 
had  been  filled  with  what  is  so  often 
misnamed  by  Main  Street  boosters, 
community  spirit,  her  exposition  would 
have    been    built    by    local    concrete 


Provincialism 

{Continued  from  page  7) 

mixers  and  plumbers — instead  of  by 
the  artists  of  the  world.  For  it  takes 
a  city  that  has  produced  artists  to 
realize  that  it  has  no  corner  on  the 
creative  market.  We  have  made  mis- 
takes, many  of  them,  but  I  would 
rather  be  a  mistake  in  a  community 
with  zest  enough  for  a  fight  than  the 
most  glorious  achievement  possible  in 
a  flock-minded  commonwealth. 

But  how  long  will  San  Francisco  at 
once  preserve  her  spirit  and  her  charm? 
How  long  can  she  suffer  the  slings  and 
arrows  of  outrageous  rotarianism?  For 
the  deluge  of  mob  provincialism  is 
upon  us.  How  long  will  we  be  a  city 
of  hotels  named  for  St.  Francis  and 
Mark  Hopkins  instead  of  a  city  of 
hotels  called  the  Ritz-Carlton  and  the 
Biltmore?  How  soon  will  "Tait's-at- 
the-Beach"  be  known  as  the  "Moulin 
Rouge,"  let  us  say?  And  when  will 
"Child's"  restaurants  descend  upon 
us?  When  will  the  name  of  \"alencia 
Street  be  changed  to  South  Market? 
When  will  the  Alcazar  Theatre  be 
called  "The  Gaiety"?  Ah,  you  are 
laughing,  my  friends!  You  think  my 
fears  either  trivial  or  unfounded.  If 
you  think  them  trivial,  I  have  no  more 
to  say.  If  you  think  them  unfounded 
call  to  mind  at  random  some  of  the 
names  that  have  passed.  Better  still, 
think  how  few  remain. 

Let  us  be  unashamed  and  unapolo- 
getic  of  our  past.  And  verily  we  shall 
be  unafraid  of  our  future.  In  other 
words  let  us  continue  to  be  as  provin- 
cial as  democracy  will  permit  us  to  be; 
not  provincial  in  the  mob  sense,  but 
provincial  in  the  individual  sense. 


Cinema  League 


the  feminine  half  of  Hollywood  helps 
to  fan  the  flame  of  foreign  popularity. 

Some  of  the  names  concerned  with 
the  most  recent  productions  look  as 
though  miniature  Leagues  of  Nations 
are  being  formed.  Take  "The  Hotel 
Imperial."  Erich  Pommer,  the  Ger- 
man, supervised  it;  Mauritz  Stiller, 
the  Swede,  directed  it;  Alexis  David- 
off,  the  Russian,  was  the  military 
technical  advisor,  while  Pola  Negri 
was  the  star. 

This  vogue  for  foreigners  has  even 
touched  the  private  lives  of  some  of 
our  Americans.  Gloria  Swanson  mar- 
ried the  Marquis  de  la  Falaise.  Then 
Constance  Talmadge  married  Captain 
Alastair  Mackintosh  and  went  to  Lon- 
don on  a  honeymoon  where  she  suc- 


[Continued  from  page  16) 

ceeded  in  luring  the  Prince  of  Wales  to 
dinner   party. 


a  dmner  party.  And  now  we  learn 
that  Mae  Murray  has  just  married 
Count  David  Divani. 

Some  of  these  international  compli- 
cations have  an  ironical  twist.  Emil 
Jannings,  star  of  "Variety,"  for  whom 
every  American  director  is  bidding  is 
an  American.  But  he  has  that  inde- 
finable foreign  flavor,  which  means 
that  he  is  placed  on  the  heights  of 
Hollywood's  latest  gilded  pedestal. 

Where  this  craze  will  stop,  or  when, 
no  one  knows.  But  it  is  a  certainty 
that  to  a  nation  grown  used  to  the 
feeble  stimulation  of  near  beer,  a  bit 
of  old  world  champagne  will  do  no 
harm. 


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The  San  Franciscan 
31 


Three 

{Continued 

robbed  his  face  of  all  its  eagerness  and 
put  a  look  of  distance  in  his  eyes,  that 
saw  so  far  beyond,  so  high  above  her, 
yet  failed  utterly  to  focus  on  the  de- 
tails of  her  person.  His  voice  had  no 
enthusiasm  as  he  spoke. 

"Irene — I  don't  know  how  to  tell 
you  or  just  what  to  say — I  can't  dress 
the  fact  up  in  words — to  make  it 
easier — for  you.  jMaybe — you've  seen 
it  coming.  It  had  to  come — some 
day."  He  hurried  on,  hating  to  pro- 
long the  pain  he  caused,  hoping  against 
knowledge  that  her  love  would  wither 
with  the  blow  of  its  rejection. 

"I'm  engaged.  Somehow  I  don't 
want  to  talk  about  it — here.  I'v* 
come  to  tell  you  and  say  good-bye.  It 
can't  go  on  now — you  must  see  that. 
It's  not  as  if  you  can't  find  others." 

"The  rent  is  paid  until  next  month 
— Irene — don't  look  so!  You'll  forget 
by  then." 

There  was  a  pause,  broken  by  the 
song  of  a  bird,  a  happy  song,  telling  of 
love,  but  the  man  didn't  understand. 
He  only  heard  the  bubbling  of  coffee 
in  the  pot. 

"I'm  sorry  I  can't  stay  for  supper. 
I'm  going — there.  Why  drag  it  out? 
It  only  makes  it  worse.  Let's  say 
good-bye — I'm  late  for  dinner  now." 

Then  he  kissed  her,  with  regret,  but 
no  longing;  with  a  tender  fondness,  but 
no  passion,  and  turned  to  go.  At  the 
door  he  stopped. 

"Oh,  I  nearly  forgot."  He  took  out 
a  key  ring  from  his  pocket,  detached 
one  and  laid  it  on  the  stand.  That  was 
all.  She  heard  a  door  slam,  and  he 
was  gone.  *     *     * 

A    pungent    odor   of    burned    coffee 

crossed    the    room.      The   Angel    had 

followed  a  smiling  face  and  a  happy 

heart,  but  he  had  found  a  tear. 
*     *     * 

III 

IT  was  a  well-appointed  library;  sim- 
ple in  its  luxury,  showing  a  super- 
refinement  in  its  taste.  The  fitful 
firelight  lingered  caressingly  on  a  fine 
old  Gobelin  tapestr>,',  flickered  over 
the  vellum  bindings  on  the  shelves  and 
the  rare  Italian  antiques.  One  recog- 
nized the  choice  of  a  collector,  and 
realized  the  wealth  beneath  it  all. 
Here  surely  happiness  must  dwell. 

A  man  sat  tense  by  the  hearth,  at 
his  elbow  a  litter  of  unread  papers, 
ashes  and  countless  dead  and  twisted 
cigarettes.  A  drained  glass  and  half 
emptied  bottle  had  failed  to  wipe  the 
anxiety  from  his  face,  which  the  dim 
shaded  lights  revealed. 

Nervously  he  started  up  and  re- 
sumed his  pacing.  Somewhere  in  the 
house    a    distant    clock    struck    five. 


Tears 

from  page  14) 

Under  the  drawn  curtains  crept  the 
gray  fingers  of  dawn.  From  afar  he 
heard  the  sounds  of  a  world  awakening, 
but  it  was  to  the  room  above  his  ears 
were  strained.  Now  and  then  he 
heard  a  hurried  step,  an  intermittent 
murmur  of  voices,  a  suppressed  groan 
— and  then  a  cry,  faint  at  first,  then 
stronger,  ending  in  all  the  fury  of  a 
new-born  babe's  first  protest  to  the 
world. 

The  man  sank  down  once  again  by 
the  fire.  A  joy  had  relaxed  the  awful 
fear  that  clutched  his  heart.  There 
was  a  haste  of  purpose  in  the  footsteps 
now  that  crossed  and  recrossed  over 
his  head.  He  was  held  captive  by  his 
promise  in  the  room — chained  by  his 
word  not  to  enter  where  that  bitter 
struggle  had  gone  on  in  the  \'alley  of 
the  Shadow  of  Death. 

It  was  quiet  above,  dreadfully  quiet, 
with  not  even  a  whimper  from  the  in- 
fant to  reassure  him.  \\  hy  didn't 
someone  come? 

He  waited  through  an  endless  etern- 
ity; aeons  passed  unrecorded  by  the 
clock.  His  muscles  twitched,  a  per- 
spiration cold  and  clammy  as  the 
grave  forced  its  way  through  every 
pore  of  his  body. 

Finally  a  step,  weary,  slow  and  heav)-, 
overhead.  A  door  closed  and  he  heard 
the  doctor  coming  down  the  stairs. 

There  was  no  smile  on  the  doctor's 
face,  and  something  in  his  eyes  that 
searched  the  very  soul  of  the  man  be- 
fore him,  something  like  a  great  pity. 
The  doctor's  words  came  slowly,  fear- 
fully, as  if  dreading  theirown  utterance. 

"Lee,  a  father  suflFers  too  in  child- 
birth. You  ought  to  know.  You  look 
as  if  you'd  scoured  hell  tonight." 

He  checked  the  interruption  he  saw 
trembling  on  the  drawn  lips. 

"You  have  a  son — God!  man,  it's 
hard  to  hurt  you  so,  but  it  will  be 
harder  for  you  to  bear.  Your  child  is 
blind.  There's  not  a  chance  on  earth 
he  will  see.  Go  read  it  somewhere  in 
your  books,  "Unto  the  third  and  fourth 
generations." 

The  portieres  dropped  into  place, 
swayed  a  moment,  and  were  still,  but 
the  man  wasn't  alone.  At  his  side  an 
Angel  stood — waiting — not  in  vain  for 
a  tear. 


TIP'  through  the  cold  infinity  of 
space,  borne  on  the  freezing 
winds  from  the  outer  darkness  the 
Angel  sped,  and  begged  for  entrance 
at  Heaven's  Gate.  In  his  eyes  was 
knowledge,  and  in  his  hands«"three 
tears  that  he  humbly  laidjbefore  the 
throne  of  God. 


IK 

Exclusne 
Sports  Clothes 

453  Post  Street 
SAN  FRANCISCO 


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HARRY    DIXON 
UNUSUAL  DESIGNS 

HANDWROUGHT       IN 

COPPER,  BRASS,  GOLD, 
SILVER    AND    IRON 


STUDIO 

3 

TILLMAN 

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TELEPHONE 

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13  68 


AT    241    GRANT    AVENUE 


The  San  Franciscan 
32 


Black  Songs 

{Conlinued  from  page  17) 

It  belongs  to  the  sons  of  Africa  who 
are  just  beginning  to  learn  that  the 
sleeping  ache  of  the  centuries  can  be 
transmuted  into  Art.  The  negro  of 
today  who  stands  before  you  on  the 
concert  platform  may  be  a  naive,  a 
simple  person.  With  the  exception  of 
Roland  Hayes,  whose  brain  is  keen 
and  whose  understanding  of  the  text 
he  is  singing  as  great  as  that  of  any 
artist  living,  many  negro  artists  are 
unaware  of  the  thing  they  hold  in  their 
dusky  hands. 

They  own  pain  made  tangible;  the 
essence  of  all  Art  since  the  steep  road 
to  Golgotha  bloomed  with  imperish- 
able beauty.  They  hold  the  valuable 
primitive  quality  which  is  rapidly 
passing  from  the  earth. 

Music  and  sculpture  are  primitive: 
the  negro  should  find  himself  in  them. 
They  hold  the  memory  of  the  winding 
Kongo,  the  oneness  with  the  lush  black 
jungle  earth  that,  in  torrid  darkness, 
yet  is  opulent  with  life. 

And  theirs  is  a  strange  language  to 
the  white  artist,  reared  in  a  world  from 
which  agony,  primitive  lusts,  the 
primordial  Sun's  searing  finger  must, 
of  a  necessity,  be  gone.  The  black 
singer  must  be  encouraged  that  we 
may  preserve  this  fine  flowering  of  the 
years  in  his  race;  this  contribution  to 
modernity  which  his  white  brother  can 
never  take  from  him. 


New  York  Correspondent 

{Continued  front  page  12) 
The  melancholy  autumn  seems  to 
encourage  the  growth  and  spreading 
of  Ye  Beautie  Shoppes — there  must 
be  something  in  the  sighing  of  the 
wind  and  the  rattle  of  chains  on  the 
taxi  wheels  that  reminds  the  dowager 
of  her  sagging  neck  muscles.  Just  off 
Park  Avenue  on  Fiftieth  Street,  Fanny 
Ward,  young  as  she  was  a  quarter  of 
a  century  ago,  is  opening  an  elaborate 
salon  to  be  devoted  to  the  art  of  per- 
petuating pulchritude.  A  desk  that 
belonged  to  the  late  Czar  of  Russia, 
priceless  tapestries  and  furnishings 
once  possessed  by  J.  Pierpont  Morgan 
ought  to  distract  the  eye  not  satisfied 
with  its  own  reflection  in  the  great 
mirrors  (before  treatment,  of  course). 
There  seems  to  be  considerable  in  a 
name  when  it  comes  to  the  matter  of 
hair-bobbing  in  New  York.  Once 
upon  a  time  a  striped  pole  had  a  strong 
and  sufficient  association  in  our  minds 
with  the  variety  and  price  of  a  trim. 
Now  the  pole  has  become  a  plebeian 
symbol.  What  is  becoming  of  the  far- 
famed  Eastern  reserve.^     Francesca. 


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Altogether  our  wide-awake  neighbors 
on  the  Coast  are  spending  well  over 
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The  San  Franciscan 
33 


Sixty  Years  of  Sock  and 
Buskin 

(Continued  frym  page  11) 

and  the  movie.     The  classic  drama  is 
as  dead  as  smoked  mackerel. 

What  regisseur  can  revive  it.?  The 
last  attempt  at  presenting  sublime 
pageantry  to  an  unwilling  public  was 
in  Julia  Arthur's  stately  "Joan  of 
Arc,"  Shaw-done  in  the  finest  baroque 
tradition.  It  played  to  a  corporal's 
guard,  and  the  receipts  in  Calgary 
were  three  times  as  great  as  they  were 
in  San  Francisco. 

Dramatically  speaking,  San  Fran- 
cisco has  seen  better  days.  But,  hang 
it  all,  so  has  every  other  city  in  the 
wide  land.  The  phenomenon  is  uni- 
versal, for  that  matter.  The  change 
has  come.  We  worship  three  gods  in 
our  new  Cosmogony:  Chaplin,  Fair- 
banks, Pickford.  The  swell  movie 
houses  are  our  cathedrals.  We  don't 
know  what  it's  all  about,  but  we  know 
all's  going  to  end  happily,  because  the 
Hollywood  doors  are  firmly  barred 
against  the  artist. 

There's  still  a  ray  of  light.  Stage 
acting,  on  the  whole,  is  better  than  it 
was  five  years  ago.  Henry  Duffy's 
stock  houses  purvey  light  and  agree- 
able drama  with  technique  and  mise- 
en-scene  that  is  surprisingly  good. 
The  sporadic  production  of  plays  here 
may  augur  much  or  nothing  at  all. 
And  there's  the  Little  Theatre. 

Something  may  happen  yet,  as  a 
reward  for  good  manners.  The  cat- 
calls and  jeers  of  vulgar  Cockney 
gallery-gods,  the  evil  manners  of  the 
Parisian  bourgeoisie,  and  the  like,  are 
happily  unknown  in  our  fair  city. 
Live  and  let  live.  We  are  out  for  a 
good  time,  and  deplore  past  days  not 
at  all. 

Nowhere  is  there  vitality  in  drama, 
save  in  Germany.  Of  joy  in  the  thea- 
tre, of  sublime,  brutal  and  awe-inspir- 
ing pageantry.  Max  Reinhardt,  with 
his  ingenious  simplicity  and  genius 
alone,  seems  to  possess  the  secret.  He 
welds  actors  and  audience  into  one. 
He  will  try  it  here  in  December  with 
"The  Miracle." 

Let  him  come.  And  bring  with  him 
Jannings,  Veidt,  Moissi,  Camilla  Eib- 
enschutz  and  Tilla  Durieux,  and  Paul 
Wegener.  We  need  them  the  worst 
way,  and  shall  keep  them — to  support 
our  pet  little  girl  stars  in  Hollywood. 
It  will  help  our  life  to  be  more  amusing. 
And  if  so — what  of  it? 


BUSINESS  judgment 

BROUGHT  HOME-— 

YOUNG  Mrs.  Wellford  was  talking  about  her  hus- 
band's recent  illness. 
"Bill  was  home  for  a  whole  week.  It  was  his  first  real 
chance  to  see  me  in  action  as  a  housewife — we've  been 
married  only  a  year,  you  know. 

"The  third  day  he  said  to  me:  'Sally,  you  need  an  Ex- 
tension Telephone.  You're  wearing  yourself  out,  run- 
ning up  and  down  stairs  and  from  room  to  room  every 
time  the  telephone  rings.  1  never  realized  before  how 
much  a  woman  will  put  up  with  without  complaining. 
I  wouldn't  stand  for  it  a  minute  in  my  office.'  "  (Well- 
ford's  Inc.  was  a  model  office.) 
"And  so.'"  said  her  visitor. 
"There  it  is,"  said  Sally  proudly. 
An  Extension  Telephone  costs  only  a  few  cents  a  week. 

Order  One  NOW  at  Our  Business  OflSce 


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511  Howard  St.  Sutter  970 

SAN  FRANCISCO 


The  San  Franciscan 
34 


French  Furniture 

{Continued  from  page  23) 

ornate  and  brocaded  creations  of  the 
Louis  Quinze  Period,  to  the  classic 
simplicity  of  the  Empire  Period. 

To  those  who  appreciate  the  beauty 
produced  by  a  perfectly  appointed 
room,  it  is  of  interest  to  know  that  the 
main  part  of  the  success  is  due  to  the 
grouping  of  the  furniture  desired. 
Whether  the  effect  to  be  obtained  is 
of  weight  or  refreshing  lightness,  what 
type  of  furniture  offers  a  greater  field 
to  choose  from  than  that  of  the 
French,  with  its  commodes,  tables  and 
desks  of  every  description.''  These 
exquisite  antique  or  carefully  repro- 
duced creations,  beautiful  in  m.ar- 
quetry  and  carving,  bronze-galleried 
and  marble-topped  in  various  colors, 
are  a  joy  to  the  eye. 

It  is  the  use  of  mirrors  and  crystals, 
porcelains,  lamps  and  screens  in  a 
room,  that  reveals  the  character  and 
personality  of  its  owner,  as  lights  and 
shadows  reflect  the  glory  of  a  painting. 
And  from  the  markets  of  France  come 
these  delightful  objects  in  the  form  of 
cut  mirrors,  half  framed  with  paint- 
ings and  prints  of  richly-colored  land- 
scapes; tiny  pairs  of  mirrors,  with  fes- 
tooned frames  of  gilded  carving,  re- 
flecting the  dazzling  brilliance  of  cut 
crystal  on  candelabra  or  sconce.  A 
pair  of  magnificent  urns  to  be  placed 
on  commode,  console  or  mantel,  as  the 
choice  may  be;  unique  clocks  of  charm- 
ing workmanship,  dainty  figures  of 
porcelain,  and  the  low  screens  painted 
m  the  marque  fashion,  add  life  and 
color  to  many  a  dull  group.  Charm- 
ing lamps  of  metal,  crystal  and  porce- 
lain, with  shades  of  rufHed  taffeta  help 
to  make  any  room  a  picture  of  infinite 
delight  that  is' not  easily  forgotten. 

A  French  room  may  revel  in  dainty 
ornament  as  feminine  as  it  is  fascinat- 
ing. But  the  inviting  curves  of  a 
Canape,  a  deeply  comfortable  Begere,  a 
lu.xurious  Chaise  Longue,  invite  a  man 
to  repose  and  ease,  albeit  swathed  in 
a  sense  of  beautiful  calculation  as  in- 
sinuating as  a  du  Barry.  So  few  appre- 
ciate the  true  import  of  a  room  fur- 
nished in  this  manner,  or  realize  that 
the  various  pieces  representing  the 
work  and  effort  of  many  lives,  have 
been  brought  to  us  over  two  thousand 
miles  of  land  and  sea.  Nor  did  the 
lu.xury-loving  favorites  belonging  to 
the  brilliant  courts  of  the  Louies  ever 
so  much  as  dream  that  the  commod- 
ities created  for  their  comfort -and 
pleasure,  were  some  day  to  be  used  by 
a  _  people  whose  country  was  then  a 
wilderness. 


Kv:vrK  nKJUJTY 

MR(>1>^ 

San  Francisco 
Malson  Navigation  Co. 

Del  Monte 
Palo  Alto 

.^  .^ 

AKXISTICJ  HAURCUTTIXG 

A3V»  -^^^AVIXO 

i^  SUPERIOR  SERVICE 

II»!f    EVERY 

BMAMdH  OF  IBlEAIJ^r  V 

(L;L  _L.^UM1K 

jZ/  jZ^ 

Medico-Dental   Bldg.                                                     Clift   Hotel 

Garfield  234                                                                         Prospect  4700 
Ramona  Studio,  Palo  Alto  433 

Announcement 

Mrs.  Baldwin  Wood 

and 

Leon  Habit 

announce 
the  opening  of  the 

Gertrude  Wood 
-Leon  Habit 
Flower  Shop 

229  Post  Street 


You  are  cordially  invited  to  visit 
our  new  Store 


Jiu 

^uixiQt    oLcaqiic 

of 

Q)an   fJaanci^co 

o^eiA 

LI  C^paiiLsli  t/ic^ta 

oil 

at    lliL'    oTaiiDioiit    tJlolol 

Ji.*incncoti 

ijMtX 

y^avami    J  tniicr 

For  Resertatioyis  Phone  Fairmont  Hotel 

Thf  San   Franciscan 
35 


VI  ;^  i  '■' 


m  -m 


Use  your  Bank's 
FULL  service! 


■r./';rv''=i:: 


-^''V'."    ** 


'  ■  nil 


■li^^^rfWs 


What  are 

COMPLETE  TRUST   FACILITIES? 


EVERY    man   of  great    responsibilities   has    used    the   Trust    De- 
partment facilities  of  his  bank  in  some  emergency — perhaps  as 
trustee  of  a  corporate  bond  issue,  as  an  agent  for  the  custody 
of  securities,  as  a  fiscal  or  paying  agent  or  depository. 

Still,  few  men  know,  from  personal  experience,  the  jull  extent  of 
usefulness  of  a  Trust  Department  such  as  The  Anglo's.  It  can  be 
executor  or  trustee  under  wills;  a  trustee  of  living  trusts  for  the 
benefit  of  the  maker  or  others,  a  transfer  agent  or  a  guardian,  an 
assignee  in  a  receivership,  a  trustee  in  escrow  transactions. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour,  some  time  when  you  are  in  The  .\nglo,  can 
almost  certainly  place  you  in  possession  of  new  knowledge  of  the 
breadth  of  modern  trust  department  facilities.  It  will  be  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  that  may  some  day — perhaps  tomorrow — save  you  days 
cir  months  of  personal  time  and  responsibility. 


THE  ANGLO  &  LONDON  PARIS 
NATIONAL  BANK 

(Trust  Department) 


■^^- 


THE 


SAN  TRANCISCAN 


£)QCQm\)Qric)z{i? 


%ice  zsGenw 


Houston,  Gilmore  6f  Co. 


Fine  Jewelry 


m^ 


^  Post  and  Stockton  Streets 

San  Francisco 


.■g "  ^'  -     ■ 


HOTEL 

MARK 

HOPKIHS 


h 


Sa7i  Francuco's  neiveU  hotel  revives  the  hospitality 
of 'Days  ofQold  and  bids  you  welcome  now  I 


o^> 


NEW  HOTEL . . .  San  Francisco's  finest  achievement, 
combining  California's  traditional  hospitality  with  the 
be§t  in  modern  hotel  service  and  accommodations.  Only 
a  moment  from  the  theatres  and  shops,  yet  aloft  in  the 
serene  quiet  of  Nob  Hill. !?  Smartly  furnished  gueSt-rooms, 
single  or  en  suite . . .  and  beneath  the  towering  Strufture,  a 
garage,  reached  by  hotel  elevator  service.  Cuisine  by  the 
famous  Vklor. !?  Destined  to  take  its  place  among  the 
noted  hotels  of  the  world,  the  Mark  Hopkins  is  an  un- 
excelled Stopping-place  for  travelers. 

GEO.  D.  SMITH,  Tresidtttt and^JManagingiyiredor 
■WILL  P.  TAYLOR.  JR.  'Residetit^JMatiager 


Located  as  it  is, on  Nob 
Hill,  every  window  in  Hotel 
Mark  Hopkins  reveals  a 
.  matchless  panorama  of 
central  California. 


Jo  Llclv^<^ttt«SA?T.>: 


0 


ilC    \VQ.il 


Xio\^ 


Q^an    f JtaticCvScan    s^a^    practicullti    ^olcl    aid. 

Uodau 

Jnc  e)an  (/tcuict^caii  Is  to  be  iotiiitl  in  tli«2  hamei^  oi 
trie  Ja»)iili(2^  ol  ^"iQcial  and  Jitiaiicial  iiiipQitancc  tiiiQuqli- 
oiit  c)a(i  c/tarici.'ica,  J  lie  iS>aA  J^aii  Citie.^  ati?  tlic 
tJciitfi^iiia. 


»Jlic  C'aii    cJ  tain:i<>can 

auet^     an     e-vclii^i^^e      medium      lar      tlie      Ji^ctiniiiialiiiq 
acl^crli."icr.  LUiite    Jot    inoiitlilii    tatc    caxi). 


Jli(i    e^an    rMcinci^caii    c/iibli.<)biiia    Co. 


'11    J(o\0a-i5   e)t. 


C^uttct 


970 


SAN  TRANCISCAN 


Joseph  Dyer,  Editor  and  Publisher 

William  A.  Flanagan,  Associate  Editor  R.  B.  Hinkley,  Business  Manager 

Anthony  Page,  Associate  Editor  C.  D.  Thornton,  Asst.  Business  Manager 

Contributing  Editors 

Charles  Caldwell  Dobie  Mollie  Merrick 

Idwal  Jones  Anita  Day  Hubbard 

George  Douglas  Marie  H.  Richards 

Ivan  Alexander  Rowena  S.  Mason 


Contents  for  December,  1926 


Vol.    I 


No.  2 


Page 
H.  R.  H.  Rnnhardt,    By  Oliver  M.  Sayler        -         -     7 
Personality  and  Comment    -----         S 

That  Man  Mencken,    By  Goblind  Behari  Lai  -        -  10 
An  Eastern  Point  of  Fietv,    By  IVilliam  Ahlefeld 

Flanagan     -------       12 

The  Rhythm  of  the  Ages,    By  David  Joyce        -         -Ji 
Imported  from  San  Francisco,    By  Ivan  Alexander      14 
A  Reviewer  at  Large.    By  Joseph  Dyer     -         -         -16 
Meanwhile  in  Manhattan,    By  Francesca     -         -       17 
Society   ---------  19 

The  Spanish  Fiesta     ------       21 

7  Rue  De  La  Paix,    By  Worth         -        -        -        -23 

The  Amazon  Invasion,    By  Nancy  Barr  Maviiy  -       24 
One  of  Our  Moderns,    By  Aline  Kistler   -        -        -25 
Sport,    By  Ned  Reyd  ------       2« 

The  Stock  Market  and  the  Outlook  for  1927,    By  II.  De 

La  Chapelle  -------  2S 


The  San  Franciscan  is  published  monthly  by  The  San  Franciscan  Publishing  Company,  511  Howard  Street, 

Telephone  Sutter  970,  San  Francisco,  California.    Subscription  Price,  one  year  32.50.    Single  copies  25  cents. 

Copyrighted   1926  by  the  San   Franciscan  Publishing  Co. 


The  San  Franciscan 
6 


MAX  REINIIARDT 


THE 


SAN  TRANCISCAN 


H.  R.  H.  Reinhardt 

A  Prince  of  the  Theater  as  Lord  of  an  Ancient  Castle 

Bv  OLIVER  M.  SAYLER 


jEDITOR'S  NOTE.  Author  of  "The  Russian 
Theater,"  "Russia  White  or  Red,"  "Our  Amer- 
ican Theater,"  and  "Inside  the  Moscow  Art 
Theater,"  and  editor  of  "Majc  Reinhardt  and  His 
Theater,"  The  Moscow  Art  Theater  Plays,"  etc., 
Mr.  Sayler  has  founded  a  new  profession  on  our 
stage,  though  it  has  long  been  known  in  Europe — 
that  of  Literary  adviser.  Through  his  association 
with  Morris  Gest,  whose  great  spectacle,  "The 
Miracle,"  is  to  be  the  hoUday  event  of  San  Fran- 
cisco, he  has  been  largely  responsible  for  the 
literary  campaigns  that  have  assured  an  informed 
and  receptive  audience  for  such  visitors  to  our 
stage  as  The  Moscow  Art  Theater  and  Its  Mus- 
ical Studio,  Balieff's  Chauve-Souris,  Eleonora 
Duse,  and  Max  Reinhardt  and  "The  Miracle" 
itself.  His  pen  portrait  of  the  Master  of  Leopold- 
skron  is  the  first  he  has  written  since  the  publica- 
tion of  his  exhaustive  work  on  Reinhardt.; 

AS  a  matter  of  fact,  he  has  no 
royal  title  at  all,  this  prince  of 
the  modern  theater.  To  his 
associates  in  the  Deutsches  Theater, 
the  Kammerspiele,  and  the  Komoedie 
in  Berlin  and  in  the  Theater  in  der 
Josephstadt  in  \'ienna,  and  to  his 
fellow-townsmen  in  Salzburg,  Max 
Reinhardt  is  simply  the  Herr  Professor, 
an  honorary  title  coveted  among  the 
Germanic  peoples  even  more  eagerly 
than  that  of  Doctor.  Still,  with  that 
title — w-hich,  singularly  enough,  he  is 
unable  to  use  in  this  country  without 
summoning  ribald  memories  of  magi- 
cians, medicine  men,  and  dancing  mas- 
ters— he  has  the  advantage  over  his 
American  confrere,  Morris  Gest.  In 
America  we  do  not  subsidize  or  bestow 
titles  on  our  artistic  benefactors:  we 
"crown"  them,  it  is  true,  but  with 
lewd  laughter  when  they  land  in  the 
bankruptcy  court. 

But  if  Reinhardt,  after  a  quarter  of 
a  century  of  tireless  service  in  the  art 
of  the  theater,  is  no  prince  of  the 
blood  nor  even  a  modest  Count  but 
only  a  humble  native  of  Pressburg  and 
therefore,  by  virtue  of  the  Treaty  of 
St.  Germain,  the  bearer  of  a  Czecho- 
Slovakian  passport,  I  know  of  no  other 
son  of  our  twentieth  century,  in  realms 


political  as  well  as  esthetic,  on  whom 
sits  so  serenely  the  role  of  grand 
seigneur.  Owner  as  well  as  tenant  of 
the  imposing  baroque  castle,  Schloss 
Leopoldskron,  in  the  outskirts  of  the 
capital  of  the  Austrian  Tyrol,  he  holds 
court  there  as  if  to  the  manor  born. 

Fortunate  the  traveler  who  is  bidden 
from  his  hotel  in  the  town  to  a  recep- 
tion, or  a  musicale,  in  the  Marble  Hail, 
or  even  to  after-dinner  coffee  on  the 
terrace,  with  roses  and  lavender  at  his 
feet,  the  lake  beyond,  the  legendary 
mass  of  the  Untersberg  in  the  back- 
ground and  the  eternal  snow  of  the 
Hohe  Goell  in  the  distance.  For,  like 
unto  a  royal  levee,  you  are  bidden,  not 
invited.  "The  Herr  Professor  expects 
you  at  ten  tonight."  That  is  the  form 
in  which  the  summons  comes.  And 
you  obey — that  is,  if  you  wish  to  meet 
and  chat  at  this  court  of  the  arts  with 
the  patrons,  practitioners  and  connois- 
seurs of  the  theater,  architecture, 
painting,  sculpture,  letters  and  music 
from  the  farthest  corners  of  Europe 
and  of  distant  America. 


"TpHERE  are  two  times  in  the  year 
-^  when  this  luxurious  structure, 
built  two  hundred  years  ago  by  the 
Prince  .Xrchbishop  Leopold  Firmian 
as  a  wedding  gift  to  his  nephew  and 
studded  with  treasures  of  art  and  of 
handicraft,  holds  out  a  lure  to  its 
owner.  In  between,  while  his  restless 
creative  energies  are  being  lavished  on 
theatrical  productions  in  Berlin,  \  i- 
enna,  or  America,  he  is  content  with 
an  apartment  at  the  Esplanade  or  in 
the  Hofburg  or  in  one  of  our  less  pre- 
tentious but  distinguished  hostelries. 
But  in  midsummer  and  in  midwinter. 


the  call  of  Leopoldskron  is  too  strong 
to  resist. 

There  are  two  "seasons"  in  the 
Schloss,  an  open  and  a  closed  one. 
The  open  season,  just  before,  during 
and  after  the  annual  Salzburg  Festival 
of  drama  and  music,  extends  from 
June  or  July  into  September.  It  is 
then  that  Prince  Max  holds  open 
house  in  his  salons.  The  other  season 
is  in  the  dead  of  the  Tyrolean  winter. 
No  danger  from  inquisitive  travelers. 
No  fear  of  the  winds  that  roar  down 
from  the  Alpine  caverns.  For  Rein- 
hardt doesn't  believe  in  the  incon- 
veniences of  1726.  Without  marring 
or  sacrificing  a  whit  of  the  exquisite 
beauty  of  the  workmanship  of  by- 
gone craftsmen,  he  has  made  his 
Schloss  livable  with  the  material  com- 
forts of  1926.  And  so,  while  the  lake 
freezes  and  the  snow  drifts,  he  sits 
snug  and  warm  in  his  study,  confining 
to  paper  for  future  use  the  vagrant 
dreams  of  new  productions  which  have 
come  to  him  in  the  heat  and  confusion 
of  work  or  the  hither  and  yon  of  travel. 
From  this  closed  season  come  the 
prompt  books  of  the  productions  the 
public  will  see  a  year  or  ten  years 
hence. 

Let  me  take  you  through  a  typical 
day  in  the  castle  the  summer  "The 
Miracle"  was  being  made.  If  you 
were  fortunate  enough  to  be  a  house 
guest  in  the  Schloss  itself  or  in  the 
quaint  old  Meyerhof  adjoining,  you 
rose  to  a  breakfast  of  eggs  and  butter 
and  berries,  produced  on  the  estate  and 
the  only  coffee  on  the  continent  of 
Europe  worth  drinking.  Through  the 
morning  you  either  read  or  wrote  or 
sketched   under   the   trees   or  on   the 

{Continued  on  page  31) 


The  San  Franciscan 


LADY  Ravensdale,  the  daughter  of 
Lord  and  Lady  Curzon,  has  but 
recently  returned  from  this  coun- 
try to  her  home  in  London.  The  bril- 
liant young  English  woman  is  follow- 
ing the  custom  of  Claire  Sheridan  and 
writing  a  book  on  Amer- 
ica— a  sort  of  a  close-up; 
holding  the  mirror  up  to 
Americans,  as  it  were. 

During  her  visit  to 
this  country  Lady  Rav- 
ensdale spent  the  greater 
part  of  her  time  in  Cali- 
fornia. She  accompanied 
the  James  Swinnerton 
party  into  the  South- 
west where  she  attended 
the  annual  Snake  Dance 
of  the  Hop!  Indians;  also 
a  Navajo  En  Tah  (war 
ceremonial  against  evil 
thinking).  Lady  Ravens- 
dale,  while  in  the  desert 
country  visited  Ba  Ta 
Kin,  a  prehistoric  Indian 
village,  situated  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty  miles 
from  any  railroad.  The 
Swinnerton  party  reports 
that  Lady  Ravensdale  is 
a  thoroughbred,  an  ex- 
cellent rider  and  a  most 
entertaining  young  wom- 
an. From  her  plunge 
into  things  American  she 
showed  a  most  direct 
way  of  going  into  things 
American.  She  is  very 
apt  to  accomplish  a  good 
book.  Certainly  she  has 
a  sense  of  contrasts. 
From  the  Indian  coun- 
try the  titled  English 
girl  went  direct  to  Los 
Angeles  where  she  wit- 
nessed the  funeral  of 
the  late  Rudolph  \  alentino. 

While  in  Southern  California  Lady 
Ravensdale  made  her  headquarters 
with  Mrs.  William  Randolph  Hearst 
at  her  magnificent  ranch,  San  Simeon, 
near  San  Luis  Obispo.  She  spent 
quite  some  time  in  San  Francisco  and 
the  peninsula,  where  she  was  the  guest 
of  Miss  Helen  Crocker  at  New  Place 
for  several  days  and  was  taken  by  Miss 
Crocker  to  her  home  at  Pebble  Beach. 


l^OR  those  who  treasure  memories  of 
the  Vienna  of  pre-war  days,  the 
\  ienna  of  the  romance  and  the  gilded 
social  life,  the  patroness  of  the  arts  and 
the  amphitheater  of  symphony  and 
opera,  there  will  be  for  them  a  discon- 


Lady  Ravensdale 


certing  disillusionment  in  the  present- 
day  city.  Complete  reversals  in  cus- 
toms have  occurred.  Where  before 
music  was  for  the  ear,  today  it  is  for 
the  feet,  thus  illustrating  the  triumph 
of  Berlin  over  Brahms.  American 
Nite  Clubs  flourish  while  seats  at  the 
Opera  and  the  symphonies  remain  un- 
filled. The  sports  of  the  ci-devant 
noblesse  are  passe  and  the  "manly  art" 
supplants  the  art  of  the  foil.     Prize- 


fights are  viewed  by  the  decollete  and 
dress-suited  while  the  once-favored 
ponies  canter  down  the  race  tracks 
unwatched  The  theater,  exhibiting 
Arlenesque  drama  and  French  com- 
edies delight  the  sophisticated  Vien- 
ese  audiences  who  form- 
erly considered  the  stage 
the  pastime  of  the  prole- 
tariat. Social  life  has 
moved  from  the  private 
ballroom  to  the  cafe  and 
cabaret.  Glittering  Sa- 
lons wherein  diamonded 
women  and  gorgeously 
uniformed  men  trod  the 
stately  gavotte  are  van- 
ished. Nowadays  one 
awaits  a  table  at  the 
popular  Lido-Venice  or 
Hotel  Bristol,  and  an 
evening  in  which  one 
achieves  the  "en  casser- 
ole" effect  by  dancing 
feverishly  in  a  ballroom 
a  la  -minute  along  with  a 
hundred  other  feverish 
sardines.  Mais  helas. 
What  would  you  have! 
C  e s  t  la  m  a  r  c  h  e  d e 
progres! 


w 


EW  Year's  Eve  is  by 
way  of  becoming  ob- 
served in  the  breach. 
Winter  sports  at  Truc- 
kee,  house  parties  in  the 
country,  bridge  at  home 
for  three  or  four  tables 
— and  the  year  is  started 
without  a  headache  or 
a  thrill. 

Football  Night  is  now 
the  big  event  of  revelers 
who   want    a  Saturnalia, 
and  whether    the    game 
be   at    Stanford   or   Berkeley,    prelim- 
inaries and  the  jubilation  are  held  in 
San  Francisco,  with  the  hotels  crowded 
to  the  gunwales  with  old  grads  who, 
by  the  time  the  game  is  won  or  lost, 
don't    know   whether   it    was   football 
or  tiddlywinks. 

It  looks  as  if  New  Year's  Eve  were  to 
be  a  flop.  The  Prentis  Cobb  Hales 
started  the  flight  to  the  Sierras  to  es- 
cape the  banality  of  celebratingintown. 


The  San  Franciican 


TAMES  G.  Swinnerton,  cartoonist 
and  painter  of  note,  announces 
that  during  the  second  week  of  Janu- 
ary he  is  giving  a  one-man  exhibit 
of  his  paintings  at  the  Ambassador 
Galleries  in  Los  Angeles.  Royal  Cor- 
teizes,  America's  foremost  art  critic, 
said  of  Swinnerton's  work  recently  in 
the  New  York  Times  that  he  without 
a  doubt  comes  close  to  leading  Ameri- 
can landscape  painters,  because  of  his 
virility,  color,  and  technique.  Swin- 
nerton is  a  San  Franciscan  born,  re- 
ceiving  his   art   training   in   this   city. 


JOSEPH  Mason  Reeves,  Jr.,  is  an- 
other San  Francisco  artist  who  is 
offering  a  one-man  show  of  his  work. 
The  exhibit  is  being  held  at  1001 
\  allejo  Street  and  was  opened  the 
night  George  Douglas  gave  a  splendid 
eulogy  of  the  late  George  Sterling. 
With  the  admirers  of  Reeves,  Sterling, 
and  Douglas  there  was  a  smart  out- 
pouring of  society  and  Bohemians. 
Among  the  pictures  shown  by  young 
Reeves  was  a  charming  oil  of  his  wife, 
who  was  Miss  Cornelia  Sutton.  A 
large  canvas  of  James  D.  Phelan  shows 
the  former  senator  in  a  genial  mood, 
and  benign.  .\  black  and  white  sketch 
of  Mrs.  ^larie  Hicks  Healy,  done  last 
April,  is  a  decided  contrast  in  feeling 
to  the  oil  painting  which  Reeves  did 
of  her  the  summer  before. 

Reeves  is  the  son  of  Captain  Joseph 
Mason  Reeves,  U.S.N.,  head  of  naval 
aviation  at  San  Diego.  One  of  the 
best  things  young  Reeves  has  done  to 
date  is  a  black  and  white  of  his  dis- 
tinguished father  at  the  wheel  of  the 
old  Oregon,  the  battleship  on  which  he 
was  host  during  the  Panama-Pacific 
Exposition  as  the  old  vessel  lay  off  the 
Marina.  Captain  Reeves  was  on  the 
Oregon  when  she  left  San  Francisco 
on  a  history-making  cruise  around  the 
Horn  (before  the  Panama  Canal)  to 
Santiago,  Cuba,  in  the  Spanish  War. 

Young  Reeves  is  a  nephew  of  Miss 
Susan  Watkins,  afterward  Mrs.  Golds- 
borough  Serpel,  one  of  the  distin- 
guished artists  of  San  Francisco  of 
twenty  years  ago.  She  said  of  Reeves 
when  he  was  a  child:  "There  is  the 
real  genius  of  the  Watkins  family." 


'"pHE  French  Glorification  of  the 
American — Negro!  Foila!  Per- 
haps it  was  the  novelty  of  their  race 
that  first  attracted  the  fastidious 
French,  and  mayhap  the  natural  dance 
rhythm  and  love  of  harmony  that  em- 
powers them  to  interpret  so  exotically 
the  jazz  that  the  French  women  are  so 
fond  of.  Whatever  it  is,  the  American 
negro  has  found  the  niche  that  he  has 
never  found  in  Dixie.  One  speculates 
as  to  what  Mistinguette  and  the  in- 
comparable Dollies  are  doing  to  com- 


pete with  "/a  belle  mats  brun"  Flor- 
ence Mills  who  nightly,  from  the  stage 
at  Les  Ambassadeurs,  shouts  the  affairs 
of  her  "two-timin  papa"  to  an  audi- 
ence of  adoring  Parisiennes.  The  Shep- 
herdess Follies  where  the  beautiful 
Mata  Hari  once  copiously  displayed  her 
charms,  now  resounds  to  the  husky 
throatings  of  Josephine  Baker,  a  "blues- 
shouter"  from  Birmingham,  Ala., 
U.  S.  A.  The  chic  Parisian  of  the 
female  persuasion,  grande  dame  and 
midinette,  is  to  be  observed  promenad- 
ing the  boulevards  or  sipping  her 
aperitif  whilst  gazing  soulfully  into 
the  depths  of  the  large  brown  eyes  of 
her  negroid  companion.  Women  of 
gentility,  eager  to  learn  the  Charleston, 
introduce  into  their  salons  as  instruc- 
tors, negro  "professors,"  who  thereto- 
fore had  wooed  Terpsichore  on  the 
sawdust-strewn  decks  of  Harlem  caba- 
rets. The  little  Missouri  darky  that 
shines  the  boots  at  the  American  Ex- 
press office  in  the  Rue  Scribe,  at  clos- 
ing time  pockets  his  tips  and  donning 
his  satin-lapeled  frock  coat  and  topper, 
looks  forward  to  an  evening's  hospi- 
tality in  circles  where  his  entree  is  un- 
questioned and  his  presence  sought. 


CO  refreshing — this  first  peep  into 
San  Francisco.  At  last  Democracy, 
realizing  some  aspects  of  good  and 
pleasing  form.  Mild  air  and  violets  in 
December;  at  tea  and  parties  debs 
who  were  their  own  sweet  charming 
selves,  making  no  silly  attempt  to 
move  about  in  snobbish,  gelt-auras; 
vendors  who  walked  twenty  feet  to 
point  the  stranger  a  direction;  people 
on  the  streets,  in  shops,  free  of  harassed 
speed-mad  expression;  at  the  concert 
good  music — Wagner,  the  Love  and 
Death  well  played;  a  charming  prom- 
enade in  the  long  corridors  during  the 
intermission;  but — could  it  be  possi- 
ble! There  they  were!  Each  pillar 
and  post  in  the  foyer,  screaming  at 
the  well  dressed,  well  conducted  and 
civilized  audience:  "Men's  Rooms  in 
Basement  and  Upstairs;"  "Do  Not 
Scratch  Matches  on  Walls;"  "Wom- 
en's Rooms  Upstairs — in  Front."  Too 
cruel!  Rows  of  it!  Is  the  spirit  of 
disillusion  after  all  implacable?  But 
for  these  naive  legends  I  had  seen  the 
isolated  triumph  of  democracy 
achieved  without  offence  to  good  taste. 

G.  F. 

*         *         * 

'TpHE  day  of  the  "out-at-elbow" 
•^  actor  is  over.  No  longer  do 
weeklies  still  contain  cartoons  of  a 
character  which  wears  a  long  black 
coat,  a  large  hat,  and  the  back  of  his 
head  merges,  with  its  long  hair,  into 
the  frayed  and  moth-eaten  fur  collar 
of  his  coat. 


Today  John  Barrymore  is  the  proud 
possessor  of  a  yacht;  Ruth  Chatterton, 
of  her  recent  success,  "The  Green 
Hat,"  owns  a  valuable  farm  at  White 
Plains;  Billie  Burke  has  a  splendid 
estate  at  Hastings-on-Hudson;  Ernest 
Truex  owns  an  estate  at  Great  Neck; 
Margaret  Anglin  has  a  farm  at  Mount 
Kisco;  and  Lenore  L'lric  owns  a  house 
at  West  Seventy-fourth  Street.  A 
great  many  other  prominent  players 
are  in  the  millionaire  class.  May 
Irwin  is  rated  the  wealthiest  actress 
in  America.  She  owns  an  island,  a 
3150,000  house  and  some  valuable 
cattle.  Lo!  The  "poor"  actor  has  dis- 
appeared. 


Q" 


|LTITE  one  of  the  most  interesting 
exhibits  of  this  season  is  that  of 
Stanley  Wood's  watercolors,  now  at 
the  \'ickery  Atkins  &  Torrey  rooms. 
Wood  has  been  working  in  and  about 
Carmel  for  some  time  and  many  of 
his  best  pictures  deal  with  scenes 
familiar  to  the  San  Franciscan  and 
habitue  of  points  south.  This  is  the 
third  time  Wood  has  exhibited  here 
and  it  is  gratifying  to  know  that  his 
adopted  home  is  giving  him  recogni- 
tion similar  to  that  received  in  New 
York  and  Chicago. 

The  recent  exhibition  of  Diego 
Rivera's  drawings  at  the  Beaux  Arts 
Galleries  created  quite  a  stir  in  local 
art  circles.  The  name  of  Rivera  had 
been  bandied  about  from  mouth  to 
mouth  in  studio  conversations  until 
it  has  become  quite  the  vogue  to  stand 
breathless  before  a  line  done  in  the 
"primitive"  manner  of  this  "modern 
master"  of  the  Americas. 

That  Rivera  is  an  artist  of  parts  is 
no  question  but  just  how  long  his 
attitude  of  the  sophisticate  speaking 
in  terms  of  the  primitive  will  find 
favor  is  another  thing.  However,  as 
long  as  men  such  as  Ralph  Stackpole, 
and  women  such  as  Helen  Forbes, 
make  journeys  to  his  shrine  in  Mexico, 
as  long  as  art  patrons  such  as  Albert 
Bender  will  put  the  stamp  of  approval 
on  his  work  by  extensive  purchases, 
so  long  will  San  Francisco  strive  to 
look  through  Rivera's  eyes  at  the 
beauty  in  the  primitive. 


■pROM  New  York  conies  good  news 
of  the  exhibit  of  Blanch  Collet 
Wagner's  paintings.  Twenty  of  her 
canvases  are  now  hung  at  the  Ainslie 
Gallery. 

Enid  Foster  has  been  doing  some 
brightly  toned  plaster  portraits.  Some 
of  her  satiric  groups  and  a  more  serious 
portrait  group  of  the  three  small 
daughters  of  Dr.  Howard  Naffzinger 
attracted  attention  at  the  Hillcrest 
Club  exhibition. 


The  San  Franciscan 
10 


1 


That  Man  Mencken 

In  Praise  of  The  Enfant  Terrible  of  American  Literature 

ByGOBLIND  BEHARI  LAL 


"^T^HE  demon  critic,"  as  the  Nezv 
I  York  Times  teasingly  called 
him,  did  no  slaughtering  here. 
On  the  contrary,  he  has  given  to  San 
Francisco  the  most  intelligent  and 
whole-hearted  commendation.  He 
wasn't  quite  so  benevolent  to  all 
California.  He  bombarded  Los  An- 
geles with  a  roaring  gusto. 

There  is  a  great  gusto  about  Menc- 
ken. It  is  apparent  even  in  his  phys- 
ical presence.  He  says  he  is  a  "Gothic 
beauty."  That  does  not  mean  that 
there  is  any  superfluity  of  tissue  about 
him.  He  is  solidly  built,  and  in  excel- 
lent design,  a  prize-fighter's  bearing. 
Amplitude  of  his  structure  suggests 
abounding  vitality.  The  rear  part  of 
the  head  seems  specially  large,  and 
may  have  something  to  do  with  the 
musical  gift  of  Mencken  and  other 
intellectual  traits  of  high  voltage. 

It  seems  that  his  writing  is  like  his 
conversation,  and  his  conversation  is 
best  understood  with  reference  to  his 
personality.  Like  the  gust  of  a  great 
wind.  He  may  well  be  likened  to  the 
wind,  in  the  sense  that  Remain  Hol- 
land speaks  of  Jean  Christopher — as  a 
purifying  wind  that  blew  through  stale 
autumn  woods,  shaking  down  the 
dead  leaves  and  boughs,  putting  a  new 
movement  in  the  forest. 
*     *     * 

"T  HOPE  my  talk  has  stirred  the  ani- 
■'■  mals,"  he  writes  to  me,  referring 
to  an  interview  I  had  with  him.  It 
did.  Now  Mencken,  having  shocked 
and  stirred  people  with  his  prelude, 
will  proceed  to  hammer  down  his  logic 
in  detail.  Most  of  us  enjoy  a  shock, 
after  it's  over.  But  we  do  not  like  to 
think  of  it  with  pleasure,  in  anticipa- 
tion. 

If  you  think  of  it  coolly,  Mencken's 
performance  is  amazing.  The  very 
heterodoxy  of  his  attitudes  in  most 
matters  would  have  ruined  him,  if  he 
were  a  less  powerful  mind.  But  he 
clothes  his  iconoclastic  and  rebellious 
sentiments  in  combative  words.  How 
the  double  explosive  keeps  going  is  a 
.  puzzle.  It  is  his  brilliant  intellect  that 
saves  him,  because  even  those  whom 
he  attacks  respect  his  ability.  Why 
does  he  not  use  purring  words,  sooth- 
ing, kind  words?  Why  does  he  not 
speak  like  an  abstract  philosopher.'' 
Why  does  he  not  sugar-coat  his  hetro- 
doxy,  so  that  everybody  may  like  the 
laste  of  what  he  says.'  It's  in  his 
blood.      Prince   Bismarck   was  one  of 


Mencken's  direct  ancestors.  The  high- 
est voltage  of  Teutonic  ability,  in  the 
realms  of  statesmanship,  war,  and 
scholarship,  Mencken  has  inherited 
without  dilution.  The  Mencken  in- 
tellect and  style,  in  a  sense,  are  rooted 
in  history.  One  of  his  ancestors  was  a 
Fellow  of  the  Royal  Society  of  Great 
Britain,  because  of  his  distinguished 
services  as  a  scientist.  Another  of  his 
forbears,  equally  brilliant  and  famous 
all  over  Europe,  published  a  magazine 
two  centuries  ago.  That  magazine, 
published  for  the  intellectuals  of  the 
day,  was  the  forerunner  of  The  Amer- 
ican Mercury.  It  was  devoted  to  the 
advancement  of  scientific  thought  and 
to  the  smashing  down  of  superstitions, 
charlatanism  of  every  description,  in- 
cluding the  sterile  scholarships  of  old- 
fashioned  priests  and  professors,  whose 
mind  was  clogged  with  Latin  words 
and  had  no  originality  or  courage  of 

its  own. 

*     *     * 

npODAY  the  average  professor  in  the 
American  colleges  is  Mencken's 
target.  Why.'  Because  so  many  of 
them  block  the  way.  Their  learning  is 
but  a  cloak  of  stupid  orthodoxy.  They 
may  be  right  or  wrong  in  any  particu- 
lar point,  but  their  general  influence  is 
against  innovation,  against  creative 
work,  new  enunciations  of  morality, 
art  or  science.  It  is  against  this  dead- 
ening effect  that  JVIencken  levels  his 
mighty  guns.  And  his  guns  are  heavy! 
.'\  master  of  the  subject  he  tackles; 
he  has  enormous  ammunition  of  fact 
and  argument.  His  opponents  have 
a  hard  time  in  counter-bombardment. 
Mere  abuse  is  not  effective.  It  must 
come  from  a  sincere  source  to  be 
shattering.  .  Mencken's  sincerity  is 
his  strength.  It  makes  amends  for 
his  bluntness  at  the  point  of  his  missiles. 
In  this  age,  the  sincere  man  is  a  tower 
of  strength  even  in  his  isolation.  The 
entire  superstitious  herd  in  opposition 
can't  prevail  against  him. 

Mencken  assails  all  forms  of  hokum. 
He  condemns  fakers  who  try  to  make 
science  itself  an  instrument  of  super- 
stition. He  scorns  police  theory  of 
government.  He  regards  the  bureau- 
crats who  capitalize  upon  the  patriotic 
feeling  of"  the  masses,  as  scoundrels. 
Politicians,  getting-rich-quick  fakers, 
evangelists,  dull  college  professors,  and 
real  estate  operators — all  are  impor- 
tant persons.  Indeed  they  are  the 
gods   of   the   age.      And    it    is   against 


these  high  divinities  that  Mencken 
points  his  heavy  cannon.  Tin  gods  to 
be   demolished.      New   enemies   to   be 

destroyed. 

*  *     * 

IV/f ENCKEN  regards  Plato  as  one  of 
the  greatest  minds  of  all  times. 
But,  Mencken  has  no  Utopia — no  ideal 
state.  If  you  begin  to  see  that  the 
present  machinery  of  politics,  educa- 
tion, religion  is  fundamentally  inade- 
quate for  higher  civilization — you  may 
be  gradually  enlightened,  and  turn  to 
art,  science,  philosophy,  which  bring 
real  improvement  for  humanity. 

Mencken  has  the  quality  of  a  Leon- 
ardo Vinci — in  the  sense  that  he  is  a 
philosopher  with  a  distinct  executive 
and  experimental  bent  of  mind.  He 
does  things  himself — many  things.  He 
plays  musical  instruments.  He  thinks 
that  of  all  the  arts,  music  is  the  most 
worthy.  He  speaks  of  Beethoven  with 
utmost  respect.  In  all  sciences,  he  is 
keenly  interested.  Specially  the  sci- 
ences that  have  a  bearing  upon  the 
efliciency  of  the  human  organism — 
physically  and  psychologically.  This 
implies  the  economic  sciences,  biology, 
including  all  aspects  of  physiology  and 
chemistry. 

But  don't  think  of  Mencken  as  a 
man  heavily  laden  with  the  burden  of 
learning.  Books  are  his  tools,  not  his 
master.  He  is  always  in  excellent 
humor.  His  laughter  is  his  greatest 
weapon.  Erasmus  laughed  at  the 
church,  and  Voltaire  laughed  at  many 
things.  Bernard  Shaw  has  laughed. 
And  so  Mencken  laughs.  The  wind 
that  blows  to  purge  the  woods  of  dead 
leaves  and  boughs. 

*  *     * 

A  CLOSE-UP  view,  now.  Laughter 
■'*-  again.  \Miat  charm  goes  with  it, 
though. 

He  is  extremely  considerate.  I  saw 
him  devote  three  hours  or  more,  dur- 
ing his  short,  hectic  and  crowded 
sojourn  here  last  month,  to  a  rather 
elderly  woman,  who  had  come  to  have 
"tea"  with  him.  From  3  p.  m.  to 
6  p.  m.  this  noble  dame  kept  him  busy 
buttering  her  toasts.  And  when,  at 
my  invading  the  room,  she  at  last  took 
leave,  Mencken  walked  down  with  her 
to  the  hotel  door.  Patient,  courteous, 
brimful  of  good  humor. 

In  all  his  tastes,  he  shows  both  the 
craving  of  the  artist  and  the  caution 
of  the  physiologist.  Sometimes,  his 
(Continued  on  page  31) 


The  San  Franciscan 
11 


A   Vieiv  of  the  Auditorium  and  Ceiling  of  the  Grosses  txhauspielhaus,   Berlin 


The  San  Franciscan 
12 


An  Eastern  Point  of  View 

A  Dialogue  on  the  Mythology  of  Modern  Drama 

Bv  WILLIAM  AHLEFELD  FLANAGAN 


SCENE:  A  young  man,  apparently  a 
stranger,  and  a  popular  local  debu- 
tante, take  a  table  in  the  St.  Fran- 
cis for  luncheon.  As  soon  as  they  have 
ordered,  the  young  lady  must  talk.  She 
smiles  at  the  young  man,  whose  thin 
bodv  indicates  he  might  be  a  critic. 

Young  Lady:  What  do  you  think  of 
our  plays  out  here  on  the  West  Coast  ? 

Critic:  Well,  on  the  whole,  they're 
greatly  over-rated  by  your  dramatic 
critics.  I  found  to  my  surprise  that 
every  show,  even  of  the  10-20-30  va- 
rietv,  gets  favorable  notice.  A  fellow- 
might  as  well  not  read  the  papers  at  all, 
except  to  see  where  the  play  is. 

Young  Lady:  Oh!  you  old  crank!  I 
believe  you  grow  worse  with  age.  I 
think  we  have  splendid  critics. 

Critic:  I  don't  doubt  it  in  the  least. 
But  they  don't  write  criticisms.  Most 
of  them  take  up  their  space  with 
flowery  words  about  the  beauty  of  the 
leading  lady,  or  the  moral  of  the  play, 
or  the  bigness  of  the  theme,  or  a  de- 
scription of  the  story,  or  something 
else  that  has  but  little  to  do  with  the 
merits  of  the  play. 

Young  L.^dy:  I  have  heard  that 
Eastern  critics  are  the  same  way. 

Critic:  To  some  extent.  But  it's  a 
disappointment  to  an  Easterner  to 
come  out  where  men  are  supposed  to 
be  men,  and  where  a  good  fight  is  sup- 
posed to  be  fun — and  instead  find  them 
hand-shaking  worse  than  Easterners. 

Young  L.-\dy:  Now  you  are  joking; 
but  I'm  serious.  I'm  really  interested 
in  art  you  know.  Tell  me  what  you 
think  about  the  drama. 

Critic  (pleased):  To  begin  with, 
there  is  a  tendency  out  here  to  build 
myths  about  certain  established 
players  and  writers.  And  the  worst 
of  it  is,  that  the  myths  seem  only  to  be 
bloomed  from  popularity.  Whenever 
an  esteemed  player  or  play  comes  to 
the  Coast,  the  critics  begin  to  read 
poetry  so  they  can  write  honeyed  en- 
comiums. Under  no  conditions  would 
they  find  a  fault  in  the  work  of  Pauline 
Frederick,  or  Bessie  Barriscale;  still 
less  in  the  work  of  Jean  Eagles  or 
George  Arliss;  they  would  point  to  no 
flaw  in  the  plays  of  Maugham,  or 
Davis,  or  Coward,  or  Miss  Loos;  and 
still  less  would  they  insinuate  a  wrong 
in  the  plays  of  Shaw,  or  of  O'Neil,  or  of 
Galsworthy.  Knowing  beforehand 
that  these  names  have  been  hallowed 
(at  least  in  certain  newspapers),  they 


go  to  the  play  with  their  minds  already 
made  up.  And  if  a  play  happens  to 
be  so  bad  that  they  feel  ashamed  to 
praise  it,  they  leave  it  alone  altogether, 
in  the  way  of  comment;  not  seeming  to 
realize  that  to  leave  a  play  alone  is 
also  a  definite  response. 

Young  Lady:  Don't  you  think  the 
movies  have  had  much  to  do  with  it.' 
They  are  all  afraid  to  criticise  Mary 
Pickford  or  Cecil  De  Mille  unless  their 
fingers  are  crossed. 

Critic:  Yes,  it  might  have  been  the 
original  cause,  but  it's  no  excuse. 

Young  Lady:  You  spoke  of  George 
Arliss  and  Galsworthv;  didn't  you  like 
"Old  English".' 

Critic:  I  had  no  fault  to  find  with 
Mr.  Arliss;  indeed  he  always  makes  a 
play  worth  seeing.  He  is  a  splendid 
character  actor.  But  as  to  Gals- 
worthy's play — well,  it  was  indeed  old 
English. 

Young  Lady:  You  mean  the  play  is 
over-rated?     Oh!  it  was  delightful! 

Critic:  It  was  really  that;  but  it  was 
flabby — mediocre;  it  lacked  the  vitality 
of  real  contact. 

Young  Lady:  Surely  all  the  char- 
acterization was  well  written .' 

Critic:  Do  you  think  girls  in  1905 
A.  D.  were  so  much  more  childish  than 
now.'  and  English  boys  so  terribly 
American? 

Young  Lady:  You  mean — ? 

Critic:  Yes;  does  it  really  seem  na- 
tural to  you  for  a  girl  seventeen  years 
old,  to  clap  her  hands  in  glee  like  a 
small  child,  when  she  sees  a  young  man 
put  on  a  smashed  hat?  That  is  what 
Phyllis  did  to  Bob,  and  Galsworthy 
listed  her  at  seventeen.  And  Jock  was 
said  to  be  fourteen,  to  have  been  a 
student  of  Eton  (where  discipline  is 
important)  and  to  have  been  dread- 
fully frightened  of  "Old  English";  yet 
he  played  the  childish,  undisciplined 
pranks  of  an  American  Peck's  Bad 
Boy;  and  he  even  played  his  tricks  in 
the  office  of  the  man  he  feared  so  much. 
Quite  natural?  And  then  the  maid — 
what  low  comedy  Galsworthy  got 
away  with  there!  But  then  the  best 
of  them  do  it;  sometimes  I  think  most 
artists  prefer  out-and-out  curbstone 
humor. 

Young  Lady:  But  what  of  the 
maid? 

Critic:  Why,  the  way  she  answered 
the  door  and  said,  yes,  her  mistress 
was  in,  but  invisible.  And  later  on 
when  she  was  asked  if  her  mistress  was 


in,  she  said:  "I  can't  say;  it  depends 
on  who  you  are."  What  else  is  all 
this  but  the  very  old,  low  comedy  gag, 
where  the  maid  says  to  the  caller: 
"She  says  she  is  not  at  home"?  The 
same  humor  you  have  seen  on  Main 
Street  for  the  past  twenty-five  years. 
And  the  chief  character:  he  is  repre- 
sented to  be  a  man  of  great  and  in- 
domitable strength;  he  gets  his  name 
"Old  English"  because  of  it.  The  only 
folks  Galsworthy  compares  him  with 
in  the  play  are:  an  old  weakling,  a  fel- 
low admitted  never  to  have  had  any 
sand;  a  flighty,  ridiculous  relative;  a 
"scfty"  young  man;  and  a  too  holy, 
fanatical  daughter.  Is  it  any  proof  of 
strength  to  tower  over  such  persons? 
-As  to  his  encounters  with  the  lawyer 
he  showed  only  obstinacy,  never  par- 
ticular strength;  he  was  actually  bested 
and  only  saved  himself  from  open  de- 
feat by  death.  It  was  in  fact,  such  a 
feeble  development  of  real  strength 
that  Galsworthy  found  it  necessary  to 
bolster  it  up  by  having  him  talk  of  his 
wild  youth,  and  by  giving  him  a  strong 
constitution;  a  thing  which  he  weakly 
showed  by  having  him  consume  an 
alarming  quantity  of  liquor.  But  that 
shouldn't  fool  you  folks  around  here — 
a  Stanford  man  will  be  able  to  do  it  at 
ninety.  Besides  it  is  utterly  banal; 
strength  of  constitution  is  no  proof 
whatever  of  strength  of  character;  if  it 
were,  Shakespeare  and  Stevenson  would 
have  been  lesser  men  than  are  Tunney 
and  "Ace"  Hudkins.  All  this,  the  use 
of  well  tried  comedy,  the  comparison 
with  weaklings  to  make  the  hero  stand 
out,  and  talking  of  devilish  deeds — it 
is  the  most  elemental  of  dramatic 
trickery;  and  it  is  used  (cleverly)  like 
a  sprinkling  of  fine  odors,  to  cover  up 
the  musty  smell  of  a  barren  room. 

Young  Lady:  You  take  my  breath 
away — I  believe  you're  a  Bolshevist; 
are  you  ? 

Critic:  No;  only  Irish. 

Young  Lady:  Well,  that's  just  as 
bad.     But  why  a  barren  room? 

Critic:  Because  the  play  was  bar- 
ren of  life;  it  was  only  the  dance  of 
quaint  and  exquisite  shadows,  through 
a  cultured  existence. 

Young  Lady:  Of  course  it  was  only 
a  pretty,  simple  little  story;  but  isn't 
that  enough? 

Critic:  Quite;  and  the  subject-mat- 
ter is  of  secondary  importance;  how- 
ever, it  was  no  simple  little  story  at 
{Continued  on  page  34) 


The  San  Franciscan 
13 


Ruth  St.  Denis  Dancing  in  the   Taj  Mahal 


"The  Rhythm  of  the  Ages" 

Ruth  St.  Denis — The  White  Flame  of  the  Dance 


By  DAVID  JOYCE 


RUTH  ST.  DENIS  is  the  most 
patrician  of  all  mimes,  the  aris- 
tocrat of  dancers.  Witness  her 
visualization  of  a  Brahm's  waltz  or  the 
"Libestraum"  of  Franz  Liszt  and  you 
will  readily  understand  my  meaning. 
Clad  in  silvery  white  with  her  plati- 
num locks  coiffed  inimitably  she  is  a 
marquise  of  movement.  Study  her 
again  in  the  "Cuardo  Flamenco"  and 
you  see  the  elemental  earthy  seduc- 
tress whose  every  sensuous  gesture  is 
an  abstract  story.  Then  the  humor- 
ous coquette  who  never  fails  to  draw 
a  smile  with  her  clever  pantomime. 
The  "Dance  of  the  Black  and  Gold 
Sari"  reveals  St.  Denis  at  her  exquisite 


best.  The  tiny  motion  of  her  tapered 
fingers,  the  flicker  of  an  eyelash,  tell 
in  this  most  subtle  and  terpsichorean 
spectacle. 

"Traveling  West  from  California 
Shores"  may  well  be  called  "Dancing 
in  the  Orient" — for  it  includes  the 
dance  moods  of  China,  Crete,  India, 
Siam,  Java  and  Egypt.  Who  can  be 
found  to  more  skilfully  interpret  the 
voluptuous  langour  of  the  East  or  por- 
tray the  ruthless  barbarity  that  hides 
beneath  the  mask  than  Ruth  St. 
Denis  with  her  traits  and  spirit. 

Ruth  St.  Denis  has  mastered  the 
classic  technique  of  the  dance  with  all 
its  exactions  and  felicities.     But  then 


perfection  in  technique  is  not  the 
heights  of  artistic  achievement  in  the 
art  of  the  dance  any  more  than  it  is 
in  music  or  painting.  The  art  of  St. 
Denis  is  the  composition  of  brilliant 
technique,  a  sense  of  beautiful  motion, 
an  exotic  imagination,  a  spiritualized 
interpretation — all  inspired  by  verse 
and  music. 

This  High  Priestess  of  the  Dance 
has  created  a  new  means  of  visualiza- 
tion that,  the  art  of  expression  has 
hitherto  little  known.  She  has  en- 
riched the  theater  with  a  divertisse- 
ment that  has  developed  into  a  rarefied 
and  original  art. 


The  San  Franciscan 
14 


Imported  from  San  Francisco 

Intimate  Portraits  of  Native  Sons  Adopted  by  Father  Knickerbocker 

No.  1.     Augustin  Duncan 

By   IVAN  ALEXANDER 


(EDITOR'S  NOTE.  This  is  the  first  of  a  series 
of  interviews  with  San  Franciscans  now  living  in 
New  York  who  have  attained  fame  and  recogni- 
tion in  the  world  of  music,  art,  literature  and 
drama.  The  author,  Ivan  Alexander,  a  San 
Franciscan,  has  been  hailed  by  New  York  critics 
as  one  of  the  most  brilhant  young  journalists  of 
the  day.) 

IT  was  one  of  those  wintry,  foggy 
afternoons  so  reminiscent  of  San 
Francisco,  with  the  street  lights 
all  on  early,  and  the  slippery  pavement 
making  life  more  than  ever  a  gamble 
among  the  skidding  taxis.  All  the 
way  out  to  the  corner  of  70th  Street 
and  Central  Park  West,  I  kept  one 
hand  on  the  door  and  my  mind  firmly 
on  the  biography  of  Augustin  Duncan. 
"Native  San  Franciscan,"  I  rehearsed, 
as  we  missed  the  excavations  at  Co- 
lumbus Circle;  "Isadora's  brother!"  I 
shrieked  in  warning  to  a  pedestrian 
about  to  leap  under  the  left  rear  wheel; 
and  then  I  closed  my  eyes,  settled 
back,  and  focused  on  his  distinguished 
career  as  Broadway  actor  and  director. 
It  is  productive  of  a  pleased,  Cali- 
fornia reaction,  to  reflect  that  this 
career,  entwined  with  those  of  Charles 
Kent,  Blanche  Bates,  Richard  Mans- 
field, David  \\'arfield,  and  others,  em- 
bracing countless  roles  of  first  magni- 
tude— more  recent  star  parts  being  in 
the  Theater  Guild's  highly  successful 
"Merchants  of  Glory,"  the  Captain 
in  "Juno  and  the  Paycock,"  both  of 
the  past  season,  and  the  leading  role 
in  Pirandello's  "Naked,"  now  running 
at  the  Princess — all  this  had  its  be- 
ginning in  the  Old  Columbia  Stock 
Company,  better  known  in  "the  old 
days"  as  the  S.  R.  Stockwell  Co.  In 
high  spirits,  and  promptly  at  the  hour 
appointed,  I  presented  myself  before 
the  doorman  of  the  Duncan  apart- 
ment, and  was  admitted  to  its  inner 

recesses. 

*     *     * 

T  PRESENTLY  found  myself  in  the 
care  of  two  lean,  blond  children — 
Angus  and  Andrea,  who  solemnly 
ushered  me  into  a  long  room  over- 
looking the  Park,  and  invited  me  to 
play  Parchesi  while  I  awaited  the  de- 
layed celebrity.  "The  board  is  slightly 
imperfect,"  said  .^ngus;  "I  made  it 
myself,"  and  he  moved  a  pair  of  lowK- 
underwaist  buttons  a  few  spaces  in 
advance  of  his  sister's  markers.  I  had 
taken  out  my  pencil,  in  the  sneaking 
hope  of  a  little  contraband  informa- 
tion, but  I  put  it  away — that  Parchesi 
game  was  far  too  important  an  affair 


for  me  to  interrupt.  "Aunt  Minna" 
did  that — Aunt  Minna  Smith,  whose 
sister  Gertrude  wrote  all  those  fascin- 
ating "Araminta  and  Arabella"  stories 
for  children,  and  who  has  a  story  of  her 
own,  "The  Rose  of  Monterey"  (more 
California!),  about  to  be  filmed  by  the 
First  National  Pictures.  She  swooped 
in  out  of  the  fog,  a  nice,  plump,  gray 
little  figure,  kissed  the  children,  intro- 


Jiigustin   Duncan 


duced  herself  to  me,  covered  her  own 
review  in  neat  fashion,  and  had  just 
worked  up  to  promised  revelations 
concerning  the  Duncans,  both  Augus- 
tin and  his  celebrated-for-herself  wife, 
when  the  door  opened,  and  in  they 
walked.  It  was  pat  and  dramatic  as 
the  end  of  a  first  act,  but  of  course  I 
missed  out  on  the  low-down. 

"I'm  from  San  Francisco,"  I  mur- 
mured, hunting  feverishly  for  my 
questionnaire.  From  that  moment 
the  interview  was  all  in  his  hands. 
Tea  was  served  by  a  tall,  gracious 
young  woman  whom  he  took  away 
from  Boston  and  married — others  came 
and  went  about  the  room — crockery 
crashed  in  the  distant  kitchen — Andrea 
besought  permission  to  visit  the  movies 
— and  Augustin  Duncan  talked  about 
San  Francisco. 

For  one  fleeting  moment  I  glanced 
at  my  list  of  interrogations  suitable 
for  actors.  "Now  take  the  moving 
picture  industry     .     .     .  "  I  began. 


"r~\H,  yes,  the  movies,"  he  caught 
me  up.  "Speaking  of  the  'Cov- 
ered Wagon,'  for  example,  did  you 
ever  think  how  all  our  forefathers  out 
there  in  San  Francisco  toiled  across 
the  plains  in  the  early  days,  under- 
going privations  and  hardships — strug- 
gling, struggling,  to  get  there  and  make 
homes  for  us.^  And  then  we  come 
along  and  get  the  first  Pullman  ticket 
we  can  la^'  our  hands  on  for  New 
York!" 

He  sighed,  and  I  hastened  in  with  a 
query.  "In  what  part  of  San  Fran- 
cisco were  you  born.^"  I  asked. 

He  turned  pale,  and  a  furtive  ex- 
pression came  into  his  eyes.  "I  have 
tried  for  years  to  live  that  down,"  he 
whispered,  hoarsely.  "Must  that  go 
in  your  interview.'"  I  nodded  grimly. 
"On  the  corner  of  Jones  and  Gear}' — 
you  see,  quite,  oh,  quite  the  wrong 
side  of  Market  Street  for  memoir 
purposes     ..." 

"And  your  first  theatric  appear- 
ance— "  I  prompted,  to  cover  the 
embarrassing  moment. 

He  brightened,  but  not  for  long. 
"Charles  Kent  was  playing  'Damon 
and  Pythias'  in  the  Old  Columbia," 
he  said.  "And  I  was  the  third  senator 
— or  maybe  it  was  the  fourth.  .\t  an}- 
rate,  there  were  about  ten  of  us,  and 
mine  was  the  only  senatorial  line — 'I 
do  approve  it,'  were  the  words  allotted 
me.  When  my  cue  came,  so  engrossed 
was  I  in  the  superb  acting  of  Kent, 
that  I  failed  to  pick  it  up.  The  im- 
mortal words  were  not  lost  from  the 
piece,  however.  Nine  other  senators, 
covetous  of  laurels,  supplied  them." 

"What  were  your  feelings  when  you 

left  San  Francisco.'"  seemed  a  bright 

question,  so  I  asked  it. 
*     *     * 

"VXT'ELL,  in  those  days,"  said 
Mr.  Duncan,  "I  knew  that  all 
opinions  theatric,  carrying  any 
weight,  of  course,  emanated  from 
the  town  by  the  Golden  Gate.  I  re- 
member this  idea  got  its  first  jolt  in 
Chicago.  I  found  the  people  of  Chicago 
felt  that  same  way  about  their  city. 
Then  I  came  on  to  New  York,  and  be- 
gan following  in  the  footsteps  of 
Booth.  I  had  read  that  he  underwent 
great  privations;  so  I  just  looked 
around  for  punishment.  Someone  had 
told  me  that  he  even  pasted  his  own 
handbills  up  in  Honolulu,  and  it  wasn't 
{Continued  on  page  30) 


The  San  Franciscan 
15 


J  SCJNDIXJriAN  HEROINE  FOR  'AN  AMERICAN  TRAGEDY" 

Greta  Nissen  cast  for  thejead  in  the  film  version  of 
Theodore'Dreisers"  Novel. 


The  San  Franciscan 
16 


A  Reviewer  at  Large 

Notes  and  Comment  on  Music  and  the  Drama 

By  JOSEPH  DYER 


'TTAHERE  is  no  good  modern 
I  music"  cry  the  critics  of  the 
earth.  They  are  not  inten- 
tionally pessimistic;  they  are  eagerly 
listening  for  a  strain  of  glory  in  con- 
temporary music,  which  is  compar- 
able to  the  thing  which  the  old  masters 
have  given.  And,  with  very  few  ex- 
ceptions, they  have  listened  in  vain. 

But  the  rule  of  modern  mediocrity 
is  broken  by  Respighi's  "Pines 
of  Rome"  which  Alfred  Hertz 
and  the  San  Francisco  Symphony 
Orchestra  have  given  three  times 
already  this  season.  If  popular 
response  is  a  keynote  to  future 
demand,  we  have  not  yet  heard 
the  last  of  the  Respighi  this  year. 

The  conductor  of  a  Symphony 
Orchestra  is  placed  in  the  diffi- 
cult position  of  trying  to  please 
opposing  factions — the  modern- 
ists who  would  have  only  con- 
temporary composers  on  the  pro- 
grams, and  the  lovers  of  the 
purely  classical  theme,  who  would 
not  allow  any  work  to  be  played 
whose  composer  had  not  been 
dust  twenty  to  fifty  years. 

Alfred  Hertz,  catholic  in  his 
love  for  all  fine  music  regardless 
of  nationality,  period,  or  type, 
has  artfully  framed  his  programs 
so  as  to  give  something  to  each 
one  of  his  auditors.  In  the 
"Pines  of  Rome"  he  has  shown 
them  the  modern  theme  at  its 
best. 

Last    year,    during    the    San 
Mateo     Philharmonic     concerts, 
Nicolai     Sokoloif    gave    us     the 
"Fountains    of    Rome"    by    the    same 
composer.      Here   was    modern    music 
that  yet    conformed  to  some  of  the  old 
ideas  and  ideals.     It  had  form,  it  had 
a  melodic  line,  it  had  a    good  sound 
foundation    and    its    phraseology    per- 
mitted   of    lovely    orchestral    effects. 
Yet  it  was  not  great.     The  composer, 
feeling    his    way,    struck    the    core    of 
inspiration  in  the  four  groups  of  pines 
of    the    immortal    city    which    he    has 
programed  in  his  splendid  work. 

We  are  cleverly  translated  from  the 
"Pines  of  the  Villa  Borghese"  where 
children  are  at  play,  to  the  "Pines 
Near  a  Catacomb,"  informed  with  the 
vast  empurpled  music  of  church  ritual. 
A  nightingale  song  creeps  through  the 
"Pines  of  the  Janiculum."  But  in  the 
"Pines  of  the  Appian  Way"  there  is  a 
glorious  pageant  of  Roman  conquerors 


programed  that  for  sheer  atmosphere 
and  splendor  of  composition  is  un- 
rivaled in  modern  music. 

Barbaric,  stirring,  flashing  with  gold 
and  copper  and  silver,  clash  of  battle 
ax  on  shield,  arrogance  of  Imperial 
purple,  black  bodies  of  slaves — themes 
of  conqueror  and  conquered.  Caesar 
with  his  royal  purple  blown  by  the 
Roman    breeze,    his    face    stained    the 


HENRY  COW  ELL 


scarlet  of  victory.  The  Respighi  com- 
position is  Edgar  Saltus  put  to  music; 
it  has  power  and  glory  and  imagination. 
San  Francisco  has  never  heard  a  more 
magnificent  reading  of  a  -  modern 
theme.  "Pines  of  Rome"  of  Ottorino 
Respighi  has  been  the  esthetic  triumph 

of  the  1926-7  season. 

*     *     * 

lUrENRY  Cowell,  young,  earnest, 
•'■  -*■  yet  wholly  able  to  take  emo- 
tional and  intellectual  charge  of  his 
hearers,  played  before  the  San  Fran- 
cisco Musical  Society  on  December 
2nd,  at  the  Fairmont.  The  rainy  day 
and  the  large  crowd  and  the  enthusi- 
asm taken  together,  were  ample  evi- 
dence that  the  startling  composer- 
pianist  has  "arrived"  in  San  Fran- 
cisco. Of  course  he  had  arrived  long 
ago  in  Europe,  and  in  New  York — and 


in  Los  Angeles — but  San  Francisco  is 
especially  reticent  in  praise  of  her  own 
children,  as  a  good  mother  should  be.  . 
Felicitations  on  the  discovery  of  a  ' 
method  are  due  Cowell.  His  tone 
clusters,  produced  on  the  keyboard  of 
the  pianoforte  with  the  side  of  the 
hand,  the  forearm  and  the  fist,  extend 
the  scope  of  the  instrument,  and  offer 
some  interesting  new  possibilities  to 
composition.  Other  composers 
have  experimented  with  new 
methods  of  piano  technique  in 
their  work,  but  it  remains  for  the 
young  Californian  to  demon- 
strate completely  the  quality  of 
sound  to  be  produced  on  the 
concert  grand  by  the  deliberate 
application  to  the  keyboard  of 
muscles  other  than  those  of  the 
finger  tips,  and  by  the  applica- 
tions of  the  fingers  to  the  wires 
themselves. 

But  it  is  Cowell  himself  who 
advises  his  hearers  to  listen  to 
the  music  rather  than  to  watch 
the  production  of  it.  And  cer- 
tainly he  achieves  a  deep  breadth 
of  sound  that  gives  more  a  feel- 
ing of  a  full  orchestra  than  of  one 
piano.  He  regards  his  technique 
of  less  consequence  than  the 
scope  it  gives  him  in  tone  pro- 
duction. Unlike  some  of  the 
moderns  he  does  not  scorn  the 
ancient  classicists.  He  believes 
that  modern  music  is  a  continua- 
tion of  the  older  forms,  and  not 
a  destruction  of  them. 

To    quote    Paul    Rosenfelt    in 
The  Dial,  in  referring  to  a  con- 
cert   of    Cowell's    in    New    York    last 
j^ear,  which  roused  a  storm  of  contro- 
versy among  the  critics: 

"The  people  who  called  for  strait 
jackets  had  better  be  calling  for  ears — - 
for  themselves." 


npHE  Gilbert  Miller  production  of 
,  ,  Bourdet's  play  "La  Prisonnere," 
which  he  has  produced  in  this  country 
under  the  title  of  "The  Captive,"  con- 
tinues to  be  the  most  talked  of  play 
this  month.  The  theme  is  one  having 
to  do  with  sexual  psychology,  and  in 
the  eyes  of  the  strictly  proper  it  is 
said  to  be  one  of  the  most  dangerous 
ever  on  the  American  stage.  But 
Bourdet  has  developed  the  entire 
thing  only  by  clever  suggestion,   and 

{Continued  on  page  30) 


The  San  Franciscan 
17 


Meanwhile  in  Manhattan 


THE  ermine  and  the  red  flannels, 
respectively,  emerge  from  cold 
storage,  and  the  golosh  flappeth 
untidily  upon  the  Avenue;  while  that 
Parisian  "something"  represented  by 
the  vendors  of  roasted  chestnuts  takes 
the  place  of  that  Ita  ian  "something" 
recognized  in  the  organ-grinders.  Once 
more  the  commuter  who  pays  his 
nickel  to  walk  half-way  from  Times 
Square  to  the  Grand  Central,  hunting 
among  the  green  and  black  lines  for 
the  shuttle  train,  has  begun  to  remark 
cheerily  that  it  is  at  least  warm  under- 
ground— and  so  much  for  the  weather. 
+     *     * 

TN  spite  of  competition  set  up  by  the 
cold  waves  and  tidal  waves — and 
especially  since  the  rains  are  setting 
in,  the  Nestle  Circuline  Waves — the 
crime  wave  holds  its  own  bravely. 
Marksmanship  among  the  gunmen, 
though  a  little  wild  and  ragged  earlier, 
is  speedily  improving,  and  last  week's 
total  of  policemen  shot  in  the  city  of 
New  York  showed  an  encouraging  in- 
crease over  previous  records.  The 
Mayor  has  stopped  worrying  about 
the  ominously  low-tide  in  the  munici- 
pal reservoir,  and  the  slogan,  "When 
you  drink  water,  thousands  go  un- 
washed," has  been  replaced  by  ap- 
peals for  better  police  conservation. 
Last  week's  casualties  even  included 
a  traffic  officer — a  grave  situation  in  a 
town  like  this  where  practically  every- 
body will  want  to  go  hear  "Peaches" 
Browning's  divorce  suit. 

A  S  a  crime  deterrent,  the  Yule-tide 
■^  benevolent  campaign  should  func- 
tion. Almost  any  sane,  reflective  high- 
wayman should  abandon  pistols,  ma- 
chine guns,  and  airplanes  (the  latest 
Eastern  devices)  when  he  observes  the 
humane  methods  of  the  Charity  Ball 
Committee  and  the  debutante  tag- 
seller.  All  one  needs  this  month  is  a 
Cause.  The  unwary  out-of-towner 
should  be  careful  about  attending 
anything  labeled  a  concert.  Most  of 
them  are  partisan  affairs  these  days, 
and  something  is  invariably  raffled 
off — something  nobody  wants,  any- 
way. Although  they  still  tell  up  at 
the  McAlpin  Roof  Garden  about  what 
happened  last  year.  After  the  congre- 
gation had  sung  "The  Wearin'  o'  the 
Green,"  the  cha;rman  and  his  coterie 
of  helpers  accepted  the  wallets  of  all 
those  present  in  exchange  for  a  chance 
or  two  on  the  day's  lottery.  It  was  a 
dramatic  moment  when  he  explained 
the  winning  number  would  entitle  the 


holder  to  a  trip  to  Rome  and  an  inter- 
view with  the  Pope — but  the  high 
point  in  the  afternoon's  entertainment 
was  reached  when  the  charming  actress 
doing  her  bit  for  charity,  daintily  drew 
forth  the  fatal  slip  and  faultlessly 
elocuted  the  name  of  Isidor  Lechinski. 
However,  this  sort  of  thing  happens 
seldom.  One  usually  sits  through  a 
long  program,  buys  four  chances  for  a 
dollar — and  later,  when  business  falls 
off,  seven,  wins  nothing,  and  comes 
home.  By  December  2Sth,  the  Christ- 
mas spirit  of  giving  has  become  a 
habit. 

*  *  * 

npHOUGHTS  about  Christmas  and 
New  Years  seem  to  lead  naturally 
to  the  matter  of  holiday  eating.  In 
New  York  every  effort  is  being  made, 
of  late,  to  discourage  the  preparation 
of  home  meals.  Hundreds  of  the 
newer  and  costlier  apartment  hotels 
like  the  Ritz  Tower  have  been  stigma- 
tized as  "tenements,"  merely  because 
an  occasional  steak  is  delivered  up  the 
backway  de  luxe.  This  ruling  seems  a 
bit  hard  on  the  wealthy,  but  we  are  cer- 
tain the  sensitive  nature  of  the  door- 
man really  suffers  the  most.  Of 
course,  after  one  coaxes  the  steak  into 
the  kitchen,  the  rest  is  being  rapidly 
simplified — or  at  least  made  scientific. 
Ye  Employment  Shoppe  has  sprung 
up  in  Manhattan.  Thither  goes  the 
housewife  in  search  of  a  "girl."  Her 
first  hauteur  is  subdued  by  the  ques- 
tionnaire filed  in  the  outer  office,  on 
which  she  confesses  to  the  number  of 
courses  served  in  her  menage,  the  ex- 
tent and  domestic  habits  of  her  family, 
and  the  type  of  sink-strainer  with 
which  the  prospective  assistant  will 
have  to  cope.  Later,  she  pays  eight 
dollars  for  answering  these  queries — 
her  problem,  she  learns,  has  been 
analyzed  by  experts.  She  is  then 
looked  over  by  the  candidate,  but  sel- 
dom chosen,  and  much  stress  is  put 
upon  her  attitude  toward  her  help. 
One  cowed  matron  did  find  an  oppor- 
tunity to  murmur  during  this  process 
that  she  was  looking  for  a  cook,  not  a 
friend,  but  she  was  put   in  her  place 

without  delay. 

*     *     * 

tJUT  then,  why  eat  at  home  in  New 
York.'  The  purveyors  to  the  appe- 
tite have  prepared  a  menu  for  every 
mood.  If  one  wants  to  be  esthetically 
Italian  and  sit  in  the  shadow  (electri- 
cally lighted)  of  the  Ponte  V'ecchio, 
where  the  interior  decorator  has  given 
a  pleasant  version  of  Florentine  laun- 
dry   drying   on    the    walls,    the    Alice 


Foote-McDougal  restaurants  satisfy. 
The  food  is  one  hundred  percent  Amer- 
ican and  the  coffee  a  shade  over  that. 
If  a  cosmopolitan  urge  governs,  it 
need  only  be  given  a  nationality. 
Down  on  the  edge  of  the  Village,  the 
Lafayette  Hotel  still  serves  a  real 
French  dinner,  where  the  waiters  per- 
mit one  to  try  out  the  foreign  accent 
with  no  extra  charge.  Henry's,  nearer 
the  theaters,  is  not  only  Swedish  but 
the  hors  d'oeuvres  are  a  square  meal. 
The  Bohemian,  in  two  editions,  on 
forty-third  and  fifty-seventh,  carries 
its  Czecho-Slovakian  atmosphere  no 
further  than  the  costumes  of  the 
waitresses  and  the  peasant-wear  on 
display.  The  Russian  Bear  permits 
one  to  sip  "bortsch"  to  the  rhythm  of 
the  \'olga  Boat  Song  and  gaze  about 
at  women  who  mostly  part  their  hair 
in  the  middle.  The  tea  shop  is  found 
practically  always  in  a  basement,  and 
its  name  is  legion — usually  prefixed 
with  "little" — meaning  that  one  turns 
sideways  to  pass  between  the  tables 
and  eats  wholly  with  wrist  movement. 
Then  there  is  always  Child's  (perhaps 
one  should  say  "Children") — no  block 
is  without  one,  and  while  the  menu  is 
standardized,  there  is  a  difference! 
Nobody  would  ever  mistake  the  clien- 
tele of  Fifth  Avenue  at  Forty-eighth, 
where  the  exotic  gather  to  nibble 
daintily  along  after  midnight,  for  the 
hordes  who  order  vegetable  stew  far- 
ther up  Broadway — at  a  nickel  less! 
*     *     * 

TF  one  eats  out,  it  is  only  a  step  more 
to  a  show.  Every  week  is  bringing 
new  plays  to  Broadway.  Some  for  a 
brief  glance  and  some  that  will  com- 
pete ineffectually,  of  course,  with  that 
full-blown  rose  of  Abie's.  Eva  Le 
Gallienne  has  gathered  a  group  about 
her  for  repertory  in  the  old  Fourteenth 
Street  Theater,  and  if  the  men  in  the 
company  are  a  shade  too  young 
through  their  grease-paint  for  their 
heavy  Russian  roles,  at  least  they  are 
better  being  hea\y  than  attempting 
Italian  sprightliness.  "Turandol"  had 
its  resplendent  premiere  at  the  Metro- 
politan with  Jeritza  in  the  role  of  the 
vengeful  Chinese  Princess,  an  L'rban 
set  and  magnificent  costumes  helping 
to  satisfy  the  eye,  where  the  ear  of  the 
critic  tried  without  too  much  success 
to  recognize  Puccini  at  his  best.  Mol- 
nar's  "The  Play's  the  Thing" — at  the 
Henry  Miller — with  Holbrook  Blinn 
cast  as  the  resourceful  dramatist  in 
the  piece,  is  very  talky,  and  all  about 

{Continued  on  piif^e  32) 


The  San  Franciscan 


Miss  C\nthia  Boyd 


(Hnbonlclul 


Mi.'i  Patricia  Clark 


TWO  OF  THE  SEASON'S  MOST  CHARMING  DEBUTANTES 


The  San  Franciscan 
19 


THE  names  of  the  girls  whose 
ability  put  over  the  Junior 
League  Fiesta,  of  those  who 
dreamed  the  dream  and  saw  the  fin- 
ished spectacle,  of  those  who  sang  and 
danced  and  laughed  and  willed  through 
it  all,  have  been  published  over  and 
over.  \\  hich  does  not  mean  that  all 
has  been  published. 

Romance  budded  there.  And  kisses 
were  exchanged  that  should  not  have 
been.  And  engagements  may  follow. 
Youth  will  be  served. 

\\  hich  leads  to  the  question  which 
occupied  many  minds  the  next  day: 
"In  what  room  did  you  sit.'" 

It  seems  that  there  was  a  tacit,  un- 
written, unbreathed  assumption  that 
there  were  gradations  according  to  the 
prominence  one  occupied  in  the  social 
spectrum  and  that  one's  place  in  the 
sun  was  fixed  by  one's  assignment  to 
ballroom,  dining-room,  or  terrace.  A 
sort  of  "first,  place,  and  show"  arrange- 
ment as  they  used  to  say  in  the  old 
racing  days  at  Emeryville.  But  per- 
haps it  was  all  fortuitous,  the  fact  re- 
mains that  the  so-called  ringside  seats 
were  occupied  by  the  shining  lights  of 

the  social  firmament. 

*  *     * 

WITH  the  opening  of  the  new 
Hotel  Mark  Hopkins,  and  an- 
nouncement of  the  fact  that  two 
fifteen-story  wings  are  to  be  added 
to  the  Fairmont  on  the  Powell  side, 
and  that  Grace  Cathedral  at  last  is 
going  to  arise  from  its  crypt  and  spread 
graceful  spires  to  the  heavens,  it  may 
be  assumed  that  old  Nob  Hill  has 
fairly  come  again  into  its  own. 

The  handsome  new  apartments  on 
two  corners  and  the  Pacific  Union 
Club  on  another,  add  their  quota  to 
the  come-back  being  staged  by  the  old 
hill  that  used  to  ring  with  the  mirth  of 
another  day  when  society  was  under 
the  aegis  of  the  Floods,  Mackays, 
Fairs,  and  O'Briens,  and  each  of  those 
august  families  were  on  top  of  the 
city  one  way  or  another,  but  most  cer- 

tainlv  geographically. 

*  *     * 

'T^HERE  are  San  Franciscans  who 
'■  remember  when  the  Haggins  lived 
in  Taylor  Street,  and  the  Tevises  were 
not  far  distant;  also  the  A.  N.  Towne 
mansion,  the  portals  of  which  stand 
forever  attracting  kodak  fiends  to 
Golden  Gate  Park  where  they  cast 
their  shadows  into  a  man-made  lake. 


All  the  leading  families  clustered 
around  the  top  of  the  hill  and  as  the 
sparks  flew  upward  it  was  called 
"Nob." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  ^^  illiam  Sproule  are 
about  the  only  ones  who  have  a  home 
on  the  eminence,  all  other  habitations 
being  in  hotels  and  apartments.  But 
that  does  not  mean  that  it  is  any  less 
smart  as  a  residence  district.  Some 
young  statistician  will  one  day  emerge 
wild-eyed  from  a  mass  of  papers,  wave 
a  pencil  and  tell  the  world  how  much 
wealth  (measurable)  and  prestige  (im- 
ponderable) are  cubicled  on  that  hill 
where  Mason  crosses  California. 

Then  some  follow-up  hound  will  call 
a  list  of  names  of  prominent  people 
living  in  all  the  sky-scrapers,  and  the 
Hill  will  be  vindicated.  It  will  have 
proven  the  verity  of  the  poet's  line, 
"Thev  also  serve  who  onlv  stand  and 
wait.'' 

^  ^  ^ 

npHE  opening  of  the  Hotel  Mark 
Hopkins,  like  the  Junior  League 
show,  is  now  in  the  past  tense.  To 
review  it  were  banal.  Each  was  bril- 
liant in  its  own  manner.  Each  a  func- 
tion.    Each  checked  off  an  epoch. 

But  the  Junior  League  show  cannot 
be  passed  over  lightly.  It  was  too 
superlatively  lovely  and  represents  too 
much  of  the  season's  social  activity. 

\\'hat  was  the  high  light.'  And  the 
dominant  tone.'  Could  Solomon  him- 
self have  said .' 

However,  it  is  pretty  well  nigh 
unanimously  agreed  that  Miss  \  irginia 
Phillips  was  the  outstanding  beauty  of 
the  event.  She  has  been  heralded  as 
a  New  Yorker.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
she  is  a  San  Franciscan,  born  and  bred 
here,  and  certainly  if  there  is  Spanish 
blood  in  her  there  is  also  Celtic  and  a 
good  old  California  strain.  She  would 
be  the  first  to  disclaim  any  of  the  high- 
sounding  fustian  which  has  been  writ- 
ten about  her,  for  she  has  the  saving 
grace  of  common  sense  as  well  as  a 
radiant  loveliness.  She  is  the  daughter 
of  the  late  Grattan  Phillips  and  Mrs. 
Phillips  of  Clay  Street,  went  to  San 
Francisco  schools  in  her  childhood, 
finished  in  Washington  and  New  York, 
has  traveled  a  bit  and  studied  a  lot. 

Preeminently  the  Fiesta  was  an 
affair  of  dancing  and  costumes.  There 
was  singing,  to  be  sure,  but  the  "par- 
lor" voices  of  the  girls  were  faintly 
heard  in  the  great  rooms  of  the  Fair- 


mont. Besides,  who  cared  whether 
they  sang  well  or  not?  Not  while  the 
eye  was  so  thoroughly  filled  with 
feminine  charm. 

A  notable  exception  was  the  Coun- 
tess de  Limur  who,  for  all  her  French 
title,  is  our  own  Ethel  Mary  Crocker, 
back  from  her  Paris  home  on  a  visit  to 
her  California  home.  Her  really 
lovely  voice  was  heard  to  great  advan- 
tage in  the  trio  with  Meredith  Parker 
and  Austin  Sperry,  which  opened  the 
pantomime.  Sperry,  by  the  way,  is  a 
distant  relative  of  the  countess  on  the 
distaff  side.  The  pantomime  was  very 
obvioush'  borrowed,  with  certain  modi- 
fications, from  the  act  given  in  Balieff's 
"Chauve  Souris"  in  New  York  several 
seasons  ago.  But  Balieff  offered  no 
such  pulchritudinous  and  charming 
queen  as  Helen  Crocker  in  her  golden 
gown,  no  such  graceful  and  gorgeously 
frocked  favorite  as  Mrs.  Nion  Tucker, 
and  the  jester  could  not  compare  in 
sprightliness  and  whimsy  with  little 
Mrs.  Robert  Miller. 

The  most  beautifully  costumed  num- 
ber undoubtedly  was  the  "Talking  to 
the  Moon"  chorus,  the  solo  of  which 
was  sung  by  Parrish  Williams  who 
was  in  excellent  voice.  It  was  pre- 
sented by  the  tallest  and  stateliest 
maids  of  the  show  in  magnificent 
Spanish  Court  gowns.  Mrs.  Alexander 
Wilson  sang  and  danced  "The  Birth 
of  the  Blues"  so  cleverly  and  win- 
somely  as  to  arouse  each  of  her  three 
audiences — in  the  ballroom,  the  dining- 
room,  and  the  terrace — to  a  pitch  of 
wild  enthusiasm  and  recall  to  many 
older  San  Franciscans  the  fact  that  her 
father,  the  handsome  Frank  Mathieu 
of  affectionate  memory,  was  consid- 
ered the  best  amateur  actor  of  his 
time.  The  chorus  for  the  number,  in 
blue  tulle  gowns  and  fluffy  blue  wigs, 
had  the  most  muscular,  intriguing  and, 
to  the  onlooker,  the  most  difficult  dance 
of  the  evening,  kicking  high  and  hearty 
and  demonstrating  what  society  girls 
can  do  if  they  turn  their  heels  to  it. 

Mrs.  Rupert  Mason  in  her  Spanish 
dance  carried  off  the  solo  honors  of  the 
evening,  with  Mrs.  Kenneth  Mont- 
eagle  a  close  second  as  a  wicked  char- 
mer "In  a  Little  Spanish  Town."  In 
fact,  both,  were  good  enough  to  im- 
peach their  amateur  standing. 

Negri  Arnoldi  in  his  tango  showed 
how  a  strong,  husky  young  man  can 
be  utterly  graceful  without  destroying 


The  San  Franciscan 
20 

the  impression  that  he  may  be  equally 
expert  in  the  more  athletic  pursuits. 

It  is  said  that  the  aflfair  was  a  finan- 
cial success  beyond  the  expectations^ 
of  the  League.  Certainly,  as  a  spec-' 
tacle  of  youthful  charm  and  activity 
it  must  have  satisfied  the  most  carping. 
If  there  were  hitches  or  hiatuses,  mis- 
takes or  catastrophes,  they  did  not 
percolate  to  the  public  cognizance. 


T 


HE  debutantes  will  occupy  the 
stage  for  the  balance  of  the  year. 
Beginning  with  the  ball  given  by  Miss 
Patricia  Clark  last  Saturday  at  El 
Palomar  by  her  mother,  Mrs.  Tobin 
Clark,  until  the  old  year  goes  out  in  a 
sirocco  of  young  sighs  there  will  be 
something  doing  nearly  every  day. 

Miss  Clark  is  the  second  of  three 
daughters  of  Mrs.  Tobin  Clark,  and 
sister  of  Paul  F.  Clark.  Her  coming- 
out  party  was  one  of  the  most  elab- 
orate of  the  year  and  was  preceded  by 
a  large  number  of  dinners.  On  the 
evening  of  December  28th  Miss  Clark's 
uncle,  Richard  M.  Tobin,  who  came 
all  the  way  from  The  Netherlands  to 
do  obeisance  to  his  charming  niece's 
youth  and  beauty,  will  give  her  a 
party  at  the  Bohemian  Club,  his 
stamping  ground  for  many,  many 
years. 

On  the  next  night,  the  29th,  Miss 
Cynthia  Boyd,  who  will  by  that  time 
have  worn  the  crown  of  debutantehood 
for  a  whole  day,  will  give  a  dance  at 
the  home  of  her  aunt,  Mrs.  William 
Hinckley  Taylor,  with  about  the  same 
group  of  young  people  attending. 

Miss  Boyd's  official  debut  will  be  on 
the  afternoon  of  December  28th  at  a 
tea  to  be  given  by  her  mother,  Airs. 
George  D.  Boyd,  at  Mrs.  William 
Hinckley  Taylor's  home.  The  Boyd 
home  at  San  Rafael  was  deemed  a  bit 
too  inaccessible  for  a  large  and  elab- 
orate function  such  as  Miss  Cynthia's 
coming-out  party  will  be.  Hence  the 
tea  at  Mrs.  Taylor's  home,  the  sister 
of  Mrs.  Boyd. 

There  is  probably  no  larger  family 
"connection"  in  San  Francisco  society 
than  that  of  the  Boyds,  Taylors, 
Kittles,  and  Scotts.  The  ramifica- 
tions are  numerous  and  reach  into 
many  families  of  distinction. 


M^ 


fRS.  William  Babcock  will  give  a 
dinner  at  the  Fairmont  hotel  on 
the  night  of  December  28th  to  which 
Miss  Boyd  will  go  fresh  from  her  tea 
to  share  the  honors  with  Mrs.  Bab- 
cock's  niece,  the  Honorable  Barbara 
Bagot,  who  is  here  from  England  for 
the  winter.  Later  the  party  will  go 
to  Mr.  Tobin's  ball  for  Miss  Clark  at 
the  Bohemian  Club. 

Miss  Constance  Horn  will  have  her 
coming-out     party     December     17th, 


when  her  parents,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
William  Palmer  Horn  will  give  a  ball 
at  the  Bohemian  Club.  Miss  Horn  is 
a  tall,  brunette  girl  of  much  charm  and 
beauty,  a  granddaughter  of  Mrs. 
Camilo  Martin,  and  a  descendant  of 
one  of  the  oldest  families  in  San  Fran- 
cisco. Camilo  Martin  was  the  Span- 
ish consul  here  for  many  years.  Mrs. 
Camilo  Martin  was  Miss  Frances  A. 
Hyde,  daughter  of  one  of  the  famous 
Vigilantes  of  sand-lot  times.  There 
are  three  other  daughters:  Mrs.  Alex- 
ander Garceau,  Sister  Gertrude  of  the 
Holy  Names,  who  was  Miss  Florence 
Hyde,  Mrs.  Hyde  Smith,  and  Miss 
Mary  Hyde.  All  but  Sister  Gertrude, 
who  is  now  in  Oakland,  live  in  Jackson 
Street. 

A/rlSS  Frances  Baldwin  also  was 
•'•  -^  a  debutante  this  month.  She  is 
a  daughter  of  Alexander  Baldwin  of 
Woodside  and  Stanford  Court,  and  a 
granddaughter  of  Mrs.  John  Glass- 
cock, formerly  of  Oakland.  Her  debut 
was  a  tea  given  at  the  Baldwin  apart- 
ments at  Stanford  Court  by  Mrs. 
Glasscock  and  Aliss  Mary  Baldwin. 
Miss  Frances  wore  a  charming  Chanel 
frock  of  white  chiflFon,  simply  made, 
with  a  cluster  of  beaded  flowers  on  the 
side.  Assisting  her  and  her  grand- 
mother and  sister  in  receiving  were 
Misses  Patricia  Clark,  Ynez  Mejia, 
Margaret  and  Mary  Redington,  Con- 
stance Horn,  Martha  Ransome,  Mary 
and  Margaret  Zane.  Miss  Baldwin 
will  give  a  dinner  dance  at  the  St. 
Francis  on  December  14th  for  more 
than  fifty  guests. 

Miss  Mejia,  Miss  Nancy  Davis,  and 
one  or  two  others  of  the  same  set,  have 
not  yet  set  the  dates  of  their  debuts. 
Miss  Martha  Ransome  was  launched 
most  auspiciously  at  a  tea  at  the  St. 
Francis  December  1st.  A  dinner  that 
nisht  was  given  by  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
William  Hendrickson,  Jr.,  and  Barroll 
McNear,  and  a  ball  later  by  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Bernard  Ransome  at  the  St. 
Francis. 


T^ 


^HE  wedding  of  Miss  Caroline  Mad- 
ison and  Charles  Oelrichs  Martin 
January  Sth  at  the  home  of  Miss  Madi- 
son's sister,  Mrs.  Wakefield  Baker,  will 
be  the  first  of  the  weddings  which  will 
come  in  rapid  succession  before  Lent 
settles  down  after  the  Mardi  Gras 
ball  on  March  1st. 

Miss  Idabelle  Wheaton  and  Mrs. 
Baker  will  be  the  only  attendants  and 
the  wedding  will  be  small  and  quiet, 
much  to  the  disappointment  of  all  who 
remember  the  brilliant  wedding  of 
Miss  Lily  Oelrichs  and  Peter  Martin, 
parents  of  the  bridegroom-elect. 
Whether  Martin's  mother,  now  the 
Duchess    of    Mecklenberg,    will    come 


for  the  wedding,  is  problematical. 
Miss  Madison  is  the  daughter  of 
Frank  Madison  and  sister  of  Marshall 
Madison,  who  married  Miss  Elena 
Eyre  some  years  ago. 

*  *     * 

npHEN  in  February  will  come  the 
■*■  weddings  of  Miss  Eleanor  Morgan 
and  Augustus  Vlrden,  and  of  Miss 
Phyllis  Potter  and  Bruce  Dohrmann. 
Perhaps  some  of  those  Junior  League 
engagements  will  have  been  announced 
by  then.  The  names  of  Misses  Helene 
Lundborg  and  MoUie  McBryde  were 
whispered  in  the  Spanish  Garden  the 
night  of  the  Fiesta,  but  both  deny  the 
rumors. 

Miss  Idabelle  Wheaton  is  said  to  be 
more  in  demand  as  a  bridesmaid  than 
any  other  girl  in  society.  She  was  in 
Mrs.  Starr  Bruce's  wedding  party  and 
will  be  Miss  Madison's  bridesmaid. 
Baltzer  Peterson  is  known  as  society's 
perennial  best  man.  "The  Constant 
Best  Man,"  he  might  be  called. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Starr  Bruce  will  be 
home  from  their  honeymoon  trip  to 
Honolulu  before  the  holidays  and  there 
will  doubtless  be  a  round  of  enter- 
taining for  them. 

*  *     * 

WHICH  leaves  not  one  word  said 
about  those  older  than  the  mid- 
dle twenties.  Where  are  the  "young 
matrons"  of  yester-year?  They  just 
ain't. 

Debs  and  brides,  or  nothing.  After 
twenty-five  it  is  bridge  and  oblivion  so 

far  as  this  season  is  concerned. 

*  *     * 

ANOTHER  bride-elect  whose  ap- 
^  *■  proaching  marriage  is  of  much 
interest  here  is  Miss  Elisabeth  Raoul- 
Duval  and  Jean  Coutourie  of  Paris. 
Miss  Raoul-Duval  is  a  cousin  of 
Misses  Patricia  and  Mary  Clark,  a 
niece  of  Mrs.  Tobin  Clark  and  Richard 
M.  Tobin.  The  wedding  will  take 
place  in  the  early  spring.  Coutourie  is 
a  brother  of  the  Duchess  Decazes  and 

the  Comtesse  Charles  de  Lesseps. 

*  *     * 

■nOURN  Hayne,  son  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
■^  William  Alston  Hayne,  is  planning 
a  unique  New  Year's  Eve  party,  but 
to  tell  the  details  would  spoil  the  fun 
for  the  guests.  Sufficient  to  say  he  is 
looking  over  the  town  for  someone  who 
can  call  the  Lancers,  the  \'irginia  Reel, 
and  other  old-fashioned  dances.  The 
affair  will  be  held  at  the  Bourn  ranch 
near  St.  Helena  and  it  has  been  whis- 
pered that  the  guests  will  be  met  at 
the  station  by  hay  wagons  instead  of 
limousines.  Graham  Cranston  is  an- 
other who  is  planning  a  New  Year's 
party.  But  for  want  of  an  open  date 
his  will  be  on  December  30th.  It  will 
be  held  at  the  new  Mark  Hopkins  hotel. 
{Continued  on  page  22) 


1 


The  San  Franciscan 
21 


The  San  Franciscan 
22 


Society 

(Cotili lined  from  page  20 1 

IV/rlSS  Patricia  Clark's  coming-out 
^'^  ball  was  one  of  the  most  beauti- 
fully appointed  affairs  which  San 
Francisco  has  seen  for  many  months. 
Certainly  not  since  Miss  Janet  Whit- 
man's debutante  ball  at  the  Burling- 
ame  Club  early  in  October  has  there 
been  anything  so  exquisitely  lovely. 

The  decorations  were  done  by  the 
Misses  Worn.  The  great  pavilion 
built  on  the  grounds  of  El  Palomar  was 
done  to  simulate  fairyland,  or  one's 
idea  of  a  glorified  fairyland. 

Miss  Patricia  is  the  second  daughter 
of  Mrs.  Tobin  Clark,  a  niece  of  Rich- 
ard M.  Tobin,  and  of  Mrs.  Raoul- 
Duval  of  Paris.  The  Tobin  ramifica- 
tions are  numerous  and  reach  to  the 
roots  of  San  Francisco  society.  On 
her  father's  side  she  is  a  granddaughter 
of  the  late  Senator  Clark  of  Montana, 
and  a  niece  of  William  Clark  of  Los 
Angeles,  known  there  as  the  angel  of 
the  Symphony  Orchestra.  She  is  a 
sister  of  Misses  Mary  and  Agnes 
Clark  and  Paul  Clark. 

ly/fR.  and  Mrs.  John  Drum  will  give 
^*-  a  dance  December  23rd  for  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  John  Magee,  who  are  coming 
from  their  home  in  New  York  to  spend 
several  weeks  here.  They  will  arrive 
next  week  from  the  East  with  Ray- 
mond Armsby,  who  will  open  his  home 
at  Burlingame  for  the  holidays.  Later 
the  Magees  will  be  the  guests  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Daniel  C.  Jackling  at  Wood- 
side. 

The  Magees  were  here  two  years  ago 
and  were  guests  of  the  Jacklings  at  the 
St.  Francis.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Drum  will 
take  two  of  the  floors  of  the  proposed 
new  annex  to  the  Fairmont   hotel,  it 

is  said. 

*  *     * 

'"pHE  wedding  date  of  Miss  Gene- 
*-  vieve  Tallant  of  Santa  Barbara 
and  William  Earl  Graham,  son  of  Mrs. 
Pollock  Graham  of  this  city  is  set, 
according  to  friends  of  the  couple,  but 
they  are  not  taking  anyone  into  the 
secret.  That  it  will  be  after  Easter  is 
all  they  will  admit. 

Mrs.  Charles  Dabney  (Geraldine 
Graham)  will  be  in  the  wedding  party, 
as   will   also   Mrs.   Arthur   Gibson   of 

this  citv. 

*  *     * 

npHE  Women's  City  Club's  first  din- 
-^  ner  dance  Saturday  evening,  De- 
cember 11th,  demonstrated  that  the 
City  Club  had  (or  has)  digressed  from 
its  original  intention  of  making  the 
world  safe  for  stenographers.  For 
Society  was  there  in  its  shortest  skirts 
and  sprightliest  mood. 


1 


M^ 


Between  courses  there  were  bits  of 
the  Junior  League  show  repeated  for 
the  entertainment  of  the  guests,  who 
numbered  nearly  two  hundred.  This 
was  due  to  the  efforts  and  enterprise 
of  Mrs.  Howard  Park,  who  is  a  mem- 
ber of  Mrs.  Harry  Staats  Moore's 
committee,  the  Club  Auditorium 
group.  Mrs.  Charles  Miner  Cooper's 
fine  executive  ability  had  much  to  do 
with  the  success  of  the  dance,  she  be- 
ing chairman  of  the  Club's  hospitality 
committee.  Other  members  of  that 
committee  are  Mesdames  Louis  F. 
Monteagle,  Henry  J.  Crocker,  Willis 
\\'alker,  Kenneth  R.  Kingsbury,  Perry 
Eyre,  A.  J.  Dibblee,  and  Miss  Ruth 
Langdon. 

Among  those  who  had  tables  were 
Miss  Edith  Slack,  Mrs.  James  Theo- 
dore Wood,  Mrs.  Parker  Maddux,  Mrs. 
Kenneth  Kingsbury,  Mrs.  Perry  Eyre, 
Mrs.  Harold  K.  Faber,  and  Mrs. 
Howard  Park.  As  the  orchestra  was 
engaged  only  until  midnight  a  number 
of  the  guests  had  time  to  go  down  the 
peninsula  to  attend  the  dance  by  Mrs. 
Tobin   Clark  for  her  daughter,   Miss 

Patricia  Clark. 

*  *     * 

[IBS  Leonore  Armsby,  who  went 
to  Paris  but  two  short  months 
ago  to  purchase  her  trousseau,  is  on 
her  way  home.  She  left  the  day  after 
announcing  her  engagement  to  Alfred 
Hendrickson,  making  the  trip  under 
the  protection  of  her  uncle,  Raymond 
Armsby.  Her  parents,"  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
George  N.  Armsby,  went  to  New  York 
to  meet  Miss  Armsby,  and  together 
they  are  having  a  happy  time  in  the 
metropolis.  The  family  will  return 
to  California  in  January,  after  which 
the  wedding  date  will  be  set. 

*  *     * 

'T*HE  San  Francisco  Garden  Club's 
■^  first  big  affair,  with  program  and 
prospectus  of  the  year  to  come,  was 
cancelled  within  a  few  days  of  the 
date  set  because  of  the  sudden  illness 
and  subsequent  death  of  Mrs.  Adam 
Grant.  The  meeting  was  to  have  been 
in  the  form  of  a  tea  at  the  home  of 
Mrs.  Joseph  D.  Grant  in  Broadway, 
with  tea  after  the  elaborate  program. 

It  is  likely  that  the  Garden  Club  will 
hold  the  postponed  meeting  early  in 
the  new  year,  as  the  membership  is 
eager  to  prosecute  its  work  with  all 
dispatch.  Mrs.  William  Hinckley  Tay- 
lor is  the  president  and  under  her 
able  direction  much  is  planned  for  the 
beautification  of  San  Francisco. 

npHE  wedding  of  Miss  Adelaide  Grif- 

■*■     fith  and  Eric  Cochrane  will  take 

place  December  29th  and  will  be  e.\- 

tremelv  quiet  on  account  of  the  recent 


death  of  Miss  Griflnth's  father,  the 
late  Charles  M.  Griffith,  who  died  in 
Switzerland  last  summer. 

Miss  Griffith  is  a  niece  of  Miss  Alice 
Griffith  and  a  granddaughter  of  the 
late  Captain  Millen  Griffith  and  a 
cousin  of  Millen  Griffith. 

Cochrane  comes  from  Fresno  and  is 
a  University  of  California  graduate. 
Miss  Griflfith  was  also  a  student  at  the 
University  of  California  and  it  was  on 
the  campus  that  the  romance  started. 
The  wedding  will  take  place  at  Trinity 
Church  with  the  Reverend  Charles 
Deems  officiating. 

*  If:  * 

\/fRS.  William  T.  Sesnon  and  Mrs. 
^^^  Charles  C.  Moore  were  the  guests 
of  honor  at  a  delightful  evening  given 
by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Prentis  Cobb  Hale  at 
their  home  in  Vallejo  Street  Decem- 
ber 8th.  The  affair  was  by  way  of 
being  a  dedication  of  the  new  ballroom 
of  the  Hale  home.  The  new  addition 
started  out  to  be  a  garage.  At  least, 
that  was  what  the  Hales  intended  when 
they  bought  the  lot  adjoining  their 
property.  Then  young  Prentis  wanted 
a  gymnasium.  Then  Mrs.  Hale  de- 
cided that  she  would  have  a  ballroom, 
with  a  stage  "and  everything."  So 
ballroom  and  stage  there  is  and  the 
party  was  regaled  with  two  plays  on 
the  new  stage,  and  music  between 
the  plays.  Charles  C.  Moore  was  the 
master  of  ceremonies  and  speeches 
were  made  by  Milton  Esberg  and  the 
host,  who  was  in  happy  vein. 

One  of  the  plays  was  "Letters,"  the 
cast  including  Mrs.  Frederick  H. 
Meyer,  Mrs.  Carlo  Sutro  Morbio,  and 
Miss  Mary  Davis.  The  other  play  was 
presented  by  Mrs.  Sesnon,  Miss  Helen 
Brack,  Sterling  Rounthwaite,  and  Rob- 
ert Carman-Ryles. 

*     *     * 

\/rRS.  Gaillard  Stoney  is  planning  to 
-'-  -^  go  to  the  Near  East  in  February 
with  a  party  which  is  being  arranged 
by  the  New  York  office  of  the  Near 
East  Relief.  The  part}'  will  stop  at 
Rome  and  visit  Jerusalem,  and  return 
to  America  within  two  months.  Mrs. 
Stoney  is  the  San  Francisco  chairman 
of  the  Near  East  Relief  and  Judge 
William  Waste  the  California  chair- 
man. 


c 


VPTAIN  and  Mrs.  Powers  Syming- 
ton are  coming  to  San  Francisco 
just  after  the  holidays  and  there 
doubtless  will  be  much  entertaining 
for  them  as  both  are  popular  in  local 
society  and  Mrs.  Symington  grew  up 
here.  She  was  Miss  Maud  Fay  and 
friends  of  the  numerous  Fay  clan  will 
vie  with  each  other  in  entertaining  for 
her. 


The  San  Franciscan 
23 


7,  Rue  De  La  Paix 


San  Francisco  and  Its  Women  as  Seen  by  the   Head  of  the  House  of  Worth 


(EDITOR'S  NOTE.  M.  Jacques  Worth,  one  of 
the  foremost  of  French  designers,  was  recently  a 
visitor  in  San  Francisco.  Through  the  courtesy 
of  Michael  Weill,  the  host  of  Monsieur  Worth,  the 
following  exclusive  article  was  obtained  for  "THE 
SAN  FRANCISCAN."  The  Editor  wishes  to 
acknowledge  his  deep  appreciation  to  both  Mr. 
Weill  and  Monsieur  Worth.) 

SAN  FRANCISCO  is  gay,  and  self- 
confident — and  above  all  things — 
young.  But  it  is  not  the  simu- 
lated youth  that  your  women  show, 
nor  merely  the  youth  of  the  body.  It 
is  the  eternal  youth  of  the  soul.  Of  the 
eagerness  to  live.  Of  the  delightful 
curiosity  that  has  not  been  disap- 
pointed by  disillusionment.  She  walks 
with  spirit.  She  dresses  with  the  dis- 
creet courage  that  she  shares  with  the 
chic  Parisienne.  She  is  a  psycho- 
logical cocktail  to  the  imagination  of 
the  designer  of  dresses.  And  above  all 
things  she  is  willing  to  be  her  delight- 
ful self,  in  her  home,  in  her  social  life, 
and,  praise  Heaven,  in  her  choice  of 
clothing.  She  does  not  admire  the 
rubber  stamp  manner  of  dressing.  She 
has  the  courage  of  her  own  personality. 
One  thinks  of  the  costume  "pour  le 
sport"  in  San  Francisco.  The  mood 
persists,  even  in  the  suave  fabrics  of 
the  evening  mode.  Not  so  much  in 
actual  line,  or  in  color,  as  in  feeling. 
She  is  a  woman  clad  for  the  fine  art  of 
living,  rather  than  a  display  rack  for 
a  beautiful  gown.  When  the  dame  de 
la  mode  wears  a  costume  in  San  Fran- 
cisco, it  takes  on  the  quality  of  the 
wearer.  It  is  a  frame  for  her  person- 
ality, from  which  her  charm  shines  out 
enhanced,  and  not  overshadowed. 

T  AM  surprised  to  see  so  few  of  what 
you  call  "flappers"  on  the  streets  of 
San  Francisco.  Jeunes  filles,  fresh, 
young  and  lovely,  but  not  extreme  in 
dress  nor  manner. 

I  think  I  saw  the  ideal  type  today 
in  one  of  your  art  stores.  I  mean  the 
ideal  type  that  the  maker  of  gowns 
must  keep  in  his  mind's  eye  when  he  is 
designing  a  dress  for  an  unknown 
wearer.  I  think  she  is  typical  of  San 
Francisco,  perhaps.  She  was  about 
twenty.  Blond,  with  the  delicate  ash 
blond  hair,  soft  and  a  little  wavy.  Her 
eyes  were  blue,  open  and  direct.  Her 
complexion  was  fair,  but  not  of  the 
hothouse  tint.  The  sun  had  touched 
it  into  a  delicate  rose.  Her  waist  was 
high,  anatomically  speaking,  her  legs 
rather  long,  and  slenderly  round.  Her 
calves  were  high,  and  her  ankles  slim, 
but  not  too  slim,  and  she  walked  deli- 


By  JACQUES  WORTH 

cately  but  surely,  one  foot  nearly 
straight  ahead  of  the  other,  the  heel 
down  a  fraction  of  a  second  before  the 

toe.  *:{::(; 

'"PHE  spring  mode  will  suit  the  San 

Francisco  mood  most  excellently. 

The    attempt    at    elaboration    of    the 

silhouette  will  have  disappeared.    The 


.■In  Impression  of  Worth  by  Pielke 

woman  of  today  and  tomorrow  will 
keep  the  straight,  short  skirted  frock 
of  youth  and  freedom  that  she  has  en- 
joyed for  many  years  now,  in  spite  of 
any  effort  to  the  contrary.  The 
beauty  of  the  fabric,  the  subtle 
nuances  of  design  will  be  emphasized. 

In  shoes  will  be  a  development. 
With  the  short  skirt  the  shoe  has  come 
into  its  own.  I  predict  that  the  smart 
San  Francisco  woman  will  soon  be 
wearing  shoes  of  French  design — of 
American    make    perhaps,    almost    ex- 


clusively, even  for  sport,  and  cer- 
tainly for  dress.  The  intricate  decora- 
tion that  is  possible  with  the  new 
leathers  without  garish  contrast  opens 
a  whole  new  palette  for  the  designer 
of  foot  gear  to  work  with. 

The  ensemble  is  the  thing.  The 
harmony  of  the  whol  costume.  The 
fitness  of  the  whole  to  the  occasion  on 
which  it  is  worn.  The  discrimination 
between  the  outfits  suitable  for  the 
morning,  for  the  afternoon,  for  the 
evening.  That  is  what  the  mode  of 
tomorrow  will  emphasize — a  develop- 
ment rather  than  an  arbitrary  change 
of  any  sort. 

TX  our  establishment  in  Paris  we 
create  a  thousand  models  a  season. 
Perhaps,  if  we  are  fortunate,  sixty  are 
successful.  Perhaps  twenty  are  really 
new  and  original,  from  an  esthetic 
standpoint.  When  we  are  fortunate 
enough  to  have  a  patron  who  will  say, 
"Study  my  type  and  let  us  take  time 
to  make  something  that  is  perfect," 
then  we  arrive  at  real  beauty.  Too 
many  women  rush  in  and  say,  "I 
must  have  a  gown  for  tonight.  A 
ball.    The  opera.    Hurry,  Hurry!" 

The  personality  is  after  all  the 
thing!  Fashion,  style,  color,  silhou- 
ette are  ail  less  important  than  the 
spirit  of  the  woman  who  wears  the 
creation.  The  creations  are  then 
authentic  and  beautiful  in  themselves, 
reflecting  the  personality  of  the  wom- 
an they  are  chosen  for.  But  if  only 
every  woman  would  take  time  and 
thought  to  clothe  her  spirit  in  the  real 
expression  of  it  the  world  would  be 
more  beautiful  and  the  women  happier. 


I 


ALWAYS  love  to  come  to  San  Fran- 
cisco. There  is  an  invisible  but 
perfectly  tangible  path  directly  from 
Paris  to  your  streets.  There  are  de- 
lightful homes  all  over  America,  but 
the  hostesses  of  San  Francisco  have  a 
way  of  making  their  entertainments 
so  pleasant,  so  simple  and  so  elegantly 
appointed  without  being  oppressive. 
If  it  were  not  comparing  the  lily  to  the 
rose,  I  might  venture  to  say  that  San 
F"rancisco  is  the  Paris  of  America — but 
that  is  to  a  Parisian  who  feels  at  home 
in  San  Francisco.  But  surely  those  of 
this  charming  city  who  know  Paris 
must  think  of  it  as  the  San  Francisco 
of  Europe,  and  for  the  same  reason — 
for  the\'  feel  so  at  home  there. 


The  San  Franciscan 
24 


The  Amazon  Invasion 


(EDITOR'S  NOTE.  Nancy  Barr  Mavity  is  the 
author  of  two  books,  "Hazard"  and  "A  Dinner  of 
H,erbs,"  and  is  a  frequent  contributor  to  America's 
foremost  magazines.  At  present  she  is  on  the 
editorial  staff  of  the  "Oakland  Tribune.") 

A  FEW  years  ago  Joseph  Herges- 
heimer  grew  fearfully  agitated 
about  the  feminine  monopoly  of 
American  literature.  Women  were  not 
only  writing  our  books,  they  were  also 
reading  them,  and  in  consequence  the 
books  they  didn't  write  were  never- 
theless written  with  an  eye  to  the 
feminine  public.  As  to  the  writing,  of 
course,  we  could  hardly  claim  any- 
thing even  approaching  a  monopoly. 
As  to  the  reading,  there  is  nothing  to 
prevent  men  from  engaging  in  that 
indoor  sport  if  they  feel  inclined.  As 
to  the  criticism  that  the  public  exerts 
on  books  before  they  are  written — 
which  is  real  enough,  being  the  only 
time  when  criticism  does  an)rthing 
more  than  lock  stable  doors  after  es- 
caped horses — Hergesheimer's  alarm 
rose  from  his  innate  conviction  that  it 
was  a  biological  mistake  to  lump  wom- 
en with  men  in  the  same  ge7itis  homo, 
more  or  less  sapiens.  It  is  an  axiom 
with  Hergesheimer  that  women  exist 
to  be  seen  and  not  heard  from. 

However,  Hergesheimer  really  was 
seeing  something,  even  if  it  isn't  the 
bogie  he  thought  it  was.  The  "woman 
novel"  exists  today,  in  a  sense  quite 
different  from  that  in  which  "Madame 
Bovary"  and  "Evelyn  Inness"  are 
woman  novels.  Every  publishing  sea- 
son now  brings  at  least  several  of 
them;  and  the  interesting  point — a 
point  which  Hergesheimer  in  his  gen- 
eral panic  would  not  be  likely  to 
mark — is,  that  they  are  showing  a  dis- 
tinct change  from  those  of  even  a  few 
seasons  ago.  When  women  first  be- 
gan to  appear  in  fiction  as  worth 
bothering  about,  the  author  concen-, 
trated  on  the  "feminine  psychology'' 
of  her  emotions — emotion  being  about 
the  only  psychological  apparatus  she 
was  supposed  to  have.  Then  when 
women  broke  loose  and  began  to  harp 
somewhat  insistently  on  the  revolu- 
tionary slogan  that  they  are  "people," 
the  concentration  veered  to  the  strug- 
gle with  circumstance  which  ensued 
when  women  began  to  "behave  like 
human  beings.'' 

At  that  stage  the  outstanding  "wom- 
an novels"  found  their  major  problem 
in  women's  invasion  of  the  field  hither- 
to sacred  to  the  Tired  Business  Man. 
We  had  Charles  Morris's  "Bread"— 
in  which  it  was  shown  that  a  woman 


By  NANCY  BARR  MAVITY 

could  not  have  control  of  her  own 
money  without  being  divorced  from 
her  husband  and  wishing  she  wasn't; 
A.  S.  M.  Hutchinson's  "This  Free- 
dom"— in  which  the  heroine's  pen- 
chant for  mathematics  naturally  led 
to  her  children's  falling  under  railway 
trains  and  taking  to  the  "streets" 
(there  was  a  third  offspring,  but  I  for- 
get its  particular  harrowing  fate);  and 
Helen  Hull's  "Labyrinth,"  which 
though  sympathetic,  ended  in  the 
futility  of  trying  to  storm  the  citadel 
where  husbands  present  a  united  front 
behind  the  battlements — and  in  which 
the  mother  could  not  take  a  month's 
business  trip  without  having  her  small 
son  break  a  leg. 


npHIS  season's  crop,  to  take  three  at 
random,  have  passed  beyond  the 
acute  self-consciousness  of  women 
shouting  that  they  are  people,  against 
men  shouting  that  they  aren't.  The 
self-consciousness  was  extremely  na- 
tural— one  can  hardly  be  blandly  una- 
ware of  a  boil  on  the  point  of  one's 
elbow.  But  when  one  no  longer  has 
to  think  of  the  boil,  one  is  free  to  think 
of  other  things.  In  "Three  Women,"' 
for  instance,  Faith  Baldwin  presents 
not  only  three  generations,  but  also 
three  individual  and  eternal  types  of 
character.  Of  the  three  it  is  the  oldest, 
not  the  youngest,  who  has  and  wor- 
ships power.  Her  possessive  love  for 
her  son  is  of  the  sort  that  works  by 
suction — the  "maternal  instinct"  is 
not  always  sweet  and  pretty  in  its 
manifestations.  She  wreaks  her  jeal- 
ousy and  hate  on  her  daughter-in-law, 
Elizabeth,  who  had  not  suppressed 
passion  as  Louisa  Sheldon  did,  but 
who  responded  to  it  without  respecting 
it.  Consequently  the  weak  and  emo- 
tional Elizabeth  agrees  with  Louisa 
that  she  is  forever  disgraced  because 
her  marriage  was  hastened  for  reasons 
of  propriety.  When  her  young  hus- 
band contracts  pneumonia  on  their 
wedding  day  and  dies  a  few  days  later 
she  is  utterly  at  the  mercy  of  her  vin- 
dictive mother-in-law  who  holds  over 
her  as  a  weapon  the  exposure  of  her 
"past."  Elizabeth's  daughter  Joyce 
is  "modern"  in  the  sense  that  she 
knows  that  physical  attraction,  how- 
ever strong,  is  not  the  sufficient  basis 
of  a  life-long  union  and  that  she  can 
fall  in  love  without  thereby  losing 
interest  in  her  passion  for  medical 
research. 


A  /f.lRGARET  CULKIN  BaNNING's  "The 

iVl  Women  of  the  Family"  =  is  also 
a  study  of  several  generations  and 
presents  an  interesting  and  original 
problem:  Is  the  insanity  which  over- 
takes successive  beautiful  and  brilliant 
Romer  women  an  inherited  taint,  or 
does  it  represent  an  "escape  from 
reality"  made  necessary,  in  each  case, 
by  the  operation  of  similar  circum- 
stances.' Each  one  of  these  hapless 
women  was  married  to  a  well-meaning 
man  who  ignored  her  intellectual 
needs.  Suzanne,  the  modern  repre- 
sentative, escapes  because  she  is 
brought  to  see  that  disappointment  in 
love  and  husbands  need  not  wreck 
life,  because  life  is  various  enough  to 
be  lived  on  other  terms  than  those  of 
love. 

Neither  of  these  novels  is  a  return 
to  the  old  emotional  preoccupation. 
Social  changes  make  possible  Joyce 
Sheldon's  knowledge,  her  courage — 
and  her  interest  in  experimental  bi- 
ology. She  cannot  be  intimidated, 
like  her  mother,  by  a  "past,"  because 
pasts  are  no  longer  supremely  damag- 
ing to  the  one  life-object  legitimately 
open  to  women.  It  would  have  been 
useless  to  tell  those  other  Romer 
women  that  they  need  not  be  pre- 
occupied with  their  husbands,  since 
no  other  interest  was  at  their  disposal. 
Suzanne's  solution  depends  on  the 
terms,  not  only  of  life,  but  of  modern 
life. 

The  one  "business  woman"  novel 
of  the  collection  was  written  by  a 
man.  But  Roger  Burlingame  in  "Su- 
san Shane"^  shows  none  of  the 
anguished  terror  of  Norris  and  Hutch- 
inson. Being  free  of  this  obsession,  he 
is  able  to  write  a  story  of  character  in 
a  business  setting,  with  a  woman  in- 
stead of  a  man  for  protagonist.  Susan 
Shane  does  not  become  incredible  as 
a  woman  merely  because  she  is  en- 
dowed with  both  ability  and  ambi- 
tion. She  withstands  the  call  of  ro- 
mance in  the  person  of  a  young  artist- 
dreamer  (they  would  certainly  have 
quarreled  desperately  within  a  year) 
and  she  marries  her  financial  backer 
whom  she  likes  without  thrills.  But 
nobody  breaks  a  neck  over  this.  What 
Susan  Shane  savs,  verv  characteristi- 
cally, is,  "Oh,  well—"  ■ 
*     *     * 

A  S  to  the  "feminine  public"  and  its 
■  emasculating  influence  on  letters, 
the    alarmists    are    big-game    hunting 

(Continued  on  page  32) 


The  San  Franciscan 
25 


One  of  Our  Moderns 


ATOUSLE-HEADED  boy  from 
Canton.  An  eager  adolescent 
who  came  to  San  Francisco  four 
years  ago  and  now,  at  the  age  of 
twenty,  joins  the  strivelings  in  art  and 
follows  his  participation  in  the  opening 
exhibit  at  the  new  Modern  Gallery,  in 
Alontgomery  street,  with  a  one-man 
show  that  has  attracted  keen  atten- 
tion. 

That  is  Yun.  Yun  what?  we  ask. 
"Just  Yun — that  is  all  the  name  that 
is  really  mine  and  belongs  to  me  alone,  ' 
fays  this  amazing  youngster  with  the 
interesting  accent  and  eager  ideas. 

And  his  art?  It  is  not  amateurish — 
although  Yun  has  painted  less  than  a 
year — but  it  is  young.  Young  in  its 
enthusiasms  and  pseudo-restraints, 
those     self-imposed     limitations    that 


By  ALINE  KISTLER 

emphasize  the  essential  orgy  of  his 
discoveries  in  color  and  form.  Young 
in  the  earnestness  soon  to  be  mocked 
by  sophistication.  Young  in  its  eager 
display  of  all  he  has  to  give. 


\  \D  here  the  exhibition  betrays  its 
■^  artist  for  its  seventy-three  pieces 
include  drawings  that  should  never 
have  left  the  work  room,  sketches  use- 
ful only  to  the  artist  himself  in  the 
process  of  analysis  or.  possibly,  years 
later  to  the  dealer  who  capitalizes  on 
the  indiscriminate  worship  given  any- 
thing touched  by  a  hand  that  has  won 
fame  for  its  master.  These  drawings 
are,  for  the  most  part,  meaningless  and 
vague — mere  imaginative  trailings. 
Exception  to  this  damning  is  given  in 


the  case  of  the  drawing  called 
"Strollers,"  a  succession  of  broadside 
strokes  that  give  a  feeling  of  movement 
and  rhythm.  Y 

Yun's  paintings,  on  the  other  hand, 
are  mostly  well  thought  out  even 
though  many  seem  mere  haphazard 
conglomerations  at  first.  It  is  the 
essential  feeling  of  design  and  the  con- 
scious placing  of  color  that  brings 
second  glance  meaning  out  of  first 
sight  chaos. 

Yun  calls  his  color  tones  "notes'"  in 
the  music  of  his  design.  He  earnesily 
insists  that  he  paints  a  music  that 
wells  up  from  his  heart.  He  points  to 
a  succession  of  warm  color  strokes  and 
likens  them  to  violin  tones.  He  calls 
attention  to  other  definite  color  plac- 
(Contir.ued  on  Page  33) 


The  San  Franciscan 
26 


^ 


MLLE.  Suzanne  Lenglen,  world's 
greatest  woman  tennis  player, 
is  now  appearing  on  the  West 
Coast  in  her  professional  march  across 
America.  The  "Great  Suzanne"  has 
been  attracting  much  attention  in  both 
sport  and  social  circles  everywhere  ex- 
cept in  the  Northwest,  where  crowds 
were    reported    small.  Her    latest 

matches,  held  in  San  Francisco  and 
Oakland,  were  more  successful;  and  it 
is  expected  that  the  crowds  in  Los 
Angeles  where  she  plays  next,  will 
also  be  complimentary. 

Mile.  Lenglen  played  in  this  country 
in  192L  and  was  forced  by  ill  health 
to  decline  or  postpone  several  matches; 
this  caused  a  great  deal  of  premature 
controvers}',  challenging  both  her  cour-_ 
age  and  ability.  On  her  return  to 
France,  Mile.  Lenglen  wrote  a  pointed 
article  in  Je  Sais  Tout  in  which  she 
said  that  ''America  is  truly  cruel  for 
French  athletes." 

In  another  statement  made  at  the 
time  of  her  former  trip  to  America,  she 
declared  that  one  of  the  greatest  im- 
pressions she  received  over  here,  was 
of  the  value  of  international  sport 
competition  in  strengthening  the  ties 
of  friendship  between  nations.  At 
that  time,  even  as  now,  practically  all 
international  competitions  were  by 
amateur  athletes.  Yet,  after  making 
the  statement  she  turned  professional, 
and  once  more  started  a  buzz  of  gossip. 

In  spite  of  all  this  talk,  and  of  her 
many  illnesses  (which  sometimes  have 
a  bad  habit  of  coming  in  the  midst  of 
a  match),  her  decisive  victories  over 
Miss  Wills  and  all  other  rivals,  have  in 
the  minds  of  most  logical  sport  writers 
stamped  her  as  the  real  Queen  of  tennis 
today;  and  perhaps  the  most  brilliant 
woman  tennis  star  of  all  time.  Her 
confident  strokes,  her  very  aggressive 
game,  and  her  sometimes  extraordinary 
brilliance,  often  bring  her  playing  to 
the  point  of  the  spectacular.  She  is 
equally  interesting  to  the  studied  ten- 
nis player  and  to  the  grandstand. 

As  to  the  possibilities  for  profes- 
sional tennis,  which  this  trip  is  sup- 
posed to  test,  there  still  remains  the 
question  of  whether  it  is  professional 
tennis  or  Mile.  Lenglen  that  draws  the 
huge  attendance.  The  fact  that  the 
crowds  have  included  so  many  people 


Bv  XED  REYD 


who  have  heretofore  ignored  notable 
matches,  and  a  great  many  who  do  not 
even  know  the  game,  has  gi\-en  a  strong 
flavor  to  the  theory  that  it  is  Mile. 
Lenglen. 

*     *     * 

/~\N  any  summer  morning  during  the 
^'^  past  few  years  an  observer  at  a 
certain  landing-stage  might  have  seen 
a  huge  glistening  white  hydroplane 
bobbing  merrily  up  and  down  on  the 
waters  of  Southampton  Bay,  Long 
Island,  and  a  bit  later  a  small  crowd 
of  otherwise  sedate  business  men  climb- 
ing over  her  side,  making  fast  in  their 
comfortable  chairs,  while  they  laughed, 
joked,  hailed  each  other  and  generally 
acted  like  boys  out  of  school.  Every 
morning,  without  a  break  in  schedule 
they  fly  to  the  New  York  Yacht  Club 
landing  on  Riverside  Drive,  making  a 
short  motor  jaunt  from  that  point  to 
their  offices  to  meet  again  in  the  even- 
ing, and  fly  back  to  South  Shore  resi- 
dences, exhilarated  and  refreshed  for 
dinner. 

Several  enterprising  sportsmen  about 
San  Francisco  and  adjoining  cities 
have  recently  taken  to  flapping  their 
duralumin  wings,  and  seem  to  be  en- 
joying it  keenly.  Excellent  weather 
conditions  exist  along  this  part  of  the 
coast  a  large  part  of  the  year,  formal 
airdromes  and  emergency  landing  fields 
are  plentiful,  small  planes  of  great 
serviceability  are  to  be  had  at  reason- 
able cost,  and  withal  there  is  nothing 
to  prevent  a  young  man — or  woman — 
from  stepping  out. 

I  wonder  if  most  sportsmen  realize 
that  it  costs  little  more  to  maintain  a 
thoroughly  dependable  plane  and 
mechanician  than  it  does  a  high- 
powered  motor  car  and  driver? 

An  assumed  element  of  great  risk 
may  possibly  contribute  to  the  rather 
sluggish  enlistment  of  amateurs  in  the 
field.  This  is  very  difficult  to  under- 
stand, for  if  sports-insurance  rates  were 
to  be  calculated  on  the  basis  of  broken 
necks  or  other  limbs,  the  rate  for  polo 
players,  for  instance,  would  soar  high 
above  that  of  aero  pilots.  We  are 
sorry  not  to  have  at  hand  exact  figures 
of  casualties  which  occurred  during 
the  last  five  or  six  years  in  such  repre- 
sentative services  as  the  U.  S.  postal 
planes   or  such   great   services   as   the 


London-Paris  or  leading  inter-conti- 
nental passenger  schedules.  The  rate 
is  startlingly  low. 

I  was  talking  some  time  ago  to  a 
vice-president  of  the  Aetna  Life  In- 
surance Company,  who  has  studied  the 
matter  of  air  risks,  and  is  eager  to  go 
ahead  at  such  time  as  the  Federal 
Government  ratifies  the  International 
Air  Convention. 

And  speaking  of  governing  bodies 
coming  to  life,  why  is  it  that  a  city  as 
large,  important,  and  generally  aggres- 
sive as  San  Francisco,  has  as  yet  pro- 
vided no  municipal  landing  field.' 
They  have  them — well  planned  and 
equipped — in  the  hazy  centers  of  the 
provincial  styx,  and  they  are  busy 
night  and  day.  It  is  a  known  fact  that 
if  the  municipality  would  condescend 
to  bestir  itself  in  this  connection,  any 
number  of  business  houses  would 
profit,  and  real  sport  would  receive  an 
impetus  and  welcome  variety. 

TCE  skating  is  the  sport  de  rigeur  at 

the  moment.  This  season  it  hap- 
pens to  be  fashionable  as  well  as  ex- 
hilarating to  skim  over  an  artificial 
pond  on  a  pair  of  steel  skids  fastened  to 
the  boots,  and  fashion  has  as  much  to 
do  with  the  acceptance  or  rejection  of 
anything  or  anybody  as  the  merit  of 
the  thing  or  body  itself.  Such  is 
human  nature. 

So  we  skate.  Next  year  it  may  be 
bicycles  or  tiddlywinks.  Once  in  the 
\  ictorian  ooze  it  was  croquet. 

The  Monday  Night  Skating  Club  is 
a  large  and  enthusiastic  one  and  there 
are  many  good  skaters  in  San  Fran- 
cisco, partly  because  not  all  San  Fran- 
ciscans had  the  good  fortune  to  grow 
up  here,  and  partly  because  there  was 
a  similar  skating  arena  here  some  ten 
years  ago  when  scores  learned  the 
diflficult  feat  of  balancing  on  slender 
steel  runners. 

Those  who  came  from  Gopher 
Prairie  and  points  east  of  the  Sierra 
Nevadas  take  to  it  like  ducks  to  water. 
Others  achieve  it  or  have  it  thrust 
upon  them. 

The  Monday  Night  Club  sent  out 
invitations  a  few  weeks  ago  in  the 
names  of  Mrs.  Kenneth  Kingsburv, 
Mrs.  Walter  S.  Martin,  Mrs.  WiUard 
O.  \\'ayman,  and  Mrs.  C.  O.  G.  Miller. 


The  San  Franciscan 


Society  Takes  to  the  Ice 


!■ 


Mrs.  John  Clark  Burgard     Dr.  C.  M.  Cooper     Joseph  Oliver  Tobin     Mrs.  Richard  Ileimann     Mrs.  George  Lieb     C.  0.  C.  Miller 

A   REPRESENTATIVE   GROUP  OF   "MONDAY  NIGHTERS" 


Mrs.  IVUIard  0.  Il'axman 


WJOEVS'  l'% 


Mrs.  C.  0.  a.  Miller  and   Robert  Miller 


Kenneth  Kingsbury  and  C.  ().  (.'.  Miller 


The  San  Franciscan 

2S 


n 


The  Stock  Market  and  the  Outlook  for  1927 

By  H.  DE  LA  CHAPELLE 


THE  stock  market  has  always 
been  and  always  will  be  the 
best  barometer  of  business  con- 
ditions throughout  the  country.  Group- 
ing as  it  does  the  stocks  of  every  in- 
dustry and  enterprise  and  placing  upon 
them  a  valuation  based  upon  the  best 
informed  and  most  enlightened  opinion 
of  a  free  and  highly  competitive  mar- 
ket, one  can  readily  understand  how 
stock  prices  adjust  themselves  not  only 
to  the  present  state  of  business  but  to 
its  prospective  condition  as  well.  One 
need  only  to  follow  the  curves  of  aver- 
age stock  prices  and  business  over  a 
period  of  years  to  realize  how  very 
closely  these  curves  correspond — the 
stock  curve  usually  anticipating  the 
business  curve  by  from  three  to  six 
months.  All  shrewd  business  men 
keep  an  eye  on  the  market.  It  fur- 
nishes an  invaluable  aid  in  the  intelli- 
gent direction  of  their  affairs. 

The  business  man,  were  he  to  sur- 
vey a  chart  of  the  stock  and  business 
curves,  would  note  that  for  over  five 
years  now  the  stock  market  has  risen 
steadily  with  only  slight  interruptions 
in  the  forward  trend.  He  would  ob- 
serve that  average  industrial  stocks 
are  up  some  hundred  points  and  rail 
stocks  up  some  sixty  points  from  their 
1921  lows  and  that,  in  extent  of  time 
and  advance,  the  present  bull  market 
has  been  the  greatest  in  history.  It  is 
patent  that  broad  economic  forces  of 
exceptional  nature  have  been  at  work. 
What  are  they.?  And,  are  they  still 
operative.'' 

Bitter  lessons  were  learned  in  the 
wild  inflation  and  collapse  which  fol- 
lowed in  the  wake  of  war's  termina- 
tion but  they  were  not  suffered  in 
vain.  The  efficiency  of  our  industrial 
system  in  all  its  ramifications  is  one  of 
the  cornerstones  of  our  national  pros- 
perity. The  high  degree  of  efficiency 
still  exists  and  will  continue. 

"p^OR  several  years  now  our  vaults 
"  have  held  not  far  from  one  half  of 
the  world's  total  gold  supply.  Credit 
has  been  available  in  abundance.  That 
no  inflation  has  resulted  is  a  tribute 
to  commercial  sobriety  and  banking 
guidance.  The  plethora  of  capital  will 
continue;  so  will  conservative  banking. 
Our  present  administration  has  been 
favorable  to  business  interests,  large 
and  small.  Its  fairness,  soundness  and 
economy  have  won  the  faith  and  con- 
fidence of  the  country  at  large.  There 
appears  no  prospect  of  a  change  in 
this  favorable  governmental  policy. 


The  American  nation  is  becoming 
progressively  more  thrifty  and  indi- 
vidual investment  accounts  are  grow- 
ing. The  American  people  now  save 
14>^  per  cent  of  an  aggregate  annual 
income  of  {564,000,000,000,  compared 
with  10^  per  cent  out  of  an  income  of 
334,000,000,000  before  the  war,  which 
means  that  annual  savings  out  of 
earnings  have  risen  from  about  23,500,- 
000,000  pre-war  to  ?9,3OO,O0O,OOO  to- 
day. Surplus  earnings  are  not  being 
wildly  spent  as  in  post-war  days  on 
silk  shirts  and  other  luxuries.  A 
larger  proportion  of  savings  each  year 
goes  into  sound  investments. 

A  LARGE  proportion  of  our  recent 
■'■  prosperity  has  been  based  on 
record-breaking  production  in  the 
building,  iron  and  steel,  and  automo- 
tive industries.  The  outlook  there  is 
not  as  good  as  it  has  been.  With  the 
exception  of  these  three  key  industries 
all  the  constructive  factors  above 
enumerated  should  still  be  operative 
during  the  coming  year.  To  these 
may  be  added:  Our  high  railroad 
efficiency,  lack  of  inflation  in  the 
commodity  markets,  moderate  inven- 
tories, and  buying  of  a  hand-to-mouth 
character. 

1926  will  have  been  a  year  of  record 
achievements.  Because  we  have  had 
seven  years  of  mounting  prosperity, 
culminating  in  what  at  the  close  of  the 
month  will  be  the  banner  year  in 
American  corporate  history,  does  not 
per  se  preclude  1927  from  usurping  the 
glory  which  accrues  to  the  present 
vear.  It  is  improbable  however,  both 
in  view  of  the  "time  and  extent  of 
progress"  element  and  the  fact  that 
our  three  key  industries  give  every 
indication  of  slowing  down  appreci- 
ably next  year.  Moreover,  certain 
maladjustments  have  crept  in  to  dis- 
turb the  equilibrium  of  a  formerly 
nicely  balanced  situation;  for  instance, 
a  decline  in  the  purchasing  power  of 
agricultural  communities  at  large  as  a 
result  of  cotton  and  grain  crop  depre- 
ciation. Also  the  slowing  down  pro- 
cess of  general  business  will  mean 
keener  competition  with  an  expected 
lowering  of  profit  margins. 

A  S  a  result  of  our  well  ordered  bank- 
■^  ing  system  and  the  sagacity  of 
our  industrial  leaders,  the  peaks  and 
valleys  of  our  former  bull  cycles  may 
be  flattening  out.  For  this  reason  pre- 
conceived ideas  of  bull  and  bear  mar- 
kets   had    better   be    discarded.      The 


peak  of  the  bull  market  in  stocks  may 
or  may  not  be  over,  but  certainly  no 
old-fashioned  bear  market  is  in  sight 
— not  with  the  money  market  as  it  is. 
Corporation  bond  prices  have  been 
making  new  highs  every  day  for  some 
time  past.  Remembering  that  the  top 
levels  of  any  bond  market  habitually 
occur  some  months  prior  to  the  high 
peaks  in  stocks,  it  is  not  impossible 
that  new  high  records  will  be  scored 
either  in  January,  at  the  peak  of  in- 
vestment demand,  or  next  spring, 
following  a  February  or  March  break. 
At  any  rate,  the  following  is  a  funda- 
mental factor  of  great  importance: 
The  trend  of  interest  rates  over  a 
period  of  years  is  distinctly  toward 
lower  levels  and  investors  eventually 
will  have  to  accustom  themselves  to 
stock  and  bond  prices  which  are  even 
higher  than  those  prevailing  today. 
During  the  next  six  months  any  way 
money  is  going  to  be  cheaper. 

CCANNING  a  few  of  the  groups  on 
the  New  York  Stock  Exchange  we 
find  that  certain  industries  will  im- 
prove their  performance  next  year 
over  1926,  such  as  the  sugar  and 
equipment  industries.  The  stock  mar- 
ket barometer  has  for  some  time  told 
us  that  the  coming  year  is  not  ex- 
pected to  be  so  profitable  for  the 
building,  steel  and  motor  trades.  In- 
dividual exceptions  will  have  to  be 
made  however,  of  our  two  big  indus- 
trial leaders,  U.  S.  Steel  and  General 
Motors,  which  will  continue  to  make 
money  at  the  expense  of  their  com- 
petitors. The  rails  are  going  to  main- 
tain a  fairly  high  and  stable  level.  Even 
though  an  interruption  next  year  in 
business  activity  will  cut  down  on  net 
earnings  somewhat,  the  pinnacle  of 
operating  efficiency  has  not  been 
reached  and  improvement  in  that 
direction  will  do  much  toward  counter- 
acting losses  elsewhere.  Carrier  divi- 
dends are  safe  and  some  roads  will  in- 
crease their  rates  and  others  will  offer 
new  stock  with  valuable  subscription 
rights.  The  mail  order  business  will 
probably  not  be  as  good, and  the  copper 
industry  may  not  fare  so  well.  Textiles 
(silks  excluded)  will  probably  improve. 
Prosperity  will  still  be  with  us  how- 
ever. Hazarding  a  guess  as  to  the 
action  of  the  stock  market  it  appears 
as  though  it  would  fluctuate  irregu- 
larly within  a  comparatively  high 
area  during  the  first  six  months  (per- 
haps establishing  new  highs)  and  de- 
cline gradually  thereafter. 


The  San  Franciscan 
29 


li^.  _.^illvi 


M.dHi 


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Use  your  Bank's 
FULL  service! 


:ilfi'-^i},i'^  .^•' 


l|fK^;^|i^='^^-^^^^==?^^ 


J€i^':^^-\ 


mmimm 


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■WM^Sf^ 


What  are 

COMPLETE  TRUST   FACILITIES? 


EVERY   man  of  great   responsibilities   has   used   the  Trust   De- 
partment facilities  of  his  bank  in  some  emergency — perhaps  as 
trustee  of  a  corporate  bond  issue,  as  an  agent  for  the  custody 
of  securities,  as  a  fiscal  or  paying  agent  or  depository. 

Still,  few  men  know,  from  personal  experience,  the  jull  extent  of 
usefulness  of  a  Trust  Department  such  as  The  Anglo's.  It  can  be 
executor  or  trustee  under  wills;  a  trustee  of  living  trusts  for  the 
benefit  of  the  maker  or  others,  a  transfer  agent  or  a  guardian,  an 
assignee  in  a  receivership,  a  trustee  in  escrow  transactions. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour,  some  time  when  you  are  in  The  Anglo,  can 
almost  certainly  place  you  in  possession  of  new  knowledge  of  the 
breadth  of  modern  trust  department  facilities.  It  will  be  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  that  may  some  day — perhaps  tomorrow — save  you  days 
or  months  of  personal  time  and  responsibility. 


THE  ANGLO  &  LONDON  PARIS 
NATIONAL  BANK 


(Trust  Department) 


The  San  Franciscan 
50 


(Continued 

there  is  little  in  the  way  of  obvious 
detail  for  the  censors  to  lay  their 
hands  on.  The  play,  however,  is 
actually  one  of  high  merit  and  does 
not  need  to  rest  upon  its  scandalous 
implications  for  its  laurels.  The  cast 
features  Miss  Helen  Menken,  who 
played  last  in  Capek's  "The  Makro- 
pou'los  Secret,"  and  who  has  been 
seen  on  the  West  Coast  in  "Seventh 
Heaven."  It  might  be  added  that 
those  who  wish  to  grasp  the  more 
subtle  details  of  the  play's  psychology 
could  read  "Why  We  Behave  Like 
Human  Beings"  immediately  after  see- 
ing the  performance. 

*  *     * 

THE  Woods  production  of  "A  Wom- 
an in  Dispute"  has  furnished  the 
critical  theater  goers  with  new.  or 
leastways  interesting  food  for  thought. 
This  concerns  the  play's  beautiful 
star,  Ann  Harding,  and  has  to  do  with 
whether  or  not  her  obvious  beauty 
will  actually  prevent  her  reaching 
greatness.  Her  ability  and  intelli- 
gence are  generally  unquestioned,  but 
it  has  been  pointed  out  that  great 
beauty  has  always  (in  the  theatrical 
world)  been  an  obstacle  in  the  road  to 
great  achievement.  The  play  has  a 
war  theme  and  is  based  on  "The 
Boule  de  Suif,"  the  first  great  story  of 

De  Maupassant. 

*  *     * 

AN  interesting  combination  is  offer- 
ed in  "The  Constant  Wife," 
the  play  being  by  Somerset  Maugham, 
and  the  star  being  Ethel  Barrymore. 
The  Theater  Guild's  new  play  "Ned 
McCobb's  Daughter,"  a  Sidney  How- 
ard comedy,  is  under  way  with  Clare 
Eames  and  Alfred  Lunt  in  the  cast. 
Cecile  Sorel  has  arrived  in  New  York 
with  her  French  cast,  to  present  a 
series  of  French  plays.  Her  first,  just 
begun,  is  "Maitresse  de  Roi,"  never 
before  seen  in  America.  An  interest- 
ing point  for  observation  in  this  series 
will  be  the  interpretation  of  French 
characters  by  French  persons;  this, 
as  compared  with  the  usually  exagger- 


A  Reviewer  at  Large 


from  page  16) 

ated  characterization  by  American 
players.  The  Henry  Fisk  Carlton 
play,  "Up  the  Line,"  is  interesting  as 
being  the  last  of  the  plays  from  Prof. 
Baker's  47  Shop  before  he  left  Har- 
vard; and  in  being  the  play  to  intro- 
duce this  new  American  playwright. 
Carlton  is  a  native  of  the  Middle 
West,  and  spent  much  time  formerly 
with  a  group  of  tramps,  such  as  he 
represents  in  his  play.  The  title  refers 
to  an  expression  used  in  the  Middle 

West  country  and  meaning  "move  on." 

*  *     * 

C'OR  those  who  contemplate  going  to 
■*■  Southern  California  this  month  or 
next,  it  will  be  of  interest  to  have  a 
look-in  at  the  Potboiler  Art  Theater, 
located  in  the  Gamut  Club.  This 
small,  progressive  theater  has  prob- 
ably done  more  in  the  way  of  present- 
ing artistic  plays  than  any  theater  in 
Los  Angeles.  From  December  ISth 
to  18th  they  will  present  "Proces- 
sional," a  play  which  ought  to  have 
interest  for  all  adults;  and  from  Janu- 
ary 13th  to  ISth  they  will  present 
"The  Gay  Gnani,"  a  very  original 
type  of  comedy  that  will  likely  furnish 

some  new  and  unique  slants. 

*  *     * 

'T'HE  Management  of  the  Columbia 
*■  Theater  announces  that  the  Man- 
hattan Opera  Company  will  give  a 
limited  engagement  of  five  perform- 
ances in  San  Francisco  beginning 
December  22nd.  The  local  season  will 
be  an  event,  for  Aldo  Franchetti,  the 
composer,  will  conduct  his  new  Japan- 
ese Opera,  "Namico  San,"  with  Ta- 
maki  Miura  in  the  role  she  created  last 
season  with  the  Chicago  Civic  Opera 
Association. 

Other  offerings  for  the  Columbia  in 
the  near  future  are:  "They  Knew 
What  They  Wanted,"  with  Richard 
Bennett;  Mordkin's  Ballet  follows 
early  in  January;  the  brilliant  Spanish 
actress  Maria  Guerrero  will  be  seen  in 
"La  Malquerida";  and  Ina  Claire  will 
be  starred  in  Frederick  Lonsdale's 
comedy,  "The  Last  of  Mrs.  Cheney." 


From  San  Francisco 

(Continued  frnm  page  14) 


till  long  afterwards  I  learned  that  this 
was  because  the  native  boys  invari- 
ably ate  up  the  paste.  Managers  used 
to  tell  me  to  hurry  up,  speak  quicker, 
when  I  applied  for  jobs  in  those  days. 
I  guess  the  rhythm  of  the  old  cable 
cars  on  the  San  Francisco  hills  had 
gotten  into  my  blood." 

"And  you  never  went  back.^"  said  I, 
registering  reproach. 

"Yes,     twice — in     1901      I     played 


'Stoddard,'  a  Scotch  character  part,  in 
'The  Bonnie  Briar  Bush,'  and  in  1908, 
in  the  company  of  Francis  Wilson, 
touring  with  'When  Knights  Were 
Bold,'  we  appeared  in  a  shaky  old 
building  out  on  Van  Ness  Avenue,  for 
the  city  was  still  in  the  process  of  rising 
from  its  ashes.  That's  eighteen  years 
ago!"  He  seemed  appalled,  and  then 
added,  "Do  you  know,  this  year  for 
{Continued  on  page  34) 


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(Jnda   y)ai, 
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5(i  I    <J  lic'luri    Jjuildinq 
Q)aii   ./lancijco 


The  San  Franciscan 
31 


H.  R.  H.  Reinhardt 

(Continued  from  page  1) 


lake  or  you  went  to  town  on  an  errand 
by  any  one  of  half  a  dozen  devious 
paths  around  the  frowning  twelfth 
century  fortress.  Back  again  for 
luncheon — or,  more  properly,  dinner — 
at  which  the  Prince  made  his  first 
appearance  of  the  day.  Rather  a  late 
and  leisurely  start,  you  thought,  until 
you  heard  how  far  his  day  went! 

AT  this  dinner-luncheon,  spread  in 
^^  one  of  several  charming  rooms 
according  to  the  size  of  the  guest  list, 
you  might  meet  IMolnar,  or  Morris 
Gest,  or  Lady  Diana  Manners,  or 
"The  Miracle's"  social-lion-author,  Dr. 
Karl  Vollmoeller,  or  the  young  Amer- 
ican artist,  Norman-Bel  Geddes,  who 
had  brought  his  blue  prints  for  "The 
Miracle"  all  the  way  to  Salzburg,  or 
any  one  of  a  score  of  writers  or  artists 
or  social  leaders  from  the  ends  of  the 
earth.  Dinner  over — and  then  work.' 
Far  from  it.  At  least  not  the  kind  of 
work  that  we  Americans  mean  by  the 
term.  Instead,  adjournment  to  the 
terrace  where  you  were  joined  as  if  by 
magic  by  a  dozen  new  arrivals.  There, 
coflFee — and  talk.  More  coffee  and 
more  talk.  An  hour,  two  hours.  A 
telephone  call  now  and  then  to  inter- 
rupt, but  not  seriously.  So  might  the 
archbishop's  nephew  have  entertained 
his  knighted  friends — with  coffee  and 
talk,  the  talk  that  means  more  to  an 
Austrian  than  motion  pictures  to  an 
American.  And  yet,  a  shrewd  ear  could 
detect  momentous  and  formidable 
plans  shaping  themselves  in  one  snatch 
of    conversation. 

Supper  and  the  evening,  though, 
were  the  peak  of  the  day.  It  was  then 
that    Reinhardt    drew    round    himself 


that  broader,  more  cosmopolitan  court, 
not  just  his  cronies  and  intimate  fellow- 
craftsmen  as  at  dinner,  handed  them 
up  the  massive  marble  staircase  to  the 
Marble  Hall,  ranged  them  at  one 
great  table  or  round  a  bevy  of  small 
ones,  as  his  mood  dictated,  and  later 
regaled  them  with  Mozart  in  Mozart's 
home  at  the  bow-tips  of  the  Rose 
Quartet.  Lingering  to  the  last,  you 
could  detect  a  certain  restlessness  in 
your  host.  For  the  Prince's  workday 
was  about  to  begin — at  twelve  or  one 
or  two  A.  M.  And  from  then  on  till 
daylight,  he  would  spend  arduous 
hours  with  his  secretary,  pinning 
grandiose  dreams  of  beauty  down  to 
facts,  figures  and  blue  prints. 


T  HA\  E  often  wondered  what  was  the 
secret  of  the  life  lived  in  the  castles 
of  Europe  that  are  now  the  museum- 
haunts  of  the  traveler.  Not  only  Ver- 
sailles and  Fontainebleau  but  the  score 
of  less  grandiose  but  still  grand  edi- 
fices that  dot  the  map  from  the  Loire 
to  the  Danube.  I  think  H.  R.  H. 
Reinhardt  has  unlocked  the  secret.  I 
am  convinced  now  that  the  grands 
seigneurs  of  other  centuries  were  master 
theatrical  producers  who  missed  their 
calling.  Or,  shall  we  say,  who  dis- 
dained to  put  a  commercial  price  on 
their  calling,  reserving  its  expression 
for  a  chosen  audience. 

No  one  can  watch  Reinhardt  play 
with  his  lights  in  devising  new  atmos- 
pheres for  new  suppers  and  new  musi- 
cales  without  realizing  why  he  is  fasci- 
nated by  the  idea  of  living  in  and  of 
living  up  to  a  baronial  castle.  The 
host  supreme  is  the  stage  director. 


That  Man  Mencken 

(Continued  from  page  10) 


moods  alternate.  He  will  take  a  drink 
and  afterwards  criticize  it  on  scien- 
tific grounds.  He  likes  wines.  He 
likes  anything  that  makes  a  man  more 
sociable,  more  fertile  in  feeling  and 
thought.  He  likes  women.  Perhaps 
he  likes  a  woman  more  for  the  charm 
of  her  voice  than  her  coloring. 

In  Athens  and  Florence  at  its 
zenith  in  the  Middle  Ages,  in  Munich 
even  in  recent  times,  and  other  magical 
cities — Mencken  would  be  happy.  True 
civilization,  he  says,  develops  in  cities 
of  quality.  This  quality  Mencken 
finds  in  San  Francisco.  Here  a  num- 
ber of  excellent  families  have  main- 
tained a  high  level  of  fine  tastes — they 
know  the  art  of  living,  gaily,  shrewdly. 


sumptuously,  daringly.  But  if  the 
realtors — the  boosters — ever  got  con- 
trol of  this  city,  then,  jVIencken  fears, 
"San  Francisco  too  will  become  a 
wilderness  of  apes — vast  hordes  of  half 
proletarians,  scratching  the  earth  for 
grains  like  the  barnyard  fowl.  That'd 
be  a  tragedy."  His  parting  words 
were:  "Keep  San  Francisco's  popula- 
tion limited.  Maintain  your  quality. 
Don't  increase  the  hordes  here.  The 
realtors,  the  boosters,  ruined  our 
lovely  Baltimore.  They  may  do  the 
same  here.  Then,  where  would  be  the 
difference  between  San  Francisco  and 
Los  Angeles.'  I  say,  put  a  China  wall 
between  the  two  cities.  And  in  your 
towers,  place  at  least  12-inch  guns." 


FLOWERS 


224  Grant  Avenue 
KE.ARXY   4975 


LuxiAtma,s     Coiiicctioni 

t/jeijond     Lornpatijon 

Jo&iei   &    LV*?ar 
137    SianI    dOcniic 


' R f ,.\'."-' ( ■  ( (in  ^'^ ,v cy ^N' 

!■:  X  (  '  (  .  1^  (  \    hi 

u  v(H  ( ;  u  [.^  ( [  .\  . VI'  I  .v  ( ; 

Svinri!:  ~  i  l  >  ■  -  -  ( > 


The  Henry  Duffy 
Players 

Alcazar  Theatre 

O'Karrcll  .it  Powell 

President  Theatre 

.\Ic.-\llister  and  .\l,irket 


The  San  Franciscan 
32 


The  Amazon  Invasion 

{Continued  from  page  24) 

for  an  extinct  animal.  The  animal  did 
once  exist.  Thomas  Beer  relates  in 
his  biography  of  Stephen  Crane  how 
Frances  Willard  wrote  to  the  editor 
of  the  Century,  objecting  to  the  publi- 
cation of  a  certain  story  in  "a  maga- 
zine read  by  Christian  women."  He 
also  tells  how  the  editor  of  the  same 
periodical  rejected  Crane's  story,  "The 
Monster,"  saying,  "We  couldn't  pub- 
lish that  thing  with  half  the  expectant 
mothers  in  America  on  our  subscrip- 
tion list!"  Nowadays  women  exert 
no  censorship  either  with  leference  to 
their  Christianity  or  their  prospects  of 
maternity. 

Only  recently  a  critic  blandly  as- 
serted that  "Tristram  Shandy"  was 
not  a  book  for  women — that  in  fact  he 
had  met  only  one  woman  in  his  life 
who  "confessed  to  having  read  it." 
Well,  it  was  longer  ago  than  I  care  to 
record  outside  of  "Who's  Who"  that 
"Tristram  Shandy"  was  in  the  pre- 
scribed list  of  reading  in  a  novel  course 
at  an  exclusively  feminine  resort  of 
learning;  and  quite  a  number  of  us  fell 
so  far  under  the  spell  as  to  write  all 
our  daily  themes  in  what  we  fondly 
imagined  was  the  manner  of  Laurence 
Sterne. 

All  the  alarmists  need  to  do  for  re- 
storation of  their  peace  of  mind  is  to 
sit  tight.  They  will,  if  they  keep  their 
eyes  open,  "learn  about  women  from 
'er."  And  they  will  find  that  she  looks 
remarkably  like  a  human  being. 


1.  The  Women  of  the  Family,  by  Margaret  Culkin 
Banning.     New  York:   Harper  and  Brothers. 

2.  Three  Women,  by  Faith  Baldwin.     New  York: 
Dodd,  Mead  and  Company. 

3.  Susan  Shane,  by  Roger  Burlingame.  New  York: 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 


Meanwhile  in  Manhattan 

{Continued  from  page  17) 

a  few  compromising  words  uttered  by  a 
damsel  in  the  hearing  of  her  fiance. 
Alice  Brady  in  "The  Witch"  (Scandi- 
navian origin),  opening  this  week  at 
the  Greenwich  \'illage,  again  emotes 
as  a  minister's  wife.  Like  the  case  of 
the  luckless  clergyman  in  "The  Bride 
of  the  Lamb,"  her  last  season's  suc- 
cess, the  gentleman's  sudden  demise 
provides  the  major  thrill  in  a  gruesome 
drama. 

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The  San  Franciscan 
33 


One  of  Our  Moderns 

(Coiiliviied  from  Page  25) 

ings  and  speaks  of  harmonies  that  he 
hears  as  he  paints. 

Whatever  the  mechanism,  the  re- 
sults approach  the  studied  design  that 
forms  the  backbone  of  all  true  art  and, 
whatever  the  method,  the  end  would 
seem    to    point    toward    a    productive 

maturity. 

*     *     * 

AT  present,  Yun  is  dominated  by 
■^  the  ideal  of  the  futurists.  He 
conceives  form  as  crystalline.  He  sees 
in  surfaces  not  their  own  colors  but 
the  colors  they  reflect.  Thus  his 
"Venus — Blue  Body"  becomes  a  series 
of  facets  reflecting  cold  or  warm  light 
according  to  the  plane  each  represents. 
The  structure  so  achieved  becomes  in- 
telligible and  meaningful. 

So,  too,  his  "Sunday  Morning"  re- 
solves itself,  from  being  merely  a  pleas- 
ing pattern  of  color,  into  an  interpre- 
tive study  of  figures  on  a  park  bench. 
.'\nd  subtly  but  surely  he  has  caught 
the  emotional  tone,  the  dull  repose  of 
the  bench  habitues. 


"1V/I'\"  Impression  of  the  Christ"  was 
■^  shown  first  in  the  group  exhibit, 
along  with  the  work  of  the  nine  other 
young  artists  who  are  sponsoring  the 
Modern  Gallery.  It  was  heralded  by 
the  press  as  a  synthetic  representation. 
Some  contended  that  it  gave  three 
aspects  of  the  personality  and  labeled 
them  respectively,  Santa  Claus, 
Shakespeare,  and  the  conventional 
Christ.  Yun  disclaims  any  such  intent, 
saying  that  the  succession  of  heads  in 
the  composite  picture  is  his  way  of 
showing  vital  movement,  as  he  does 
not  think  of  the  Christ  as  ever  static. 

Visitors  at  the  Gallery  read  cynicism 
and  disillusionment  into  the  painting 
but  Yun  approaches  it  reverently, 
almost  worshipfully,  for  the  coming  of 
Christianity  into  his  life  was  a  momen- 
tous thing.  He  says  that  his  first  de- 
sire to  paint  came  when,  as  a  child,  he 
wanted  to  make  a  picture  of  the 
Christ. 

Yun  claims  to  belong  to  no  "school" 
of  art.  He  attributes  his  art  to  no 
teacher  or  external  influence.  He 
would  have  us  believe  that  he  paints 
what  he  sees  the  way  that  he  feels  it — 
as  a  child  would  put  down  his  impres- 
sions. He  would  have  us  feel  with 
him  the  "rhythm"  o    his  heart. 

,'\nd  we  smile — not  unkindly  nor  in 
ridicule  but  merely  because  we  remem- 
ber— and  we  wonder  what  maturity 
will  bring. 


BUSINESS  judgment 

BROUGHT  HOME-— 

YOUNG  Mrs.  Wellford  was  talking  about  her  hus- 
band's recent  illness. 
"Bill  was  home  for  a  whole  week.  It  was  his  first  real 
chance  to  see  me  in  action  as  a  housewife — we've  been 
married  only  a  year,  you  know. 

"The  third  day  he  said  to  me:  'Sally,  you  need  an  Ex- 
tension Telephone.  You're  wearing  yourself  out,  run- 
ning up  and  down  stairs  and  from  room  to  room  every 
time  the  telephone  rings.  I  never  realized  before  how 
much  a  woman  will  put  up  with  without  complaining. 
I  wouldn't  stand  for  it  a  minute  in  my  office.'  "  (Well- 
ford's  Inc.  was  a  ?nodel  office.) 
"And  so?"  said  her  visitor. 
"There  it  is,"  said  Sally  proudly. 
An  Extension  Telephone  costs  only  a  few  cents  a  week. 

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SAN  FRANCISCO 


The  San  Franciscan 

34 


An  Eastern  Point  of  Mew 

{Continued  from  page  12} 

all.  The  wind  of  allegory  which  blows 
lightly  and  warmly  through  the  play. 
is  the  most  delightful  and  the  most 
admirable  part  of  his  work.  Not  be- 
cause it  is  allegory  but  because  it  is  so 
nicely  treated.  He  depicts  the  pass- 
ing away  of  the  old  England,  as  if  he 
were  opening  golden  doors  and  softly 
resting  a  steel  casket  in  a  vault  of 
cloud.  And  as  a  last  tribute  to  those 
noble  departed,  before  the  casket  is 
lowered,  he  points  out  that  ever  in  the 
future  we  must  live  in  their  past;  that 
the  souls  within  us  are  the  souls  of 
those  gone,  who  have  dwelt  and  striven 
in  painful  places,  that  we  others  might 
endure.  That  is  what  he  really  tells 
us,  though  few  seem  to  have  caught 
those  effects;  and  yet  without  those 
effects,  there  is  nothing  whatever  left 
of  his  artistry. 

Young  L.adv:  But  what  else  should 
the  play  have,  to  get  that  touch  of 
real  life.'  Should  things  be  shown  just 
as  they  are.' 

Critic:  No  genuine  artist  merely 
sees  things  as  they  are;  if  he  did  he 
would  not  be  an  artist,  but  a  reporter. 
But  my  dear  friend — {he  looks  at  his 
tcatch) — I  have  already  stayed  longer 
than  I  should.  Can't  we  continue  our 
discussion  another  time — won't  you 
honor  me  again  on  some  occasion  soon." 

Young  L.\dy:  Oh,  I  would  love  to. 
{She  had  an  exquisite  smile.) 

Critic:  Well  then — {the  waiter  en- 
ters and  presents  the  check;  the  critic 
looks  at  it  casually,  then  suddenly  very 
carefully.    He  is  not  able  to  say  more.) 

END 


From  San  Francisco 

(Continued  from  page  30) 

the  first  time,  I  have  been  actually 
homesick  for  it  all  out  there.  Can  it 
be  that  I  am  getting  old.'" 

I  picked  up  my  cue  with  emphasis. 
"No,"  said  I.  "But  eighteen  years  is 
a  long  time — to  be  away  from  San 
Francisco.  Why  not  bring  something 
out  from  Broadway — and  soon?" 

He  promised  to  consider  this — and  I 
came  away  with  the  feeling  that  he 
meant  it,  that  it  was  not  just  a  "line." 


'TPHE  Editor  wishes  to  announce  that 
due  to  a  misunderstanding  the 
name  of  Ex-Senator  James  D.  Phelan 
was  used  as  Chairman  of  the  Board  of 
Contributing  Editors  in  the  November 
issue  without  approval. 


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The  San  Franciscan 
35 


"Out  West 
where  they  ask  you  to  breakfast, 

I  tasted  a  marvelous  coffee" 


THE  whole-souled  hospitality 
of  the  West  and  "that  wonder- 
ful western  coffee"  are  invariably 
mentioned  in  the  same  breath  by 
travelers  returning  East  and  abroad. 
The  people  they  met  .  .  .  the 
coffee  they  drank— these  are  lasting 
impressions. 

It  is  not  strange,  therefore,  that 
from  the  East  and  abroad  come 
orders  for  Hills  Bros.  Coffee,  You 
understand  their  enthusiasm  the 
instant  you  puncture  the  vacuum 
tin  that  seals  this  coffee  of  the  West 
in  all  its  original  freshness. 

Lift  a  cup  of  Hills  Bro6.  to  your 
lips!  .  .  .  Drink  deeply  of  its  seal- 


brown  depths!     Know  for  yourself 
that  The  Recognized  Standard  is 


In  the  or/gml  Vacuum  Tack 
which  keeps  llie  coffee  fitsh 


an  earned  title  and  not  merely  a 
fanciful  phrase.  Know  for  yourself 
«  hy  Hills  Bros,  coffee  is  the  favorite 
of  the  coffee-bving  West. 

There  is  no  finer  coffee  to  be  had. 
It  is  the  cream  of  the  crop— not  of 
one  plantation,  but  of  the  planta- 
tions of  the  entire  coffee- producing 
world.  Blended  with  rare  skill, 
roasted  to  a  turn,  ground  with 
special  machinery  and  packed  in 
a  special  way.  Hills  Bros.  Coffee 
is  economical  to  use. ' 


HILLS  BROS  COFFEE 


I 


THE 


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SAN  TRANLISCAN 


Joseph  Dyer,  Editor  and  Publisher 
William  A.  Flanagan,  Associate  Editor  E.  Swift  Train,  Business  Manager 

Anthony  Page,  Associate  Editor  C.  D.  Thornton,  Asst.  Business  Manager 

Contributing  Editors 

Charles  Caldwell  Dobie  Mollie  Merrick 

Idwal  Joxes  Anita  Day  Hubbard 

George  Douglas  IMarie  H.  Richards 

Ivan  Alexander  Rowena  jVIason 


Contents  for  January,  1927 

rol.  I  No.  3 


Fragments  of  the  Nineties    -         -         -         -         -7 

Personality  and  Comment         -  -  ~  -  S 

Stories  That  I  Didn't  Write.      By  Mollie  Merrick     -  10 

The  Rendezvous.     By  Rowena  Mason         -         -        12 

Imported  from  San  Francisco.     By  Ivan  Alexander  -  13 

Lucia  Looks  In    -         -         -         -         -         -1-1 

Meanwhile  in  Manhattan    -  -  -  -  -  lO 

Bilitis  and  Jean.     By  Antonia  Pia  -  -  -17 

The  Reigning  Dynasty         -  -  -  -  -  /? 

Franciscan  Vignettes.     By  Owen  Francis     -  -        22 

Soigne.     By  Buchatov         -         -         -         -         -23 

The  Bookstall.     By  fVilliam  A.  Flanagan  -         -        24 

Where  Are  We  Dancing  To.     By  Theodore  Kosloff    -  25 

Winter  Sports  in  California.     By  Mori  J.  Donoghue    26 

Investments  vs.  Unfinished  Business.     By  R.  B.  F. 
Randolph     -         -         -         -         -         -         -  2S 


The  San  Franciscan  is  published  monthly  by  The   San  Franciscan  Publishing   Company,  Sharon   Building, 

San  Francisco,  California,  Telephone  Douglas  3610.  Subscription  Price,  one  year  $2.S0.  Single  copies  25  cents. 

Copyrighted  1926  by  the  San  Franciscan  Publishing  Co. 


The  San  Franciscan 
6 


Telephone 
Building, 
Sail 
Francisco. 


I 


Reproduced  f  r  o  m  the 
original  etching  by  Wer- 
ner B.  Drewes.  the  bril- 
liant young  German  art- 
ist. During  his  brief 
stay  in  San  Francisco 
Drewes  made  a  number 
of  etchings  for  The  San 
l*"ranciscan,  whicli  will 
appear  in  forthcoming 
numbers.  —  (Copyrighted 
bv  The  San  Franciscan, 
1927.) 


THE 


SAN  TRANCISCAN 


Fragments  of  the  Nineties 

wherein  Are  Wafted  the  Faint  Pungence  of  Rose-Geranium  and  Lavender 


I  EDITOR'S  NOTE.  At  a  recent  private  sale  in 
New  York  City  the  correspondent  of  THE  SAN 
FRANCISCAN  bought  a  package  of  letters  post- 
marked "San  Francisco"  and  dated  from  1890  to 
1908.  The  letters,  written  by  a  prominent  "Beau," 
are  a  vivid  and  intimate  social  chronicle  of  San 
Francisco  during  the  gay  nineties.  These  letters 
will  be  published  in  THE  SAN  FRANCISCAN 
from  time  to  time.) 

Sax  Fr.vncisco,  C.^l., 

October  31.  1890. 
Mr.  Horace .  Esq.. 

Astor  House, 

New  York  City,  X.  Y. 
My  dear  Horace: 

So  you  are  at  last  ensconced  in  the 
great  metropolis  for  the  winter.  How 
lonesome  you  must  feel  with  the  sea- 
son approaching  with  its  promise  of 
brilliant  functions.  However,  my  dear 
Horace,  I  shall  endeavor  to  keep  you 
reliably  informed  of  the  social  gossip 
in  an  effort  to  bring  you  some  joy  in 
3'our  temporary  exile.  You  know,  m}' 
dear  fellow,  that  should  your  work  in 
New  York  be  successful,  your  future 
here  is  assured.  This  should  serve  to 
overcome  any  temptations  that  you 
may  have  to  return  to  San  Francisco 
to  partake  in  the  social  whirl  of  the 
winter. 

The  invasion  of  San  Francisco  by 
the  Kings,  Queens,  Princes,  and  Prin- 
cesses of  the  Kingdom  of  Society  has 
begun.  They  come  in  legions,  my 
dear  Horace,  from  the  south,  the  west, 
the  north,  and  the  east.  Fresh  from  a 
summer  of  inactivity  they  swoop  down 
on  the  city  like  a  host  of  conquerors 
returning  to  the  field  of  their  past  vic- 
tories. Those  that  I  have  talked  with 
are  anticipating  a   season  of  unusual 

activit)'. 

*     *     * 

X/fY  dear  Horace,  I  have  reached  a 

stage  of  belief  that  the  idiosyn- 

cracies  of  the  wealthy  at  times  go  to 

alarming  extremes.     Your  very  good 


friend,  Mrs.  J.  R.  Whitney,  has 
brought  on  this  conclusion.  The  dear 
lady  has  returned  from  her  Japanese 
travels  possessing  a  jinrickisha  and  a 
Jap  to  pull  it.  Gossip  seems  at  a  loss 
to  know  whether  she  intends  to  revo- 
lutionize San  Francisco  transporta- 
tion or  install  the  contraption  in  some 
museum.  She  has  temporarily  solved 
the  question  by  taking  both  man  and 
vehicle  to  her  Los  Gatos  ranch.  Inti- 
mate friends  are  thankful  that  Mrs. 
\\hitney  did  not  include  India  in  her 
itinerary  where,  it  is  generally  under- 
stood, elephants  are  the  mode  of 
transportation. 

However,  regardless  of  her  new  fad, 
the  lady  is  a  dear.  Had  quite  a  visit 
with  her  a  few  nights  ago  at  the 
Baldwin  Theater  where  the  Carleton 
Company  was  showing  "Ninon."  She 
was  very  solicitous  regarding  your 
health  and  business  affairs.  She  is 
truly  a  friend  of  yours.  Speaking  of 
the  theater  reminds  me  of  the  degen- 
erate state  that  the  Eastern  stage  must 
be  in.  The  journals  carried  an  ac- 
count of  the  Park  Theater  in  Boston 
being  closed  by  Mayor  Hart  of  that 
city.  Can  such  a  thing  be  true.'  The 
journal  staled  that  the  leading  lady, 
through  the  employment  of  tight- 
fitting  clothes,  actually  impersonated 
the  nude  and  that  the  love  scene  in  the 
last  act  was  so  impassioned  that  a 
civic  committee  brought  the  play  to 
the  Mayor's  attention.  The  play,  I 
believe,  is  called  "The  Clemenceau 
Case."  A  play  with  such  impassioned 
scenes  would  undoubtedly  prove  most 
interesting  to  us  bachelors  but  I  can 
well  imagine  the  wrath  of  married  men 
whose  wives  attend  such  a  play  in 
ignorance  of  its  character. 


T  MOST  sincerely  regret,  Horace,  your 
inabilit}-  to  be  here  for  Betty  Fol- 
ger's  wedding.  It  was,  of  course,  as 
you  predicted,  the  affair  of  the  month 
and  took  place  on  the  eighth.  In  giv- 
ing you  an  idea  of  those  present  it  is 
perhaps  easier  by  saying  everyone  of 
our  circle.  Thej'  were  married  at  St. 
Paul's  in  Oakland  by  the  Reverend 
Robert  Richie.  Jimmie  gave  his  sis- 
ter away,  while  Ernest  Folger  served 
as  best  man  for  LeGrand.  In  short, 
the  wedding  was  quite  Folger  in  its 
entirety.  The  church  was  wonderfully 
decorated  and  was  exceeded  in  beauty 
only  by  the  bride.  I  understand  that 
the  Tibbitts  will  leave  shortly  for  New- 
York  where  they  will  live,  so  you  will 
undoubtedly  have  the  opportunity  of 
congratulating  them.  After  the  wed- 
ding the  party  returned  to  San  Fran- 
cisco and  a  reception  was  held  at  the 
Folger  home  on  Jackson  Street.  About 
sixty  intimate  friends  and  relatives 
were  there.  Guy  Phelps  and  I  looked 
in  for  a  short  time.  Guy's  wife  has 
gone  to  Santa  Barbara  for  a  week  or 
two,  so  as  a  lonely  benedict  he  has 
found  it  necessary  to  seek  my  com- 
panionship. 

Guy  and  I  went  to  hear  the  Carle- 
ton  Opera  Company  sing  "The  Mi- 
kado" a  few  nights  ago  at  the  Baldwin 
Tiieater.  The  Timothy  Paiges  and 
the  Louis  Monteagles  had  a  box.  I 
saw  Louis  in  the  foyer  during  an  inter- 
mission and  he  said  that  they  had  a 
delightful  summer  at  Blythedale.  Both 
families  were  there  together — the 
Paiges  and  the  Monteagles.  They 
were  there  for  the  entire  summer, 
which  would  have  proven  too  long  a 
siege  for  me.     In  my  estimation   the 

(ConlinutJ  on  page  i\) 


The  San  Franciscan 


8 


Personality     and     Comment 

A  Resume  of  Events  Intimate  and  Otherwise  Worthy  of  Mention 


1 


TRULY,  WE  ARE  A  DEMO- 
CRATIC PEOPLE 

WITNESS  the  fuss  we  have 
made  for  weeks  over  the 
royalty  and  nobility  we  have 
had  in  our  midst.  When  has  the  San 
Francisco  Center  had  such  a  crush  of 
women  eager  to  see  the  flower  of 
chivalry  and  the  pomp  of  power  as  on 
the  occasion  when  the  Princess  Achille 
Murat  addressed  its  luncheon  a  week 
or  so  ago  at  the  St.  Francis  hotel.'  Or 
when  it  billed  the  tall  and  stately  and 
languid  Lady  Diana  Manners  a  few 
daj's  later.''  Not  since  the  memorable 
visit  of  the  King  and  Queen  of  Bel- 
gium and  the  epic  luncheon  at  which 
a  newspaper  photographer  shouted  at 
the  lovely  queen  when  she  raised  her 
hand  in  a  gesture  of  appreciation  of 
American  hospitality,  to  "hold  that 
pose,  Queen." 

Publicists,  pacifists,  leaders  of 
thought,  reformers  and  iconoclasts, 
national  figures  of  one  kind  or  another, 
college  presidents,  candidates  for  polit- 
ical office,  and  ballyhoos  have  been 
presented  by  the  "Center"  but  the 
ballroom  never  bulged  as  did  that  well- 
known  "Colonial"  room  when  the 
Princess  Murat  was  the  lodestar.  Now 
the  Princess  is  a  nice  enough  person, 
young  and  pretty  and  clever  and 
canny.     Her  prince,  too,   is   not   'arf. 

But  why  the  fussr 

They  were  quite  frankly  here  for 
the  perquisites  of  opportunity.  They 
have  traveled  in  Indo-China  and  in 
the  course  of  their  perigrinations  were 
inspired  to  become  cicerones  to  tender- 
feet  who  might  want  to  travel  thither. 
So  they  advertised  in  Paris  papers 
that  thej^  would  personally  superin- 
tend parties  who  wanted  to  see  that 
far-off  country  under  the  most  auspi- 
cious circumstances.  Of  course  any 
who  had  the  money  to  travel  at  all 
had  enough  to  travel  well.  Hence  the 
profit  to  the  noble  Baedeckers.  Then 
they  decided  to  come  to  America  and 
see  what  others  of  their  class  had 
found  so  seductive  over  here.  The 
princess  makes  no  secret  of  the  fact 
that  she  is  going  to  write  us  up.  Also 
it  has  been  publicly  stated  that  she  is 
an  official  correspondent  of  the  Asso- 
ciated Press.  So,  by  and  large,  it  is  a 
safe  bet  that  the  bank  roll  of  the  Murat 
family  will  not  shrink  from  withdrawal 
of  funds  with  which  to  tour  America 
and  Indo-China.  Now  no  one  even 
presumes  to  indict  the  princess.    That 


were  Us  nobiliiie.  But  we  do  pride 
ourselves  upon  the  fact  that  we  are 
"a  democratic  people?" 

The  Lady  Diana  drew  eight  hundred 
women  to  the  luncheon  at  the  Center. 
The  hotel  threw  the  Colonial  and 
Italian  ballrooms  together  and  placed 
tables  in  the  boxes  off  the  mezzanine 
floor.  And  still  the  capacity  was  but 
six  hundred.  But  eight  hundred  were 
fed,  just  the  same.  (See  parable  of 
loaves  and  fishes.)  Miss  Ruth  Turner, 
president  of  the  Center,  exclaimed  to 
the  tall  lad\'  with  the  huntress's  name: 
"Oh,  Lady  Diana,  you  are  just  as 
lovely  as  your  pictures,  and  much 
more  beautiful  even  than  in  your 
Madonna  robes."  To  which  the 
daughter-in-law  of  Lady  Duff  Gordon 
replied,  "Oh,  I  look  like  Hell  today, 
I'm  afraid."  But  she  didn't.  Unless 
Hell  is  remarkably  unlike  it  has  been 
pictured.  She  was  altogether  charm- 
ing and  gracious,  probably  a  little 
bored  by  so  much  adulation,  and  self- 
possessed  to  a  degree.  \  ery  likely 
because  she  had  been  assured  that  she 
would  not  be  called  upon  to  speak. 
The  speaking  was  done  by  Everett 
Glass.  At  least  that  part  of  the 
speaking  which  was  not  of,  for  and 
by  "Miracle"  stars,  producers,  authors, 
or  press  agents. 


PANORAMA 

C\S.  New  Year's  day  Mr.  Howard,  who 
^"^  is  now  seen  frequently  at  literary 
places  about  town,  was  walking  down 
Post  Street  near  the  Crocker  National 
Bank,  with  his  friend  and  guest,  Mr. 
Hutchinson  from  over  in  the  valley. 
Mr.  Hutchinson  had  been  chiding  (as 
visitors  will)  about  the  quietness  of 
San  Francisco.  "This  day-time  quiet 
may  be  beautiful  and  dignified,"  said 
the  visitor,  "but  I  don't  like  it.  What 
I  like  in  a  city  is  a  little  excite- 
ment, a  thrill  unexpectedly,  plenty  of 
noise!"  At  that  moment  there  was  a 
terrific  bang,  which  shook  all  the 
buildings  for  a  block  around,  and 
caused  pedestrians  to  anxiously  duck 
their  heads.  Hutchinson  himself  was 
tumbled  to  the  ground  amidst  a  rain 
of  glass  from  the  store  and  office  build- 
ings. When  the  smoke  cleared  away 
it  was  discovered  that  both  gentlemen 
were  only  slightly  cut,  though  greatly 
startled.  A  policeman  said  some  ter- 
rorist had  hurled  a  bomb,  though  it 
was  found   later  to  have  been   a  gas 


explosion  in  the  bank.  \'isitors  to  San 
Francisco  are  seldom  disappointed,  no 
matter  how^  unusual  their  requests. 

*  *     * 

TF  the  Princess  Murat  keeps  her 
promise  about  writing  that  book 
it  is  devoutly  to  be  hoped  that  she 
will  not  emulate  Claire  Sheridan,  who 
came  here  a  few  years  ago  from  Eng- 
land, was  wined  and  feted,  driven 
about  in  our  most  expensive  cars,  and 
given  our  subtlest  and  most  sugar- 
coated  publicity.  She  went  away  and 
mentioned  names  in  her  book  which 
laid  our  glaring  crudities  quivering  to 
the  rude  world. 

*  *     * 

tpR'E  officers  from  the  Dutch  battle- 
ship  Sumatra  were  arrested  Sun- 
day, January  2nd,  for  over-stepping 
the  speed  limit  while  enjoying  the 
Peninsula  beauties  near  Burlingame. 
Being  haled  before  Judge  Gaffney 
they  were  each  fined  fifteen  dollars,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  it  was  their  last  day 
(at  least  for  a  while)  on  American 
soil.  We  understand  that  several  per- 
sons owning  automobiles  have  stated 
before  now  that  Judge  Gaffney  cer- 
tainly does  beat  the  Dutch. 

*  *     * 

pRINCE  Yashito  Chichibu,  second 
son  of  the  late  Emperor  Yoshohito, 
and  heir-apparent  to  the  Japanese 
throne,  was  in  San  Francisco  for  a 
short  time  the  second  of  the  month, 
on  his  way  back  to  Japan  from  Eng- 
land where  he  had  attended  Oxford 
college.  Owing  to  the  recent  death  of 
his  father  the  prince  was  in  mourning 
and  all  festivities  were  cancelled.  It 
was  observed  that  the  prince  was 
dressed  in  natty  and  very  complete 
English  attire,  and  we  wonder  if  the 
Oxford  ideas  made  as  much  impres- 
sion on  him  as  the  Oxford  clothes. 

*  *     * 

/^NE  of  the  most  advanced  de- 
^^^  signers  of  women's  apparel  on 
the  West  Coast  has  apparently  taken 
a  hint  from  the  prediction  made  in 
Forum  by  Paul  Poiret.  Poiret  pre- 
dicted that  in  the  not  far  off  future 
the  ever  shortening  skirts  would  dis- 
appear entirely,  possibly  to  be  re- 
placed by  attractive  panties.  We 
have  discovered  that  he  is  already 
creating  one  of  these  new  models. 
But  we  particularly  want  to  know 
who  is  the  woman  that  is  to  first 
demonstrate  this  model  on  the  streets. 
And  when  and  where  will  it  be  done.' 


The  San  Franciscan 
9 


MUSINGS  ON  THE 
THEATER 

TF  we  can  believe  the  trend  of  talk 
in  the  more  discriminating  circles, 
the  general  program  of  plays  offered 
to  the  San  Franciscan  during  the 
holiday  season  has  been  nothing  to 
brag  about.  And  far  from  hurting 
the  local  theaters  the  stupendous 
Miracle  Play  has  saved  them.  At 
holiday  time  everyone  wants  to  at- 
tend the  shows,  and  San  Francisco 
receives  thousands  of  visitors  from 
this  vicinity  and  from  the  valley  and 
the  south.  Those  who  came  this 
holiday-time  would  have  been  dis- 
appointed in  what  we  furnished  them 
had  it  not  been  for  the  Miracle  Play. 

The  \\'ilkes  Theater  offered  "Queen 
High."  E\'en  had  the  comedy  been 
of  the  very  best  the  idea  of  featuring 
Kolb  and  Dill  was  enough  to  queer  it 
for  all  save  the  greenhorns.  Even  the 
backwoodsman  from  Crescent  City 
has  got  on  to  them. 

The  Curran,  another  leading  thea- 
ter, offered  "Blossom  Time."  Perhaps 
they  believe  all  things  are  good  that 
are  old  and  that  once  had  a  reputa- 
tion. We  remind  them  of  Vice-Presi- 
dent Dawes.  We  find  a  great  deal  of 
adverse  criticism  of  this  play  by  people 
with  musical  ears.  Singing  off  the 
key,  even  when  singing  old  songs,  is 
not  quite  the  form  the  genuine  San 
Franciscan  admirers,  reporters  who 
don't  know  music  notwithstanding. 
It  is  also  significant  that  this  same 
criticism  was  generally  passed  upon 
"Blossom  Time"  when  it  showed  in 
Sacramento.  And  the  cast,  which 
some  of  the  reporters  have  called  the 
best  seen  here  in  years,  is  actually  a 
cast  that  had  to  be  supplied  at  the 
last  minute,  according  to  reports  from 
other  cities,  including  "back  East" 
where  they  came  from. 

In  the  case  of  the  Columbia  where 
Bennett  has  been  playing  in  "They 
Knew  What  They  Wanted,"  and  the 
Alcazar  where  "The  Home  Towners" 
has  been  going,  some  excuse  can  be 
offered.  But  "The  Home  Towners" 
might  conveniently  have  been  shifted 
to  the  President  Theater  in  place  of 
"The  Little  Spitfire,"  which  should 
have  been  left  in  its  grave;  and  the 
Alcazar  could  then  have  presented  a 
better  class  of  play,  more  in  keeping 
with  some  they  have  done  in  the 
past.  The  theater  managers  tell  us 
that,  from  their  standpoint,  it  is  neces- 
sary to  please  all  kinds  of  taste.  Yes, 
all  kinds  of  taste,  but  not  all  kinds  of 
lack  of  taste.  We  think  the  taste  of 
the    more    civilized    San    Franciscan, 


who  prefers  going  to  the  better  thea- 
ters, is  more  important  than  the  taste 
of  the  San  Franciscan  who  attends 
the  President.  Pantages,  and  the 
movies. 

*     *     * 

"FIRECRACKERS" 

'TpHERE  are  two  women  here  at  the 
moment  who  were  much  in  the  lime- 
light twenty  years  ago,  and  the  won- 
der grows  how  they  have  so  success- 
fully defied  woman's  greatest  enemies, 
Old  Father  Time  and  Old  Mother 
Nature.  The  women  are  Airs.  Marie 
Wells  Hanna  and  the  Duchess  of 
Mecklenberg.  The  Duchess  of  Meck- 
lenberg  came  from  Europe  to  attend 
the  wedding  of  her  son,  Charles  Oel- 
richs  Martin,  and  Miss  Caroline  Madi- 
son. Now  when  one  has  a  marriagablc 
son  there  isn't  much  use  trying  to  dis- 
semble or  to  conceal  one's  age.  No 
matter  how  young  one  was  when  he 
was  born  one  must  be  at  least  thirty- 
seven.  Well,  many  a  woman  of  thirty- 
sev'en  would  covet  the  face  of  the 
Duchess.  Her  figure  is  a  trifle  more 
portly  than  of  yore  in  those  golden 
years  when  she  was  no  wider  than 
Lady  Diana  Manners  is  at  the  moment, 
but  what  are  a  few  pounds  in  Ger- 
many where  they  like  their  women 
"comfortable".''  Mrs.  Hanna  came 
from  New  York  to  spend  Christmas 
with  her  mother,  Mrs.  George  Wells. 
She  is  slim  and  blonde  and  terribly 
cultured  and  clever.  Knows  all  about 
the  latest  books  and  plays  on  Broad- 
way. Knows  even  the  people  who 
write  the  books  and  act  the  plays. 
She  and  Elsie  Arden  made  an  excellent 
pair  of  foils,  each  for  the  other,  at  a 
dinner  given  by  Noel  Sullivan  the 
other  night  at  Iiis  home  in  Hyde 
Street. 

Which  calls  for  a  word  about  Noel 
Sullivan's  house.  It  is  as  near  a 
salon  as  any  house  in  San  Francisco, 
for  Noel  has  lived  in  Paris  and  knows 
his  stuff  when  it  comes  to  art  and 
music  and  drama  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing.  He  and  Willie  Gwin  and  Henri 
Deering  have  been  doing  the  town 
these  last  few  weeks.  Like  the  raking 
trio  on  the  ad  of  Pall  Mall  cigarettes, 
they  never  seem  to  have  time  to  get 
out  of  evening  dress.  They  were 
together  in  Paris  not  so  long  ago  and 
music  is  the  tie  which  binds  them. 
Gwin  is  home  for  his  annual  visit  to 
his  sister,  Mrs.  Kenneth  Kingsbur\-, 
and  his  parents,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  William 
Gwin.  Deering  is  here  on  a  concert 
tour.  Noel  is  here  because  he  likes  us. 
And  we  like  him. 


O^ 


|NE  of  the  brides  of  next  month 
recently  gave  a  party,  'tis  said, 
at  which  she  awarded  a  prize  of  a 
gold  mesh  bag  to  the  girl  (the  guests 
were  all  girls)  who  told  the  choicest 
Rabelaisan  story.  Why  not.'  The 
bridegroom-elect  was  never  criticised 
for  the  dinner  at  which  he  said  fare- 
well to  bachelorhood.  And  the  stories 
at  those  dinners  were  not  always 
Sunday-school  tracts,  were  they.'  Why 
not  permit  the  girls  their  bed-time 
stories.^ 


LITTLE  THEATER 

"VTOW  that  the  "little  theater"  move- 
ment  of  San  Francisco  has  been 
seriously  injured  by  the  fire  which 
destroyed  the  Players  Guild  theater  a 
few  weeks  ago,  what  will  be  done  to 
reconstruct  our  necessary  tribute  to 
the  drama.'' 

San  Francisco  has  shown  keen  in- 
terest in  both  music  and  the  fine  arts. 
Will  she  give  this  interest  to  the 
drama?  It  will  not  be  long  however, 
before  we  shall  see  how  well  she  can 
hold  her  own  as  a  patron  of  this  im- 
perative art.  Her  patronage  hereto- 
fore has  never  been  over-extravagant. 
The  Players'  Guild  has  never  enjoyed 
a  superfluous  income,  but  through  the 
enthusiastic  work  of  its  active  mem- 
bers and  regular  attendance  of  an  ap- 
preciative audience  has  successfully, 
though  scarcely,  maintained  itself.  Los 
Angeles  boasts  of  more  than  one  such 
organization.  Santa  Barbara  main- 
tains a  little  theater  which  is  fairly 
well  known  throughout  the  eastern 
states.  We  also  have  a  movement  in 
Berkeley,  Calif.,  under  the  direction  of 
Mr.  Irving  Pichel,  another  at  Stanford 
University,  as  well  as  one  at  University 
of  California,  and  still  another  similar 
plan  is  being  shaped  at  Palo  Alto. 
Calif.  It  must  be  acknowledged  that 
in  this  work  San  Francisco  is  behind 
Los  Angeles  and,  of  course,  many  of 
the  eastern  cities.  The  drama  is  par- 
ticularly well  patronized  throughout 
the  East.  People  in  general,  whether 
talented  or  not,  take  full  interest  in 
the  destiny  of  our  American  drama — 
the  salvation  of  which  is  the  "little 
theater." 

The  question  stands,  now  that  the 
opportunity  has  offered  itself,  will  San 
Francisco  join  the  army  of  "little 
theaters"  to  promote  good  drama? 
Will  the  ably  financial  citizens  con- 
tribute a  new  temple  in  which  those 
who  take  active  part  can  do  their  bit 
by  giving  their  time  and  working 
hard  to  preserve  the  best  of  an  age- 
old  institution? 


The  San  Franciscan 
10 


Stories  That  I  Didn't  Write 

Unpublished  Disclosures  of  a  Music  Critic 

Bv  MOLLIF.  MERRICK 


^ 


FRITZ  KREISLER  .  .  . 
The  greatest  musician  of  them 
all  was  answering  the  last  few 
questions  of  a  group  interview.  Al- 
ready the  "gentlemen  of  the  press" 
had  risen  to  go.  They  stood  about,  a 
trifle  ill  at  ease,  puffing  from  time  to 
time  on  the  Egyptian  cigarettes  with 
the  artist's  monogram  on  them,  which 
had  been  passed  from  time  to  time.  A 
moment  hence  they  would  relax,  drift 
down  the  hallway  to  the  elevators  in 
congenial  clots,  puffing  heartily  on 
their  own  particular  brand. 

In  a  corner  sat  a  girl  working  fever- 
ishly over  a  sketchboard — drawing  in, 
erasing,  drawing  in  again — a  baffied, 
futile  look  in  her  eyes  when  they  rested 
on  her  subject.  She  rose,  tried  to  edge 
out  with  the  first  stragglers. 

Fritz  Kreisler,  who  has  not  spoken 
to  her  since  the  sketch  was  begun, 
puts  out  his  hand  to  the  drawing- 
board.  She  turns  the  work  for  him  to 
see.  A  dough  man  with  currant  eyes 
and  a  black  toothbrush  on  the  upper 
lip. 

"Sol  you  enjoy  sketching?" 

She  nods,  the  color  of  a  tomato,  and 
darts  out. 

It  is  my  turn  to  go.  He  holds  out  a 
hand.  "Of  course  you  are  coming  to 
the  concert  tomorrow.'" 

"I  can  scarcely  wait,"  I  stammer. 
"Just  think,  Mr.  Kreisler — I  have 
never  heard  you  play.  I  have  all  the 
records;  I  know  them  almost  by  heart. 
More  than  anything  else  in  the  world 
I  have  wanted  to  hear  you — play!" 

Celtic  enthusiasm,  frankly  emo- 
tional; it  is  the  sort  of  thing  one  is 
ashamed  of  later.  But  it  strikes  a 
spark. 

The  greatest  musician  of  them  all 
draws  a  bit  to  one  side,  out  of  earshot 
of  the  others. 

"I  am  sorry,  since  you  have  so  an- 
ticipated it,  that  you  hear  me  tomor- 
row for  the  first  time.  It  will  not  be 
the  Kreisler  that  played  twenty  years 
ago.  There  have  been  such  hideous 
moments — the  war — the  suffering  of 
my  people — a  world  in  agony!  A 
musician's  soul  is  sensitive  to  such 
things  .      ." 

"But  I  thought  sorrow  deepened  art, 
was  art's  most  precious  gift     ,    .     .  " 

Fritz  Kreisler  smiles  slowly:  "In 
youth  it  is  the  priceless  boon  to  art. 
^\  hen  one  is  young  sadness  is  wine — 
it  gives  poignant  coloring  to  a  picture 
that  might  otherwise  be  insipidly  gay. 
In  middle  age  beauty  no  longer  stabs 


like     a     sword — poignance     leaves     it 

then.      One    becomes    philosophical — 

resigned — where  in  youth  we  rebelled 

with  a  fierce,  fine  glory  of  tone.     To 

me,  life  is  dust  and  ashes.     I  can  give 

\'ou  the  same  broad  bow,   I  can  give 

you  the  technique  of  the  years,  I  can 

give  you  better  music  than  that  young 

Kreisler,  in  the  sense  of  sheer  musical 

taste.     But  I  have  lost  the  fine,  free, 

wild   beauty  that   I   would   have   had 

you  hear.    Remember  that  tomorrow." 

He  held  out  his  hand.     "We  may  not 

meet  again,  my  child;  good  luck." 

The    written    interview    was    rigid, 

banal,  commonplace — hard  as  the  lead 

in  which  it  was  cast.     The  real  story 

was  my  own. 

*     *     * 

TASCHA  HEIFETZ  .  .  . 
*-^  Impeccable  he  stands  before  the 
audience,  flawlessly  poised — a  slim, 
svelte  figure  in  black  who  lifts  his 
violin  to  his  shoulder  with  patrician 
elegance. 

He  plays  as  if  from  hidden  magic  of 
unfailing  power.  His  face  is  a  fine 
oval  mask  unbroken  by  a  smile. 

This  same  Heifetz  is  translated  to 
the  drawing-room.  Serious,  elegant 
to  the  smallest  detail,  he  combines 
something  of  the  elements  of  a  Brum- 
mel,  a  Chesterfield,  a  Nash.  He 
would  seem  to  have  been  born  old — 
this  youth  of  twenty-eight  years,  and 
spontaneous  joy  would  seem  to  have 
been  left  out  of  his  reckoning. 

To  a  few — that  random  few  whose 
personalities  possess  the  power  to  free 
the  youth  that  is  enchained  within 
him — is  given  opportunity  to  glimpse 
the  boy  hidden  awa\'  within  that 
polished  shell. 

We  are  talking  of  my  Irish  grand- 
father and  the  pranks  we  played  as 
children. 

"Tell  me  more,"  cries  Heifetz,  his 
eyes  alight,  his  cheeks  suddenly  losing 
their  pallid  indifference.  "What  fun! 
Just  think;  you  played  all 
you  wanted  to!"  His  smile  dies  out. 
"I  had  a  violin  when  I  was  three.  I 
gave  concerts  when  I  was  five  years. 
At  seven.  I  was  a  wage-earner  of  con- 
sequence. It  is  hard  for  you  to 
imagine  that — you,  who  played 
through  a  gay  childhood." 

"What  do  you  suppose  is  my  great- 
est dissipation  when  the  season  is  over 
and  I  go  to  my  camp.'  I  begin  to 
grow  fingernails  on  my  left  hand.  You 
see,  other  people  have  had  them  all 
their    li\es.      But    I    have    never    had 


them — not  since  I  can  remember. 
How  I  watch  them  begin  to  grow. 
With  what  pride  I  coax  them  along, 
always  hoping  that  they  will  reach 
normal  size  before  the  winter's  prac- 
tice work  begins."  He  shrugs — "But 
I  never  have  time  enough  to  let  them 
grow  all  the  way  out.  Some  day  I  am 
going  to  make  a  sacrifice  to  art:  I 
shall  have  fingernails  on  the  left  hand, 
come  what  may." 

Another  time:  "Everything  is  so 
easy  for  you,"  I  say;  "what  is  to  be- 
come of  you  in  future  years.'"' 

"Everything  is  not  so  easy  as  you 
think,"  says  Josh.  "I  struggle  with  a 
concerto  behind  closed  doors.  I  fume 
and  rage  and  tear;  I  curse  in  seven 
different  languages;  but  I  never  ap- 
pear before  the  footlights  until  I  am 
master  of  that  work.  I  do  not  like  to 
see  practising  done  on  the  stage;  it  is 
execrable  taste." 

And  still  again:  A  dinner  party  of 
some  eight  or  ten  persons.  Josh  is 
making  a  speech — a  funny  speech  in 
which  he  caricatures  the  sort  of  thing 
usually  wished  upon  genius  at  formal 
functions.  The  table  is  in  roars  of 
laughter.  Heifetz,  bright  eyed,  laugh- 
ing, is  giving  a  priceless  travesty. 

"Mooney!"  His  manager  speaks 
the  strange  word  with  a  peculiarly 
significant  tone.  It  acts  like  magic  on 
the  youthful  genius.  He  smiles,  puts 
down  his  glass  and  resumes  the  usual 
dinner-table  conversation. 

Naturally  there  is  a  question  in  my 
eyes  when  he  turns  to  me. 

"That  is  an  arrangement  between 
us,"  Heifetz  explains,  "to  warn  me 
that  I  am  becoming  overly  silly. 
Sometimes  I  realize  that  I  am  twenty- 
eight." 

"It  seems  a  shame,"  I  interject 
hotly,  "to  kill  your  spontaneity." 

There  is  a  touch  of  wistfulness  in 
his  smile  as  he  answers:  "It  does  seem 
that  way.  I  meet  so  many  people 
that  I  like — so  few  that  I  can  be  fluent 
with — one  in  ten  million  to  whom  I 
can  open  up  my  entire  nature.  It 
takes  me  so  long  to  get  silly,  and  just 
when  I  am  enjoying  myself,  I  must  be 
reminded  that  I  am  a  public  character 
— that  I  belong  to  the  world." 

Some  people  drift  over  from  a  near- 
by table  and  are  introduced.  Heifetz 
rises,  his  face  once  more  the  indifferent 
mask — courteous,  polished,  impecca- 
ble. The  shell  of  glass  has  closed 
about  him  once  again. 


The  San  Franciscan 
u 


SENORITA     ELI' IRA    HIDALGO 

The  Spanish  Prima  Donna  zcho  comes  to  San  Francisco  this  month  zcilh 
Chaliapin  in  "  The  Barber  of  Senile  " 


The  San  Franciscan 
12 


The   Rendezvous 


Characters 
Sydney  Warring 
Richard  Grey 
Drake 

Time — About  nine  o'clock  on 
a  stormy  night 

SCENE:  Grey's  bachelor  apartment. 
The  curtain  rises  showing  the  liv- 
ing-room of  a  man's  apartment. 
It  is  richly  furnished.  While  there  are 
the  unmistakable  earmarks  of  the  in- 
terior decorator,  it  is  none  the  less  a 
room  in  which  a  man  lives  and  enjoys 
the  good  things  of  life. 

At  center  back  is  a  great  French  win- 
dow. A  door  to  the  right  leads  to  the 
outer  hall,  one  at  the  left  to  an  inner 
room.  A  fireplace  at  right,  flanked  by 
books,  before  it  a  small  black  satin 
divan  and  a  high-backed  needle  point 
chair.  The  divan  is  placed  at  a?i  angle 
while  the  chair's  back  is  to  the  audience. 
At  left  a  flat-topped  rosezvood  desk  on 
which  stands  the  photograph  of  a  woman, 
and  a  low  bowl  of  roses.  There  is  a  fat, 
deep  chair  beside  which  stands  a  read- 
ing lamp,  smoking  stand,  and  small 
red  lacquer  table  holding  hooks. 

Drake,  a  man  servant  is  adjusting 
the  reading  lamp  beside  the  chair  as 
Richard  Grey  comes  from  the  inner 
room.  He  is  %n  a  dressing  gown,  a  man 
of  about  forty  years  of  age.  The  door 
behind -him  bangs.  There  is  a  sound  of 
wind  outside.  Rain  beats  against  the 
window. 

Grey:  It's  going  to  be  a  bad  night, 
Drake. 

Drake:  Yes,  sir. 

{Gray  goes  to  the  window  and  looks 
out.  The  zvind  howls.  The  rain  thun- 
ders against  the  pane.  The  door  into 
the  inner  room  swings  open  and  bangs 
shut  again.) 

Grey:  I  was  going  out,  but  I  don't 
think  I'll  brave  that  torrent.  Lord, 
what  a  wind.  {He  goes  over  to  the  fire- 
place and  holds  out  his  hands.)  No 
place  like  home  on  a  night  like  this. 

Drake:  No,  sir. 

Grey:  You  needn't  stay  up  tonight, 
Drake.  I  don't  think  anyone  will  call 
on  such  a  night. 

Drake:  But  the  fire,  sir? 

Grey:  I'll  look  out  for  it.  Besides, 
I've  just  a  bit  in  my  book  and  then  I'm 
going  to  turn  in  early. 

Drake:  \'ery  well,  sir,  I'll  lock  up. 

{Drake  goes  itito  inner  room.  Richard 
Grey  settles  himself  in  the  big  chair  by 
the  lamp.  Drake  returns,  pulls  a  cur- 
tain across  the  window,  locks  the  door 


BY  ROWENA  MASON 

off  the  outer  hall;  as  he  returns  the  tele- 
phone rings.    He  anszvers  it.) 

Drake:  Hello.  {There  is  a  pause, 
then  again:)  Hello!  {Another  pause. 
He  rattles  the  receiver.  Then:)  You 
rang  our  bell,  operator.  {After  a  min- 
ute he  hangs  up  the  phone.)  Someone 
trying  to  get  you,  sir,  but  the  operator 
says  she  can't  seem  to  make  connec- 
tions.    She'll  call  again. 

Grey  :  There'll  be  a  lot  of  wires  down 
from  this  storm,  I'll  wager. 

Drake:  I'll  wait  up  until  the  call 
comes  through. 

Grey:  No  need  of  that,  Drake.  I'll 
take  care  of  it.    Good  night,  Drake. 

Drake:  Good  night,  sir.  {He  crosses 
the  room;  as  he  reaches  the  door  Richard 
Grey  turns:) 

Grey:  Oh,  Drake,  switch  off  the 
lights.     I'll  only  need  this  one. 

{Drake  presses  the  light  button.  The 
stage  is  thrown  into  darkness  save  for 
the  one  spot  of  warm  amber  light  cast 
by  the  reading  lamp,  which  circles  the 
chair.  Drake  exits.  Richard  Grey 
turns  the  pages  of  his  book.  The  phone 
rings.  He  gets  up  and  picks  up  the  re- 
ceiver.) 

Grey:  Hello.  {A  long  pause;  then:) 
Hello,  hello,  central.  This  is  1109 
you  just  rang.  You  .  .  .  What.^ 
Oh!  Well,  could  you  trace  the  call.'  I 
see.  Thank  you.  {He  hangs  up  the 
phone  and  returns  to  his  book.) 

{All  at  once  the  audience  is  conscious 
of  a  woman  standing  in  the  doorway 
leading  to  the  outer  hall.  She  crosses 
the  threshold  and  stands  looking  at 
Richard  Grey.  She  is  beyond  the  circle 
of  light  cast  by  the  reading  lamp  and  can 
only  be  seen  vaguely.) 

Sydney:  Richard!  {Her  voice  is 
low,  full,  rich  in  tone.  The  man  is  on 
his  feet  in  an  instant  and  staring  at  her 
as  though  she  were  a  ghost.) 

Grey:  Sydney!  Good  Lord,  how 
did  you  get  here.'  What  on  earth  are 
you  doing  out  on  a  night  like  this.' 
{She  walks  over  to  the  fire.)  Here,  let 
me  have  your  cape.  ,  You  must  be 
drenched.  {He  helps  her  off  with  her 
wrap,  exclaiming  as  he  does  so:)  Wh)', 
it's  bone  dry!  How  did  you  manage 
that.' 

{The  zvoman  is  dressed  in  gray  chiffon. 
Through  the  shadows  of  the  darkened 
stage  she  seems  but  another  shadow,  dim 
and  indefinite.  She  sinks  down  itito  the 
high-backed  chair;  only  a  fold  or  two  of 
the  skirt  of  her  gray  gozcn  can  be  seen  by 
the  audience.) 

Sydney:  Manage  what.' 
Grey:  To  keep  dry! 
Sydney:  Is  it  raining.' 


Grey:  Great  heavens,  Sydney — lis- 
ten to  it.  Did  someone  blindfold  you 
and  bring  you  here.'    Why,  your  cape 

Sydney  {interrupting  him):  Rich- 
ard, there's  no  time  for  trivialities, 
explanations.  I'm  here — that's  all 
that  counts. 

Grey:  But  what  brings  you  here  on 
such  a  fiendish  night.'    Where's  Larry? 

Sydney:  Larry?    Oh — he's  at  home. 

Grey:  At  home!  You  mean  you're 
here  alone? 

Sydney:  Yes — you  see — I've  come 
for  you.  {Her  voice  has  an  eerie, 
dreamy  quality.) 

Grey':  You've  what? 

Sydney  {She  repeats  slowly,  patiently 
as  though  to  a  child):  I've — come — for 
— you.     I  want  you  to  go  with  me. 

Grey:  But  Sydney,  Larry!  Have 
you  left  him? 

Sydney:  {She  nods):  Yes,  I've  left 
him. 

{Richard  Grey  gets  up  from  the  divan 
and  stands  with  his  hack  to  her.  There 
is  a  silence.     Then  he  turns.) 

Grey:  You're — you're  going  to  di- 
vorce him? 

Sydney  {She  shakes  her  head):  No, 
there's  no  need  of  it  now. 

{He  sits  down  again.) 

Grey:  Sydney,  what  do  you  mean? 
What  are  you  saying?  You've  left 
Larry,  you're  not  going  to  divorce 
him,  and  yet  you  come  to  me  here  and 
ask  me  to  go  away  with  you.  It — it 
doesn't  sound  like  you,  Sydney. 

Sydney:  But  you  love  me,  Richard! 
{He  is  silent.  She  leans  tozvard  him.) 
Richard,  you  do  love  me.  {There  is 
nothing  intense  about  her  statement. 
It  is  merely  wistful.  He  gets  up,  goes 
to  the  fire  and  stands  looking  down  into 
it.  When  he  turns  and  speaks  again  his 
voice  is  husky,  desperate.) 

Grey:  Sydney,  why  have  you  come 
here — like  this?  It's — it's  cruel.  It's 
insanity.  /  haven't  the  right — and  you 
— you'll  regret  this  all  in  the  morning. 

Sydney:   In   the  morning 
Richard   dear,   listen   to   me:   there   is 
only  one  thing  that  I  can  ever  regret 
again   and   that   will   be   if  you   don't 
come  with  me  tonight. 

Grey:  But,  Sydney  .  .  .  There's 
another  way  out — a  finer  way!  Di- 
vorce Larry  and  it  won't  be  eternity 
before  we  can  go  away  together — with 
all  the  world  as  witnesses. 

Sydney:  Eternity!  {She  shudders.) 
That's  just  it.  But  you  don't  seem  to 
understand.  Richard,  let  me  try  to 
explain.     It  won't  be  easy  for  me  to 

(Continued  on  page  30) 


The  San  Franciscan 
13 


Imported  from  San  Francisco 

Intimate  Portraits  of  Native  Sons  Adopted  by  Father  Knickerbocker 

No.  2.    Ernest  Peixotto 

By  IVAN  ALEXANDER 


(EDITOR'S  NOTE.  This  is  the  second  of  a 
series  of  interviews  with  San  Franciscans  now 
living  in  New  Yorli,  who  have  attained  fame  and 
recognition  in  the  world  of  music,  art,  literature 
and  drama.  For  the  February  issue  of  THE 
SAN  FRANCISCAN  the  author  of  this  series  will 
interview  RoUo  Peters.  Others  to  follow  will  in- 
clude William  Brady,  David  Belasco,  and  Robert 
Davis, 


w 


''E'LL  cover 

for  next 

in  the  careful 
used  only  when  dictat- 
ing telegrams — "P-E-I-X 


Ernest  Peixotto 
. "  I  began 
enunciation 


is  a  shimmering  transparency,  a  great 
delicacy  and  freshness,  that  strikes  one 
at  once — a  note  of  youth  and  simplic- 
ity. "All  this  is  good  to  find  in  Wall 
Street,"  I  told  myself,  and  hurried  out 
to  take  the  East  Side  "L"  back  to 
Sixty-Sixth  Street.  Ernest  Peixotto 
lives  on  East  Sixty-Sixth  Street,  part 
of  the  time. 


"You  needn't  spell  it!" 
came  the  operator's  voice 
crisply  over*  the  wire. 
"I'm  perfectly  familiar 
with  his  works! 
The  rest  of  the  message, 
please!"  And  I  gave  it 
humbly. 

The  next  dav  I  took 
the  East  Side  "L"  down 
to  Hanover  Square.  I 
reached  Number  76  Wall 
Street.  Here,  where  Pearl 
Street  hurries  across,  and 
the  old  Cunard  Building 
used  to  stand,  Art  has 
won  another  outpost 
from  the  money-changers. 
The  Seaman's  Bank  for 
Savings,  one  of  the  coun- 
try's oldest  financial  in- 
stitutions—  founded  in 
1829 — has  just  erected 
its  magnificent  new  home, 
calling  upon  the  most 
distinguished  artists  to 
make  it  a  monument  of 
beauty.  Five  artists  were 
invited  to  su  bm  i  t 
sketches  for  the  •  great 
mural  panels  at  the  end 
of  the  main  hall,  and  the 
award    was    given    to  IVa. 

Ernest    Peixotto.      That 
was  on  the  28th  of  last  April,  and  now 
the  great  canvases — the  central  of  the 
three  25  by  21  feet  in  size — are  com- 
pleted and  enshrined. 
*     *     * 

TN  the  central  panel  Washington  is 
shown  landing  at  the  foot  of  Wall 
Street;  while  to  the  right  is  portrayed 
the  shipping  of  1830 — at  the  time  of 
the  bank's  founding.  To  the  left  is 
painted  the  port  of  old  New  Amster- 
dam— the  sea  motif  running  through 
all  the  work  and  giving  it  unity.  There 


.'hinglon  Landing  at  the  foot  of  Wall  Street,  Neii;   5 
A  Mural  hy  Ernest  Peixotto 

I  half-way  expected  to  find  him  in 
his  studio,  as  a  painter  ought  to  be 
found,  splashing  nonchalantly  at  some 
huge  canvas.  Unfortunately  he  walked 
in  a  moment  after  my  arrival,  very 
prompt  and  courteous  and  business- 
like. 

There  are  fascinating  things  to  find 
out  about  this  San  Franciscan  who 
spends  half  the  year  in  his  home  near 
Fontainebleau  and  half  in  New  York, 
and  loves  the  view  from  the  windows 
of  the  Fairmont  Hotel  better  than  any 


other  in  the  world.  "Who's  Who  in 
Art"  gives  him  quite  a  column — all 
about  his  illustrated  travel  articles  in 
Scribner's,  his  numerous  awards,  high 
rank  in  the  educative  field  of  art,  and 
his  distinction  of  later  years  in  mural 
painting — rather  preparing  one  to  gulp 
and  swallow  in  his  presence. 

One  glance  at  Ernest  Peixotto,  as 
he  sat  just  a  bit  awk- 
wardly, with  his  hands 
on  his  knees,  explained 
why  the  paintings  down 
in  Wall  Street  are  so 
nice  and  young — that's 
the  way  he  is.  There  arif 
little  wrinkles  all  around 
his  eyes,  where  he  tightens 
up  his  face  in  a  Brownie- 
like smile  every  so  often 
— but  one  forgets  those 
when  he  talks  delightedly 
of  his  work.  He  has 
the  frank,  naive  atti- 
tude of  a  student,  facing 
ahead  rather  than  back 
over  what  he  has 
achieved.  His  instincts, 
I  soon  noted,  were  not 
biographical.  His  charm 
and  the  readiness  with 
which  he  confided  to  me 
— a  perfect  stranger — the 
secret  of  his  methods  in 
mural  painting — (he  be- 
gins in  one  corner,  fin- 
ishes as  he  goes,  and  uses 
paint  sparingly) — had  a 
disarming  effect;  but  one 
must  be  stern  in  inter- 
viewing,   even    w  i  t  ii 

artists. 

*     *     * 

"LJOW  many  years  ago 
was  it  that  you 
left  San  Francisco?"  I 
asked,  jotting  down  a  tentative  figure. 
"Ah,  San  Francisco,"  he  mused. 
"You  know,  Mrs.  Peixotto  and  I  have 
wandered  pretty  much  over  the  globe, 
and  we  have  never  found  a  city  that 
is  so  cosmopolitan,  so      . 

"And  when  did  you  leave.'"  I 
smiled  pleasant!)'. 

"You  know  it  was  rather  fortunate 
for  me,  in  those  davs,"  he  went  on, 
"that  I  had      .      .     '." 

(Continued  on  page  34) 


ork 


Tkf  S««  Frmmcifemm 
14 


Lucia   Looks  In 

And  Lays  Her  Plans  to  Crash  the  Gate 


xnnoBrs  iMraE.  of 


KTfSL  My  Deter- 

Evemliin^    in    San    Fiandsoo    is 
SOMETHING  GRAND"      YoqTI 
likdv  be  surprised  to  hear  that  Hora- 
tio and   me   are  at   last   going   into 
Society-     It's  orcr  a  year  noir  since 
ve  last  seen  Portland,  and  oar  lives 
has  certainhr  been  changed  since  ve 
began  getting  cosmopofitan.     Mm  foi, 
yes.    We  went  rigjit  £rom  Portland  to 
Nev   York  and  then  to  Paris.    Well 
my   dear,    I    got    so    many   exdting 
things  to  tdl  yoa  about  o«^er  there  bat 
I  guess  maybe  I  better  wait  until  I 
see  you  for  smne  of  them.     (Ha!  ha") 
Well  anyway,  one  of  the  first  things  I 
done  was  to  get  done  over  and  that 
took   a   wfatde  month   and   a   ktt  of 
money  bat  I  didn't  mind  that  becai^x 
Locie   (he's   really  a   man)   cert^nly 
did  a  wooderful  job  and  I  met  some 
wooderful  people  while  he  was  doing 
me  and  my  dear  I  certainly  have  at- 
tracted a  lot  cf  attention  since  that 
last  day  when  I  was  finished  and  then 
I   went   to  see  Maurice  Cpnmoanced 
Morris,^  Le  Blanc  and  my  dear  he  is 
certainly  wocnlerful!    He  only  has  to 
look  at  you  long  enoogh  and  he  knows 
exactly  what  yoa  need  and  he  made 
me    walk     ("sortay")    and    ut    and 
lounge  on  a  beautihd  ckMSf  bnmge  and 
go  up  and  down  staiis  and  my  dear 
be  was  so  exdtcd   be  called   in   his 
secmair  (private)  and  made  me  do 
all  the  things  over  for  her  and  when  I 
got   finished   thev   both   were   saving 
''^L\R\■ELO0S'''  and   "EXTRAOR- 
DIN.VIR"  and  a  lot  of  quick  French 
and  then  Alaurioe  (3kIorris|  tcdd  me  I 
was  a  very  ii§eremi  type  and  he  would 
have  to  study  me  and  then  he  screamed 
laughing  with  temperament  and  excite- 
ment  but   be   made   me   a   gorgeous 
wardrobe   with    hats   and   everybody 
says  their  all  Jistimgm£  (that's  French 
for  smart »  and  of  course  their  iterribly 
expensive  and   I  do  feel  \L\RVEL- 
OUS.     WelL  my  dear,  where  was  I^ 
Oh  yes,  and  at  Lade's  one  morning  I 
met  XGss  Higsbee  wbo  was  once  a 
governess   in    a    Count's   family   but 
was  like  a   kind  of  companion   and 
coach  to  a  b^  English  actress  when  I 
met  her.  but  she  said  the  actress  was 
carrying  on  so  she  wanted  to  make  a 
change  before  her  ca^  reputation  was 
mined,  so  I  said  bow  I  was  so  crazy 
to  get  more  oosmopoGtan  and  wouldn't 


she  like  to  come  with  me  and  so  she 
said  she  would  and  she  did.  She  said 
she  oonld  make  me  over  and  she  did. 
She  has  aO  the  stamp  of  RACE  and 
BREED,  don't  you  biow.  and  refine- 
ment and  she  KNOWS  what  to  do 
and  when  to  do  it.  Yes  indeed — she's 
a  REAL  PERSON,  and  at  couise 
she's  dmng  wonders  for  me.  I'm  tak- 
ing up  Art  and  French  and  The  Drama 
and  aO  the  things  that  make  a  Leader 
but  of  course  my  dear  it's  strenuous 
work  you  can  be  sure,  but  it's  so  exdt- 
ing— sometimis  I  mean.  .%nd  there's 
a  wonderful  Russian  dancer  wbo  has 
a  school  here  and  Miss  Higsbee  says 
she  hopes  to  have  me  advanced 
enough  bv  .April  to  go  in  for  ''EIX- 
PRESSION  PL.ASTKJUE"  (that*  a 
oombinatioo  of  French  and  Russian 
Artjt  with  him.  Remember  them 
wonderful  times  we  used  to  have  at 
the  Odd  Fellow's  dances  Saturday 
ni^tsr  WeO  anyway,  going  back, 
when  we  were  ready  to  come  home  I 
was  aO  for  taking  a  Park  .\venne 
place  because  that  certainly  IS  the 
thing  to  do  now  but  Miss  Higsbee 
said  it  woald  be  much  better  to  try 
San  Francisoo  fast  because  it  was 
Cultural  and  of  couise  that's  what 
we're  after  now  and  she  said  the 
people  were  kinder,  and  anyway,  that 
lovdy  old  partner  of  Horatio's.  Ben 
Kneemeier  and  his  family  live  here 
and  my  dear,  they  are  IN!  There's 
lumself,  and  her.  and  the  sons  Sey- 
mour and  Van  Peh  Kneemeier  and 
the  dai^hter  Patrida  Kneemeier.  Tbey 
live  very  el^ant  with  corps  of  servants 
and  as  soon  as  we  get  a  house  and  a 
few  cars  they  are  going  to  imtrodmte  us. 
I  hope  the  canneries  keep  prosperous 
and  here's  hoping  for  a  good  fish  sea- 
son!   Mofe  later,  my  dear. 


ja  HfK  UtfL, 


Li;ciA. 


January  10,  1927. 
ZXr^r  CiartL: 

Wdl  here  we  are  in  Burlingame, 
Cal.,  and  of  couise,  as  you  can  imagine 
everything  is  wonderful!  .After  a  lot 
of  oonsideratioa  we  scratched  Berke- 
ley and  Fiedmont  off  of  our  list  and 
dedded  that  Burlingame  b  THE 
place  because  Society  IS  here,  with  a 
real  rfchetcke  dub  my  dear,  and  we're 
going  to  make  it  if  we  have  to  buy 
the  place  and  everybody  in  it,  yes 
indeed.  I'm  detennined!  Of  course  I 
have  my  down  minutes  now  and  then 
but  up  and  at  'em  b  my  mottoe  and 


when  I  remember  bow  Horatio  made 
**SKJPPER~  brand  salmon  famous  all 
ova-  the  world  I  don't  have  much 
doubt  about  my  powers  to  conquer 
and  anyway  tbey  all  had  to  get  a  start 
sometinae  and  its  only  that  a  k)t  of 
these  here  Leadeis  had  a  ckaoce  to 
get  the  Califofnia  mud  off  their  boots 
a  generation  before  we're  getting  the 
fish  smeO  off  of  ours  so  I  says  w^ 
Horatio  don't  let  a  few  long  faces 
scare  you  because  they  doo't  scare 
me  and  anyway  \fiss  Higsbee  sure 
can  show  you  how  to  raise  a  wicked 
eydnow  and  Ritz  any  dl  these  here 
swdb  off  <rf  their  feet.  But  we  h  a  vem't 
showed  oursdves  much  yei.  cr  wiiat 
we  got  dtber — but  we  will  deane. 

Well,  anyway,  we  got  a  grand  b^ 
Spanbh  viDa  with  thirty-six  Fooms 
and  nine  baths  brand  new  never  lived 
in  and  the  furnishings  b  sumptuous 
the  Louie  Kanz  drawing  room  alone 
cost  us  tea  thou  and  the  italian  dining 
room  more  and  I  got  the  grandest 
sunken  bath  my  dear,  where  I  got 
to  go  down  three  steps  to  get  in  the 
tub  and  I  always  slip  getting  in  but 
then  we  can't  cover  that  grand  maible 
with  rubber  pads  and  the  faucets  is 
real  g(4d  f^ted  fish  not  Ore«c>n  fish 
but  artistic  Italian  ones  you  know. 
\n&  I  have  got  the  most  wonderful 
THING  my  dear.  It  b  a  SENS.A- 
TIONI  Miss  H^sbee  and  my>e]f  was 
coming  out  of  the  Palace  Hotel  one 
day  and  I  seen  something  glittering 
in  a  window  across  the  strea  and  it 
was  Crane's  where  they  make  all  the 
bath-tubs  and  things  like  that  and 
the  top  on  thb  here  beautiful  thing 
was  real  pure  mother-of-peari  and  my 
dear  I  certainly  was  exoted  ''  - 
dnated  when  I  seen  that  i.  - 
Higsbee  tries  to  get  to  get  mc  lu  Lbe 
car  but  I  says  nothing  doing  I  got  to 
have  that  for  Burlingame  and  she 
says  weD  no  decent  human  being  could 
e\Ter  use  TH.\T  but  I  says  I  will  and  I 
am  and  it  b  just  an  inspiration  my 
dear,  standing  their  sparkling  in  the 
morning  sun.  Of  course  my  interior 
decorator  went  into  hysterics  and 
said  it  was  like  the  gold  plumbing  in 
some  Boston  Church  and  the  poor 
dear  got  so  unstrung  be  smashed  hb 
diamond  wrist  watch,  and  said  he'd 
give  up  the  job  and  aO  like  that,  but 
my  dear.  I  like  it  and  I'm  going  to 
keep  it.  WelL  my  dear,  I  got  to  fly 
to  town  to  see  my  poor  dear  tempera- 
mental decorator. 

^u  Rrroir.  affectknatdy. 

LvciA. 


The  San  Franciscan 
IS 


Italian  Court  of  the  Andrew  Welch  Home,  San  Francisco 


The  San  Franciscan 
16 


« 


Meanwhile  in   Manhattan 

New  York — Its  Pleasures  and  Idiosyncrasies 


IT  really  looked  as  if  a  dreadful  blow 
had  ijeen  dealt  the  New  York 
automat  system  a  short  while 
back,  when  the  Vox  Publica  declared 
that  dimes  would  no  longer  be  sur- 
rendered upon  the  rear  platform  of  the 
Fifth  Avenue  bus.  Maybe  the  public 
is  too  used  to  getting  immediate  re- 
sults from  the  coin-in-the-slot  system 
— and  riding  anywhere  on  a  Fifth 
Avenue  bus  is  twice  as  slow  as  walking, 
and  nearly  as  dangerous.  Usually 
when  one  drops  in  a  nickel  something 
happens.  They  tell  about  the  San 
Franciscan  who  wandered  into  Horn 
and  Hardart's  and  trustingly  pushed 
his  five  cents  into  the  slot  marked 
"coffee,"  anticipating  that  a  cup  would 
slide  forth.  He  found  it  depressing  to 
wring  the  morning  stimulant  from  his 
\eh  trouser  leg  instead.  However, 
nothing  really  discouraged  the  automat 
idea  for  long.  Lately  we  have  self- 
service  spreading  into  the  less  crowded 
field  of  photography.  Over  on  Broad- 
way a  bright  young  firm  has  opened 
on  the  ground  floor  with  a  wholly  in- 
adequate number  of  little  booths  where 
one  (or  two,  or  three,  provided  the 
sitters  wish  to  huddle  amiably)  may 
relax,  arrange  the  features,  drop 
twenty-iive  cents  in  the  slot,  register 
a  bright  succession  of  becoming  emo- 
tions, and  leave  in  eight  minutes  with 
a  strip  of  pictures  as  good  as  any  you'll 
find  on  a  passport.  The  Street  Clean- 
ing Department  has  risen  to  meet  the 
emergency,  and  has  moved  over  a 
fleet  of  waste-paper  cans  from  Forty- 
Second  Street,  where  nobody  seems  to 
use  them,  anyway. 

A  HEMISPHERE  removed  is  Park 
"^  Avenue  at  the  moment.  Traffic 
is  almost  exclusively  given  over  to 
debutantes  on  their  way  to  a  luncheon 
at  Pierre's  or  just  coming  from  some- 
thing of  the  sort  at  the  Marguery  or 
Sherry's.  Fares  who  haven't  "That 
Look"  are  driven  very  fast,  or  routed 
down  Lexington  Avenue,  and  right  of 
way  among  the  pedestrians  depends 
upon  the  pedigree  of  one's  dog.  It  is 
evidently  his  day  on  the  Park  Avenue 
sidewalk. 

*     *     * 

'"pHE  art  galleries  are  having  their 
winter  epidemic,  and  all  sorts  of 
little  exhibitions  break  out  weekly. 
The  Brooklyn  Aluseum's  display  of 
the  ultra  modern  in  achievement  seems 
to  be  the  most  violent  case  to  date, 
and    quite    worth    traveling    out    into 


the  suburbs  to  see.  No  one  expects 
to  understand  all  about  its  symbols, 
surely,  but  there  is  the  usual  bluff  on 
the  part  of  the  critics.  For  those  who 
like  to  do  the  winter  art  in  a  sedate, 
refined  way,  the  Union  League  Club's 
exhibition  of  paintings  from  the  Na- 
tional Academy  of  Design  a  week  or 
so  ago  was  uplifting  if  not  exactly  an 
emotional  experience.  After  gazing 
about  one  room  of  pictures  labeled 
"distinguished"  on  the  catalogue  ar- 
ranged by  the  committee,  among 
them  Alontague  Flagg's  "Portrait  of 
Monsieur  Delahaye,"  Robert  Reid's 
"Daffodils,"  and  an  interesting 
"Sketch"  by  J.  Alden  Weir,  the  visitor 
could     find     still     further     diversions. 

*  *     * 

A^/'E  read  in  the  papers  about  an- 
other precocious  school-boy  who 
takes  his  curtain  calls  along  with 
David  Putnam  and  Hilda  Conkling 
by  writing  a  letter  to  Wilbur  on  the 
weakness  of  the  national  air  force. 
Macy's  Department  Store  had  its 
annual  parade  over  the  protests  of  the 
army  and  navy.  That  certainly  ex- 
poses our  defenseless  condition.  As 
for  the  Parade — held  presumably  in 
the  interests  of  Bigger  and  Better 
Purchases  (at  Macy's) — it  seems  a 
nice  old  institution  much  in  the  spirit 
of  the  Sacramento  State  Fair.  It  was 
rather  a  shock  to  see  the  floorwalkers 
disguised  as  clowns  and  the  hind  legs 
of  elephants,  and  the  damsels  from  the 
notions  and  ladies'ready-to-wears,  pos- 
ing on  the  floats.  Evidently  counter- 
pounding  makes  for  efficiency  rather 
than  pulchritude. 

*  *     * 

A  HOLLOW  rattling  of  padlocks  is 
heard.  The  night  clubs  all  shud- 
der: the  Lido,  at  808  Seventh  Avenue 
and  the  Villa  Venise,  10  East  Sixtieth, 
in  the  smart  sophistication  of  bare 
shoulders  and  correctness;  Texas 
Guinan's  Three  Hundred  Club  down 
on  West  Fifty-Fourth  in  a  decidedly 
vulgar  and  unrefined  manner;  while 
at  the  Montmartre  on  West  Fiftieth 
the  anesthesia  produced  by  Coleman's 
music,  Maurice  and  Eleanora's  danc- 
ing, and  the  five-dollar  convert  charge, 
dulls  other  sounds.  Van  Vechten  has 
done  much  to  insure  good  patronage 
among  the  Harlem  night  clubs  this 
winter.  However,  even  one  who  has 
not  read  "Nigger  Heaven"  will  stay 
awake  at  Small's,  2294  Seventh  Ave. 
There  is  a  prejudice  on  the  part  of 
the   management   against   white   folks 


who  fall  asleep  in  the  place,  and  the 
entertainment  is  dynamic  to  the  nth 
degree.  Nine-tenths  of  the  people  who 
go  to  night  clubs  where  pigment  mat- 
ters deport  themselves  in  a  more  or 
less  gloomy  fashion.     But  up  Harlem 

way  a  good  time  is  had  by  all. 
*     *     * 

CINCE  the  vogue  of  "Lulu  Belle"  no 
play  should  be  without  its  gold 
tooth.  Sidney  Howard,  in  "Ned 
McCobb's  Daughter,"  having  a  suc- 
cessful run  at  the  John  Golden,  gives 
Alfred  Lunt  a  chance  to  hide  his  real 
self  behind  a  gleaming  molar  and  cheap 
bootlegging  bravado,  as  "Babe  Calla- 
han." Clare  Eames,  as  "Carrie,"  the 
season's  one  heroine  possessing  neither 
beauty,  youth,  nor  sexual  depravity, 
occasionally  slips  from  Yankee  dialect 
into  cultured  diction,  but  on  the  whole 
we  are  glad  she  sends  her  husband 
packing,  restores  to  the  erring  Mar- 
galo  Gillmore,  as  "Jenny,"  her  job  in 
the  Spa,  and  saves  the  old  home  place. 
The  play  seems  full  of  such  excellent 
characterization  that  we  grieve  to  en- 
counter such  trite  old  friends  as  the 
mortgage  situation,  the  aged  father 
who  dies  of  a  stroke  on  the  eve  of 
revelation,  and  the  brute  who  grips 
'em  by  the  throat. 

Somerset  Maugham  has  provided  a 
perfect  role  for  Ethel  Barrymore  in 
"The  Constant  Wife,"  playing  at  the 
Maxine  Elliott.  As  "Constance  Mid- 
dleton"  this  poised  and  hoarse-voiced 
lady  stalls  off  family  and  friends  bear- 
ing tidings  of  her  husband's  infidelity, 
for  two  acts,  and  then  springs  her  own 
little  surprise.  We  won't  give  it  away. 
The  play  has  a  few  moments  where 
one  fears  there  will  be  a  let-down — 
but  there  is  none.  In  fact,  the  third 
act  is  even  better  than  the  first  two. 

There  are  those  who  complain  that 
Walter  Hampden,  playing  the  title 
role  in  "Caponsacchi,"  a  dramatiza- 
tion of  Browning's  "The  Ring  and  the 
Book,"  is  a  bit  stiff,  or  a  bit  this,  or  a 
bit  that.  For  me,  this  play  seems  a 
justification  for  some  of  the  old  stan- 
dards in  the  theater.  For  one  thing, 
every  word  spoken  is  distinct,  the 
lighting  and  setting  is  exquisite,  and 
the  general  effect  produced  is  exalta- 
tion. One's  first  reaction  is  impatience 
with  the  vogue  of  wise-cracking  drama. 
Then  later  that  a  good  play  is  a  good 
play — with  or  without  any  specified 
ingredients.  Walter  Hampden  is  pro- 
ducing a  good  play. 

Francesca. 


The  San  Franciscan 
17 


Bilitis  and  Jean 

5v  ANTONIA  PIA 


Time:  1927 


SCENE:  The  green  and  crystal  bou- 
doir of  a  very  celebrated  lady,  a 
connoisseur  of  men,  more  particu- 
larly, rich  men.  It  is  evening.  Jean, 
the  lady  of  the  charming  boudoir,  sits 
before  a  tiny  fire,  looking  consummately 
bored. 

Suddenly,  a  Grecian  woman  appears. 
She  came  in  the  classic  manner;  that  is, 
from  nowhere — neither  the  door, 
nor  the  window,  nor  any  defin- 
able place.  She  is  Bilitis,  the 
Grecian  courtesan  and  poetess. 
Jean  is  startled,  but  being  ultra- 
modern and  through  long  ac- 
quaintance with  champagne  per- 
fectly unperturbed  by  unna- 
tural visions,  she  suppresses 
the  expression  of  amazement  on 
her  face  and  greets  her  strange 
guest  with  a  szvift  movement  of 
a  super-sophisticated  eyebrow. 

Bilitis:  I  am  Bilitis.  I 
learned  that  you  liked  my 
verse  so  I  have  returned  from 
Elysium  to  chat  with  you. 
Are  you  afraid? 

Jean:  No;  not  afraid.  Puz- 
zled. I  find  it  difficult  to  be- 
lieve that  it  is  really  Bilitis. 

Bilitis:  Oh!  you  moderns. 
You  are  so  skeptical.  I  sup- 
pose you  doubt  that  Minerva 
sprang  from  the  head  of  Jove. 
Well,  do  you  find  me  beautiful .'' 

Jean:  Yes,  very.  More  so 
than  I  imagined  from  your 
poetry. 

Bilitis:  My  poetry.  Ah! 
my  poor  poetry.  It  was  writ- 
ten for  the  sake  of  loveliness. 
It  is  read  for  the  sake  of  lust. 
Your  poets  of  today  are  very 
queer  persons.  They  sing  of 
the  dark  "flowers  of  evil,"  of 
tiger-lilies  that  are  like  mad, 
unholy  passions, of  orchids  that 
symbolize  strange  maladies, 
and  of  sad,  heavy  tuberoses 
of  diabolic  sweetness.  Your 
poetry  is  troubled  and  unclean. 

Jean:  Through  your  primitive  eves, 
Bilitis. 

Bilitis:  You  are  so  buried  in  your 
deformity  you  cannot  see  it. 

Jean:  We  are  advanced  way  beyond 
you.  Progress.  Over  two  thousand 
years  of  progress. 

Bilitis:  Progress  is  an  illusion,  an 
illusion  Nature  provides  for  people 
that  do  not  know  that  living  is  itself 
an  art.     When  it  was  spring,  we  con- 


cerned ourselves  with  the  spring;  when 
it  was  summer  we  blinked  at  the  sun 
and  laughed,  and  when  it  was  autumn, 
we  were  autumnal.  It  was  this  spring, 
this  summer,  this  autumn,  that  occu- 
pied us,  not  next  year's.  Ah!  j'ou  have 
no  serenity,  no  repose. 

Jean:  There  were  some  among  you 
that  did  not  know  the  value  of  repose. 
Of  all  the  men  that   Circe  turned  to 


MORNING   RAIN 

The  night  is  fading.     The  stars  are  far  away 
Now  the  very  latest  courtesans  have  all  gone 
homewards  with  their  paramours.    And  I,  in  the 
morning  rain,  write  these  verses  in  the  sand 

The  leaves  are  loaded  down  with  shining 
water.  The  little  streams  that  run  across  the 
roads  carry  earth  and  trains  of  dead  leaves.  The 
rain,  drop  by  drop,  makes  holes  in  my  song 

Ah,  how  sad  and  lonely  I  am  here!  The  young- 
est do  not  look  at  me  at  all,  the  oldest  all  have 
quite  forgotten  me.  'Tis  well.  They  will  learn 
my  verses,  and  the  children  of  their  children. 

Here  is  something  neither  Myrtale,  nor  Thais, 
nor  Glykera  will  say,  the  day  their  lovely  cheeks 
grow  sagged  with  age.  Those  who  will  love 
when  I  am  gone,  will  sing  my  songs  together, 
in  the  dark. 

Pierre  Louys  "The  Sortf;s  of  Bilitis^'  from  the  Greek 


swine,  there  was  but  one  who  was 
philosophical  enough  to  gratefully  re- 
main a  swine,  as  some  one  has  said. 
There  is  a  great  difference  between  us. 
I  cannot  remember  Grecian  moonlight. 
You  never  wrote  about  the  moon,  if  I 
remember.  Nor  did  Homer.  Calypso 
had  no  moonlight  in  her  island  Para- 
dise to  help  her  bewitch  Ulysses.  It 
was  always  noontide  with  you.  That 
is    my    impression.      High    noon    and 


brown,  healthy,  perspiring  bodies,  a 
summer  afternoon  and  the  smell  of 
crushed  grass.  We  have  moonlight, 
you  see,  the  delicate,  subtle  moon- 
light, where  sin  looks  more  beautiful 
and  love  seems  more  than  a  weakness 
about  the  loins. 

Bilitis:  Why  is  a  dead  thing  more 
romantic  than  a  living  one  and  why  is 
the  reflection  of  a  thing  more  beautiful 
than  the  thing  itself? 

Je.-\n:  Our  sun  means  some- 
thing very  serious. 

Bilitis:  Yes.  It  means  mil- 
lions of  captive  men  with  tired 
faces,  rushing  to  work,  and 
women,  too.  Ugh!  We  had 
no  such  sight  to  depress  us. 
Even  our  slaves,  when  ex- 
hausted, could  lie  on  their 
backs  and  play  with  their 
toes. 

Jean:  We  know  many 
things  you  have  never 
dreamed  of,  difficult  things 
that  your  brain  would  be  in- 
capable of  understanding. 

Bilitis:  But  your  happiness 
— where  is  it  ? 

Jean:  Our  happiness  is  dif- 
ferent from  yours,  also  more 
advanced.  Even  so  advanced 
sometimes,  that  our  happiness 
is  our  pain. 

Bilitis:  I  can  understand 
that,  the  pain  of  a  lover's 
teeth,  you  mean. 

Jean:  In  a  physical  way, 
yes.  But  we  love  in  a  mental 
way  now.  It  is  much  more 
bitter  and  at  the  same  time 
much  more  sweet. 

Bilitis:  Your  love  is  not  a 
fire  kindled  from  flesh  to 
flesh.  Your  love  must  go 
from  your  over-stuffed  brains 
into  your  bodies.  By  the  time 
it  is  consummated,  it  is  not  a 
great,  bright  flame,  but  a  pale, 
melanchol)'  candle,  the  candle 
in  the  sickroom.  All  of  you 
are  sick.  Love  is  your  candle 
and,  f  o  o  1  i  s  h  1  >' ,  most  of  you 
have  blown  it  out.  You  don't 
want  it,  for  by  its  light  you  are 
reminded  that  you  are  human  and 
to  be  human  is,  for  you,  an  unspeak- 
able vulgarity.  Ah!  all  of  you  arc  very 
old.  Your  hair  is  prostrate  upon 
your  forehead  which  is  stretched  and 
wan  with  too  much  thought.  The 
fragrance  of  your  hair  is  full  of  hypoc- 
(Conlinued  on  page  32) 


THE  MISSES  JUAN  IT  A  AND  HARRIE  HILL 

Daughters  of  Mrs.  Harry  Hill  of  San  Franc:sco.     A  Photograph  of  the  Painting  by  Sasportas,  of  Paris 


The  San  Franciscan 
19 


The  Reigning  Dynasty 


HAS  San  Francisco  a  salon: 
\Mien  a  lion  comes  a-visiting 
is  there  one,  just  one,  hostess  or 
host,  who  can  be  depended  upon  to 
throw  him  a  nice  piece  of  raw  meat, 
or  give  a  saucer  of  cream  to  a  Honess : 

There  have  been  so  many  of  late — 
princes  and  princesses,  ladies  and 
lords,  fiddlers  and  pipers,  poets  and 
prose-smiths.  It  has  been  suggested 
that  the  board  of  directors  of  the  San 
Francisco  Conservatory  of  Music  is  by 
way  of  evolving  into  such  an  institu- 
tion. Certainly  the  personnel  com- 
prises women  of  social  prestige,  means 
and  taste  who  "could  if  they  would" 
engineer  entertainment  of  visiting  ce- 
lebrities so  that  San  Francisco  would 
be  shown  in  a  light  commensurate 
with  her  attainment.  But  they  are 
interested  in  music  only.  There  is  a 
so-called  P.  E.  N.  (Poets,  Editors,  and 
Novelists)  which  occasionally  throws 
a  party  for  a  writer.  But  writers  are 
not  the  whole  show,  their  own  private 
opinions  to  the  contrary. 

The  San  Francisco  Center,  the  \^'om- 
en's  City  Club,  the  Bohemian  Club, 
all  do  their  best,  but  their  style  is 
cramped  by  many  considerations.  Even 
the  Downtown  Association  and  the 
Chamber  of  Commerce  have  a  tech- 
nique that  is  not  to  be  scorned. 

Mrs.  Charles  N.  Felton,  who  is  a 
member  of  the  Conservatory  of  Music 
board,  has  been  opening  her  home  in 
Pacific  Avenue  for  a  series  of  talks 
which  Mile.  Jeanne  de  Mare  has  been 
giving  on  music  and  related  subjects. 
Mrs.  George  T.  Cameron,  Mrs.  Harry 
Horsely  Scott,  and  Mrs.  Lawrence 
Harris  are  others  in  that  same  coterie 
who  have  been  promoting  Mile.  Le 
Mare's  recitals.  Airs.  John  H.  Rosse- 
ter's  home  on  Russian  Hill  will  be  the 
setting  Monday,  January  17th,  for  a 
similar  affair. 

On  the  Conservatory  of  Music  board 
of  governors  are,  besides  Mrs.  Felton 
and  Mrs.  Scott,  Mrs.  Stanley  G.  Har- 
ris, Mrs.  Marcus  Koshland,  Mrs. 
Ansley  K.  Salz,  Mrs.  M.  C.  Sloss,  Mrs. 
Wilberforce  Williams,  Mrs.  Lawrence 
Arnstein,  Miss  Katherine  Burke,  Mrs. 
Gerald  Campbell,  and  Mrs.  Selah 
Chamberlain. 

Then  there  is  the  Browning  Club, 
which  now  and  then  takes  things  into 
its  own  hands.  But  more  often  it  con- 
tents itself  with  merely  making  it 
possible  for  its  friends  to  hear  the 
lions  roar  (or  purr).  Two  of  the  lead- 
ing women  of  the  Browning  are  Mrs. 
M.  C.  Sloss  and  Mrs.  E.  G.  Schmeidell. 


So,  if  the  lion  were  told  to  bow  to 
the  prettiest  and  kneel  to  the  wittiest 
he'd  be  up  against  it. 

But  if  he  were  entertained  at  the 
home  of  Mrs.  William  H.  Crocker, 
Mrs.  George  A.  Pope,  or  Mrs.  William 
Bourn  he  could  go  away  feeling  fairly 
sure  that  he  had  met  representative 
San  Franciscans  and  that  San  Fran- 
cisco had  offered  him  her  best  as  she 
sees  it. 

'TpHE  tirst  important  wedding  of  the 
New  Year  was  that  of  Miss  Caro- 
line Louise  Madison  and  Charles  Oel- 
richs  Martin,  which  took  place  Jan- 
uarv  5th   at  the  home  of  the  bride's 


What  San  Francisco  Debu- 
tante Jilted  a  Prince  to 
Marry  a  Plumber 

Do  You  Know  Your  San  Fran- 
cisco's Social  History? 

Its  Beautiful  Women; 
Its  Gallant  Men; 
Its  Intrigues; 
Its  Conquests; 
Its  Disappointments. 

A  Social  Questionnaire  will 
I    appear  in  the  February  issue 
of  THE  S-\N  FR.\NCISC.\N. 

How  many  of  the  questions 
will  you  be  able  to  answer? 


sister,  Mrs.  Wakefield  Baker,  in  Broad- 
way, with  the  \  ery  Reverend  Mon- 
signor  John  Rogers  of  St.  Patrick's 
officiating  in  the  presence  of  nearly 
two  hundred  guests.  Mrs.  Baker  and 
Miss  Idabelle  W  heaton  were  the  bride's 
only  attendants  and  John  W  halley  was 
the  best  man.  The  ushers  were  Ed- 
ward McNear,  Lalor  Crimmins,  Rich- 
ard Burke.  John  Brooke,  Jr.,  Marshall 
Madison,  and  Charles  Fay,  Jr.  Mar- 
tin is  the  grandson  of  Mrs.  Eleanor 
Martin.  His  father  was  the  late  Peter 
Martin,  a  brother  of  Walter  S.  Harvey. 
and  half-brother  of  J.  Downey  Martin. 
His  mother  is  the  Duchess  of  Mecklen- 
berg,  who  came  from  Germany  to  at- 


tend the  wedding.     The  bride  is   the 

daughter  of  Frank  D.  Madison  and  a 

sister    of    Mrs.    Baker    and    Marshall 

Madison.    She  made  her  debut  se\eral 

}^ears  ago  and  has  been  living  with  her 

aunt,    Mrs.    Frederick    Hope    Beaver, 

in  Broadway. 

*     *     * 

npHE  magnificence  of  the  Tobin 
•*■  Clark  ball,  like  the  glory  that  was 
Greece  and  the  grandeur  that  was 
Rome,  is  still  being  talked  about. 
Was  it  entirely  due  to  the  long  arm  of 
coincidence  that  the  Dutch  cruiser 
"Sumatra"  should  be  here  at  the  same 
time  that  the  American  Minister  to 
The  Netherlands,  Richard  M.  Tobin, 
should  be  home  on  his  annual  visit 
and  entertaining  for  his  pretty  niece. 
Miss  Patricia  Clark,  the  inspiration  of 
what  promises  to  go  down  in  social 
history  as  simply,  "The  Clark  Ball".' 
Or  did  the  Dutch  government  send 
its  stout  ship  here  as  a  compliment  to 
Mr.  Tobin.' 

There  were  many  notably  handsome 
gowns  worn  at  the  ball,  but  none  more 
striking,  perhaps,  than  that  of  Miss 
Louise  Boyd,  recently  home  from 
Franz  Josef  Land,  where  she  hunted 
whales  and  what  not  on  the  ice  floes, 
and  became  so  inured  to  exposure  that 
a  ball  gown  with  but  a  wisp  of  chiffon 
above  the  belt  was  to  her  as  comfort- 
able as  if  she  were  wrapped  to  her  chin 
in  furs.  The  gown  was  of  some  dark 
material  and  the  bodice  was  suspended, 
as  it  were,  by  bands  of  flesh-colored 
tulle  which  gave  the  top-mast  the 
appearance  of  not  being  there  at  all. 
But  it  was,  in  part.  Miss  Boyd  is 
looking  extremely  handsome,  but  slen- 
derer than  when  she  left  a  few  months 
ago.  Miss  Janet  Coleman,  with  whom 
she  traveled  in  the  far  north,  returned 
to  London  with  her  and  thence  went 
to  Egypt  by  way  of  tasting  extremes 

in  weather. 

*  *     * 

\/fRS.  Arabella  Schwerin  McCreery 
attracted  much  attention  and  ex- 
cited admiration  at  a  recent  polo  game 
where  she  sat  in  a  box  with  William 
Leib.  She  was  garbed  entirely  in 
white,  shoes,  dress,  coat,  fur,  and  hat 
being  in  the  same  dazzling  color,  which 
accentuated  her  dark  beauty.  Mrs. 
McCreery  is  occupying  the  Schwerin 
house  at  Burlingame  this  winter,  her 
parents  having  come  to  town  for  the 

season. 

*  *     * 

npHE  debut  of  Miss  Mary  Brockway 

•*■     Metcalf,  granddaughter  of  Henry 

Huntington  of  Los  Angeles,  was  one  of 


The  San  Franciscan 
20 

THE    REIGNING    DYNASTY 

(Continued  from  page  19) 

the   most   important   social   events   of 

the    season,    but    the    San    Francisco 

papers  did  not  make  so  much  of  it  as 

of  the  affairs  at  which  local  girls  were 

presented.     But  it  was  a  lovely  party 

none  the  less.    More  than  one  thousand 

invitations  were  issued  and  all  eagerly 

accepted. 

*     *     * 

CAPTAIN  Selby  McCreery  of  the 
British  army  has  arrived  in  San 
Francisco  from  England  and  will  pass 
three  months  in  California.  He  is 
visiting  his  uncle,  Mr.  Richard  Mc- 
Creery, and  Mrs.  McCreery  at  their 
home  in  Burlingame,  and  will  also  go 
to  Del  Monte  for  the  polo  season. 

Captain  McCreery  is  the  son  of 
the  late  Mr.  Walter  McCreery,  who 
passed  most  of  his  life  in  England, 
and  is  a  brother  of  Lieutenant  Richard 
McCreery  of  the  British  army.  Cap- 
tain McCreery  is  a  famous  polo  player, 
and  while  in  California  will  play  at 
the  San  Mateo  Polo  Club  and  in  the 
tournaments  at  Del  Monte. 

Another  interesting  visitor  in  Cali- 
fornia, who  is  coming  specially  for  the 
winter  polo  games  at  Del  Monte,  is 
Averill  Harriman  of  New  York.  Mr. 
Harriman  is  the  son  of  the  late  Mr. 
E.  H.  Harriman,  and  often  visited 
here  with  his  father.  He  will  play 
on  Mr.  Gordon  Moore's  polo  team. 

Mr.  Thomas  Hitchcock,  Jr.,  of  New 
York  and  Aiken,  S.  C,  will  also  arrive 
for  the  polo  season,  and  will  be  on 
Mr.  Moore's  team. 


1 


M' 


[RS.  George  Cameron  entertained 
at  a  tea  dance  last  week  at  the 
De  Young  home  in  California  Street 
for  her  nieces,  the  Misses  Patricia  and 
Consuelo  Tobin,  the  sub-deb  daughters 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Joseph  Oliver  Tobin. 

Small  tables  were  placed  around  the 
sides  of  the  ballroom  with  a  miniature 
Christmas  tree  on  each. 

Among  the  young  people  present 
were  Miss  Evelyn  Taylor,  Miss  Happy 
Hamilton,  Miss  Peggy  and  Miss  Eve- 
lyn Salisbury,  Miss  Leone  Weeks, 
Miss  Katherine  Stent,  Miss  Florence 
McCormick,  Miss  Gloria  Wood,  Miss 
Marguerite  Garceau,  Miss  Dominga 
Russell,  Miss  Harrie  Hill,  Miss  Carol 
Lapham,  Miss  Edna  Lapham,  Orville 
Pratt,  Jr.,  Russell  Pratt,  James  V. 
Coleman,  John  S.  Drum,  Jr.,  Laurison 
DriscoU,  Thomas  Driscoll,  Jr.,  Nicol 
Smith,  John  Sullivan,  Charles  R.  Mc- 
Cormick, Jr.,  and  W'alter  Newhall. 


'T^HE  wedding  of  Miss  Beryl  Whit- 

ney    and    Eric    Heuermann    took 

place  W'ednesday,  December  29th,  at 


the  Methodist  Episcopal  Church  in 
San  Jose,  with  the  Rev.  Whitaker 
officiating. 

The  bride  is  the  daughter  of  Mrs. 
Pearl  Landers  Whitney  and  of  Mr. 
Vincent  Whitney  and  comes  from  two 
prominent  California  families.  She  is 
the  granddaughter  of  the  late  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  J.  Parker  Whitney  and  of 
Mrs.  John  Landers  and  the  late  Mr. 
Landers.  The  Whitney  ranch  at 
Rocklin  is  one  of  the  show  places  of 
the  state,  and  the  family  pass  part  of 
their  time  there.  The  late  Mr.  Lan- 
ders was  one  of  the  first  members  of 
the  Bohemian  Club  and  was  a  well- 
known  figure  in  the  social  and  financial 
world  of  San  Francisco.  The  bride  is 
a  niece  of  Mrs.  Frederick  W.  Tallant 
and  of  Mrs.  James  G.  Blaine,  Jr.  She 
is  a  graduate  of  the  Dominican  Con- 
vent and  attended  the  Ely  School  in 
Connecticut  last  term. 

Heuermann  is  the  son  of  Mrs. 
Amanda  Heuermann  of  San  Fran- 
cisco and  a  nephew  of  Mrs.  W^.  F. 
Hourgaard  and  Mrs.  Frank  Ferran. 
He  is  a  grandson  of  Mrs.  A.  Arps,  and 
is  the  manager  of  the  Arps  ranch  at 
Esparto. 

*     *     * 

'X*HE  Thursday  before  the  Princess 
Murat  sailed  she  was  the  guest  of 
honor  at  a  luncheon  given  by  Mrs. 
Arthur  Brown,  Jr.,  at  her  home  in 
Burlingame.  Others  at  the  luncheon 
were  the  hostess's  mother,Mrs.  Thomas 
Garrett  of  Virginia,  Mrs.  William  H. 
Crocker,  Mrs.  John  Magee  of  New 
York,  Mrs.  John  S.  Drum,  Mrs. 
Daniel  C.  Jackling,  and  Mrs.  Atholl 
McBean. 

Princess  Murat  was  also  the  guest  of 
honor  at  a  tea  given  last  week  by  Mrs. 
William  Mayo  Newhall  at  her  home 
in  Scott  Street  following  the  meeting 
of  the  Salon  Francais  at  the  Fairmont 
Hotel,  when  the  princess  spoke  on 
Indo-China. 


■jV/fISS  Eleanor  Morgan  and  August 
Virden  will  be  married  Saturday 
afternoon,  February  Sth.  There  will 
be  a  large  bridal  party.  The  ceremony 
will  be  held  at  4  o'clock  at  Trinity 
Church  and  afterward  there  will  be  a 
reception  at  the  home  of  the  bride's 
parents,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Horace  W. 
Morgan,  in  Washington  Street. 

Mrs.  Starr  Bruce  will  be  the  matron 
of  honor,  and  Miss  Marjorie  Davis 
will  be  the  maid  of  honor.  The  other 
attendants  will  be  Miss  Sophia  Brow- 
nell.  Miss  Idabelle  Wheaton,  Miss 
Julia  Adams,  Mrs.  William  Cannon, 
and  Mrs.  Charles  Oelrichs  Martin. 


Mr.  William  Cannon  will  be  the  best 
man. 

Since  the  announcement  of  their  en- 
gagement many  affairs  have  been 
given  for  Miss  Morgan  and  Mr.  Vir- 
den, one  of  the  recent  parties  in  their 
honor  being  a  dinner  given  by  Miss 
Sophia  Brownell  at  the  Hotel  St. 
Francis.  Among  the  other  guests  at 
the  dinner  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  William 
Cannon,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Starr  Bruce, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Charles  Oelrichs  Martin, 
Miss  Marjorie  Davis,  Mr.  David  Man- 
noccer,  and  Mr.  Alilton  Esberg,  Jr. 


/^NE  of  the  attractive  affairs  of  the 
^-'^  New  Year  was  the  luncheon  given 
by  Mrs.  Arthur  Rose  Vincent  at  her 
Pebble  Beach  villa,  when  she  enter- 
tained more  than  sixty  guests. 

The  luncheon  was  served  in  the 
patio  and  on  the  terrace  overlooking 
the  ocean. 

The  Vincent  house  is  one  of  the 
most  attractive  in  the  Pebble  Beach 
colony,  and  is  a  perfect  type  of  Span- 
ish-American architecture. 

The  guests  included  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Henry  Hunt,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  William 
C.  Van  Antwerp,  Miss  Helen  Chese- 
brough,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  William  H. 
Crocker,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  A.  Ma- 
gee of  New  York,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Richard  McCreery,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Cyril  Tobin,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Templeton 
Crocker,  Mr.  Walter  Dillingham,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Frank  McComas,  Mrs.  Eu- 
gene Murphy,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Edward 
J.  Tobin,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Drum, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Samuel  F.  B.  Morse. 
Mr.  Paul  Fagan,  Mr.  William  J. 
Byrne,  Mr.  Gerald  Rathbone,  Mr. 
Stanford  Gwin,  and  Mr.  Guerney 
Newlin  of  Los  Angeles. 


/^NE  of  the  interesting  affairs  of  the 
^^  winter  season  was  the  costume 
ball  which  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cliff  Weather- 
wax  gave  on  the  evening  of  January 
L'ith  at  the  Burlingame  Country  Club. 
It  was  a  red  and  white  ball,  and  man}' 
of  the  costumes  planned  were  original 
and  most  attractive.  For  the  past 
several  winters  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Weather- 
wax  have  given  a  fancy  dress  ball. 
Last  season  they  gave  a  head-dress 
ball,  when  all  of  the  guests  appeared  in 
fantastic  head  coverings. 

Many  dinners  were  given  before  the 
dance,  among  those  who  were  hosts 
being  Mr.  and  Mrs.  W.  W.  Crocker, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Roger  Bocqueraz,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  R.  Walker  Salisbury,  and 
Mrs.  Richard  McCreery.  Mr.  Mc- 
Creery is  in  mourning  on  account  of 
the  recent  death  of  Mr.  Lawrence  A4c- 
Creery,  and  is  not  taking  part  in  any 
social  affairs  at  present. 


The  San  Franciscan 
21 


GROUPS  SNAPPED  AT  THE  PARTY  OF  MISS  CYNTHIA  BOYD 


Mr.  John  Men'Jes — .Ui>f  Constant  Horn 


Miss  Esther  Perry — Mr.  Bourn  llayne 


Mr.  fValter  Nexhall—Miss  Cynthia  Boyd 


Miss  I'er'  lie  I'ere  .-IJanu — .\Jr.  Kenneth  High 


Mrs.  If'm.  Ilinkley  Taylor — Mrs.  George  Boyd 


Following  her  debut  Miss  Cynthia  Boyd  acted  as  hostess  to  the  debutante  set  at  a  dance 
in  the  home  of  her  aunt,  Mrs.  William  Hinkley  Taylor 


The  San  Franciscan 


ers^gp-^ 


I 


Franciscan     Vignettes 

By  OWEN  FRANCIS 


NOB  HILL  .  .  . 
Where  the  thrones  of  the  mighty 
fell  at  a  shake  of  the  footstool. 
Hopkins,  Huntington,  Stanford,  Flood. 
Crocker — a  roll  call  in  eternity  of  the 
men  who  made  the  grade.  Railroads 
and  Gold.  Auction  bridge  and  charge 
accounts.  Squatters  on  the  lost  king- 
doms of  nabobs.  Subdivisions.  A  rem- 
nant sale  of  birthrights.  Memories — 
like  old  lace  on  a  gown  b\'  Molyneu.x. 
A  delicatessen  sprouting  on  a  dado  of 
burned  treasures.  Grubstakes  and 
Pioneers.  Diets  and  fallen  arches.  A 
double  ■  exposure — "The  Citv  That 
Was"— "The  City  That  Is."'  A  tin- 
type by  de  Meyer.  We  moderns. 
Successfully  living  down  their  pasts — 
but  not  up  to  our  own  heritages.  "Old 
Pancake"  Comstock.  Serving  Peach 
Melba  to  Powell  Street  Cowboys. 
"Come  to  see  me  again.  Glad  to  ha\'e 
you.  Take  a  pocketful  of  nuggets." 
Heights  sometime  make  one  dizzy. 
High  boys  and  hitching  posts.  Over- 
stuffed and  Bill  boards.  A  \igilante 
sleeps — but  the  Rotarj'  members  are 
wide  awake.  Tally  Ho  and  Honk 
Honk.  Traditions  in  silent  catenation 
along  the  corridors  of  the  Fairmont — 
and  imagine  driving  to  the  Mark  Hop- 
kins in  a  surrey!  Settled  in  the  sixties 
— unsettled  in  '26.  A  Kreisler  play- 
ing jazz  for  the  Junior  League.  I  hate 
earthquakes.  San  Francisco  through 
a  lorgnette,  from  the  top  rung  of  the 
social  ladder — and  the  poor  souls  with 
no  Emily  Post  to  guide  them. 

Quadrille  to  Charleston;  guest  rooms 
to  wall  beds;  red  blood  to  steam  heat! 

Progress — or  what  have  you .' 

Take  Powell,  Sacramento,  or  Cali- 
fornia cable  lines. 

A  Saga  of  the  Great — camouflaged 
by  apartment  houses. 
NOB  HILL     .      .      . 


FMBARCADERO     .      .     . 

Circe — singing — to  men  chained  to 
office  desks. 

A  reception  hall  inside  a  Golden 
Gate.  Where  hats  of  all  nations  are 
taken  off  in  homage.  Ships  and  car- 
goes. Men  and  labor.  A  morgue  of 
childhood  dreams.  Lying  unrecog- 
nized— while  awaiting  burial  by  Time. 
The  place  to  plan  your  life  if  you  could 
live  it  over  again.  Midnight  missions 
gathering  driftwood.  Tides  and  cur- 
rents. Piers  and  fog-horns.  Handi- 
work of  God  cartooned  by  ferry  slips. 
The  cross-roads  in  trails  of  men  who 
go  "down  to  the  sea  in  ships."  A 
bookstore  for  those  who  have  never 
learned  to  read — with  volumes  from 
e\'ery  country.  Sailors  with  open 
faces  and  hidden  aigrettes.  Yo  Ho 
and  the  Eighteenth  Amendment.  Sea 
legs  and  bilge  water.  Docks  and 
gangways — pouring  raw  material  over 
the  brim  of  the  melting  pot.  Tears  at 
farewell — Cousin  Bill  sets  sail  for 
Sausalito;  and  a  globe-trotter  yawns 
as  he  leaves  for  Timbuctoo.  How 
convenient  for  some  wives  if  their 
husbands  were  sailors.  Two  days  in 
port  and  a  skipper  takes  his  bearings. 
Wharf  rats  and  stevedores.  Rum 
runners  and  fishing  smacks.  An  over- 
ture to  the  seven  seas.  Neptune  and 
Davy  Jones  reading  a  requiem  to  a 
row  of  dead  ships  in  the  mud  flats. 

Bombay  and  Bristol — Pago-Pago 
and  Papeete — Singapore  and  Sydney 
■ — Cairo  and  Calais — 

Names  of  secret  desires. 

Land-lubbers!  Astigmatic  eyes  star- 
ing at  the  horizon — 

Fools!  We  watch  magic  lantern 
slides  of  travelogues — while  Adven- 
ture calls. 

Close  the  ledger!    The  world  lies  be- 
fore you.     Bon  Voyage — 
EMBARCADERO     .     .     . 


rjHINATOWN     .      .      . 
A  whisper. 

Like  a  placid  river  with  a  potent 
undertow.  Where  East  meets  West 
by  walking  north  or  south  on  Grant 
Avenue.  Hip  Sing  and  Ming  Toy — 
straw  slippers  and  French  heels.  2 
a.  m.  Four  finger-nails  gone  and  Ni- 
Pau  isn't  home  yet.  Tea  and  rice  from 
a  charcoal  burner  while  the  tourist 
from  Yapp's  Crossing  casts  a  world- 
wise  eye  over  a  bowl  of  chop  suey.  A 
flower  shop  with  rotting  poppies  on 
the  roof.  Narrow  streets  and  broad 
minds;  bland  faces  and  shuffling  feet. 
Live  dolls  with  Dresden  faces — who 
smile  at  you;  but  "never  the  twain 
shall  meet."  Langorous  lilies  of  the 
East — at  home  in  a  clay  pot  from 
Newark.  Soy — Silks  and  Saki.'  I 
wonder  if  they  have  a  Santa  Claus. 
They  invented  gunpowder,  but  what 
can  you  expect  from  a  race  who  cele- 
brate New  Year's  in  February.'  The 
Telephone  Exchange  brightened  with 
flowers  in  a  Ming  vase.  Almond  eyes 
and  Lichee  nuts.  Old  men  in  door- 
ways— smoking  Bull  Durham — while 
they  dream  of  Canton.  The  final 
denial  to  "Gentlemen  Prefer  Blonds." 
Ten  more  dollars  to  Hangkow.  An- 
other cousin  pays  a  21-cent  fare  from 
Oakland.  "You  speakee  piecee  Eng- 
lish, John.'"  "I  am  honored  to  men- 
tion it  among  the  few  of  my  humble 
accomplishment  s."  Confucius 
dressed  by  Hart,  Schaffner  &  Marx. 
Mah  Jongg  and  Hatchet  men.  A 
strange  people — whose  speech  is  song 
and  whose  music  is  discord.  Incense 
and  other  odors  too  numerous  to  men- 
tion. Silly  idea  this  rice  on  graves — 
yet  the  dead  can't  smell  flowers! 

Buddha — Joss — The  Six  Companies. 
Lotteries    and    chop    sticks.      "Clever 
people — these  Chinese." 
IN  CHINATOWN     .      .      . 


The  San  Franciscan 
23 


Soigne 

The  Cream  of  the  Mode 


T 


HAT  ''chic"  is  dependent  on 
generous  purse-strings  is  an 
obvious  fallacy  but  one  held 
by  a  surprisingly  large  number  of 
women.  The  most  striking  contra- 
diction of  that  claim  is  to  be  found  in 
the  saleswomen  of  any  smart  American 
specialty  shop.  These  women  invari- 
ably achieve  smartness  via  the  simple 
and  fitting — and  that  is  about  all 
there  is  to  the  much-mooted  quality 
of  "chic."  Of  course  the  touch  of 
judicious  ornament  or  trim  at  the 
strategic  point  and  suavity  of  color 
combination  are  important. 

Temptations  to  over-dress  beset  the 
person  with  a  fat  check  book  on  ever\' 
hand.  She  is  prone  to  buy  fads  on 
first  sight — fads  that  the  wrong  type 
embrace.  Whereas  the  woman  of 
limited  means  and  good  taste  must 
consider  carefully  lest  she  make  a 
mistake  that  will  prove  fatal  to  her 
finances. 


The  wise  woman  knows  that  a 
smart  gown  cannot  do  all;  her  hat, 
shoes  and  bag  must  be  on  a  par  with 
her  dress.  And,  if  she  is  limited 
financially,  she  will  choose  a  charm- 
ing gown  of  less  expensive  material 
but  good  line  and  put  the  surplus  into 
the  accessories  that  go  to  make  up 
the  correct  ensemble. 

Creamy  white  velvet  has  taken 
leading  place  in  the  inner  circle  this 
season.  The  richness  of  this  fabric  is 
sufficient  of  itself  in  gowns;  but  many 
of  the  evening  wraps  are  featuring  fur 
combinations.  Most  popular  of  all  is 
the  glorious  white  fox,  sometimes  a 
wrap  carrying  two  entire  skins  with 
heads  crossed  at  the  back  of  the  neck. 
On  the  tall,  slender  woman  this  is 
luxury  en  regie. 

Emeralds,  carnelian,  jades  in  plati- 
num or  dull  beaten  silver,  silver  with 
white,  red  and  green  gold  combina- 
tions, mirror-cut  diamonds  and  mirror- 


cut  crystals — all  these  come  into  vogue 
with  the  white  velvet  frock  in  such 
combinations  as  the  purse  allows. 
Pearls  are  not.  for  some  strange  rea- 
son, much  worn  with  ivorj'  velvet. 

When  pearls  come  into  the  picture 
they  are  wrought  cleverly  into  the 
gown  as  in  the  accompanying  illus- 
tration which  has  a  panel  of  seed 
pearls  on  the  bodice. 

Most  important  is  the  draping  of 
the  velvet  gown.  The  lines  of  the 
figure  must  be  maintained  at  all  costs; 
the  svelte  look  must  be  there  as  surely 
as  if  the  gown  were  done  in  satin. 
Drapery  must  be  pinned  by  an  expert 
or  by  one  who  has  the  feel  for  it  to  a 
marked  degree. 

It  is  exceedingly  modish  now  to 
affect  a  color  eccentricity,  many  of  the 
smartest  women  choosing  the  pigment 
which  is  most  flattering  to  their  type 
and  repeating  it  in  its  varying  shades, 

iConlimied  on  pago  52) 


The  San  Franciscan 

24 


1 


The     Bookstall 


THE  Christmas  rush,  where  every 
sort  of  book  is  reviewed  and 
purchased,  has,  thank  Heaven, 
faded  into  the  haze  of  yesterday.  It 
is  time  to  begin  the  more  pleasurable 
and  sensible  task  of  considering  those 
books  which  might  really  be  worthy 
of  discriminating  taste. 

The  most  important  book  of  the 
year  just  passed,  is  "The  World  of 
William  Clissold,"  by  H.  G.  Wells. 
Before  taking  it  from  the  Ayers 
Library,  I  learned  from  them  that 
many  readers  did  not  come  back  for 
the  second  volume.  But  I  am  sus- 
picious of  some  readers  having  given 
oblique  reasons  for  their  non-interest. 
This  novel  at  times  separates  its 
storj-thread  so  completely  from  its 
philosophy,  that  one  has  the  impres- 
sion of  reading  essays;  these  being  on 
most  of  the  things  that  go  to  form  a 
complete  mind.  What  might  be  called 
the  climax  of  the  novel,  comes  in  the 
vision  of  Clissold's  future  world.  Wells 
does  not  depict  any  Utopia,  but  visions 
a  creation  in  which  leaders  are  accus- 
tomed to  the  management  of  realities. 
A  world  where  instructed  minds  will 
manage  world  affairs  on  a  scientific 
basis,  and  where  religion  and  moral 
custom  will  be  made  over,  according 
to  the  facts  of  life.  The  general  style 
of  the  novel  is  much  like  his  earlier 
"Tono-Bungav,"  and  something  like 
Butler's  "The  Way  of  All  Flesh."  I 
believe  it  decidedly  superior  to  both  of 
them.  It  is  not  until  after  you  have 
finished  both  volumes  and  feel  the 
sweep  and  immensity  of  the  thing — 
the  hopes,  fears,  emotions  and  ideas, 
that  have  passed  and  struggled  before 
you — that  you  realize  the  novel  has  a 
vast  and  intense  story.  There  have 
been  many  reminiscence  books  latelv. 
but  I  have  found  most  of  them  like 
listening  to  con\ersation  over  tea- 
tables.  Wells'  reminiscences  have  less 
of  style  and  perhaps  less  of  wit,  than 
the  others,  but  they  are  not  vapid  con- 
fessions. To  read  "The  World  of 
William  Clissold"  is  like  passing  even- 
ings at  a  comfortable  fireside,  dis- 
cussing the  afl^airs  of  life  with  a  great 
mind. 


By  WILLIAM  AHLEFELD  FLANAGAN 

mentioned  that  a  notable  critic  had 
given  ardent  praise  to  the  introduction, 
saying  that  it  alone  should  sell  the 
book.  But  I  pointed  out  to  him  that 
critics  have  a  certain  way  of  putting 
things;  that  praising  the  introduction 
had  only  been  a  non-committal  way  of 
saying  there  was  nothing  to  praise  in 
the  stories.  These  stories  are  enter- 
taining, and  are  ordinarily  good  maga- 
zine stories.  But  I  see  in  them,  only  a 
ghost  of  the  finer  Maugham,  who 
wrote  "The  Trembling  of  a  Leaf,"  and 
"Of  Human  Bondage,"  and  "The 
Moon  and  Sixpence."  I  suppose  most 
writers  are  so  in  need  of  a  new  suit  of 
clothes,  or  a  bag  of  potatoes,  or  a  ton 
of  coal,  that  I  can  readily  sympathize 
with  their  infrequent  imitations.  But 
this  is  no  excuse  for  Maugham.  Not 
since  the  three  mentioned  above  has  he 
turned  out  a  reallv  first  rate  book.    He 


*     *     * 


A  RECENT  chat  with  a  friend  whom 
I  met  in  Mr.  Lord's  little  book- 
shop in  Los  Angeles  brought  up  the 
question  of  Somerset  Maugham,  and 
his  latest  book.  "The  Casuarina  Tree." 
Both  of  us  were  disappointed  in  this 
new    volume    of    stories.      Mv    friend 


BOOKS  REVIEWED 


The  World  of  William  Clissold, 

H.  G.  Wells  12  vol.);  Doran. 

The  Casuarina  Tree,  W.  Somerset 
Maugham;  Doran. 

Stories  and  Dramas,  Leo  Tolstoy; 
E.  P.  Button. 

The  Golden  Key,  Henry  van  Dyke ; 
Scribner. 

The  Understanding  Heart,  Peter 
B.  Kyne;  Cosmopolitan. 

The  Hard-Boiled  Virgin,  Frances 
Newman;  Boni  &  Liveright. 


has  since  written  many  stories  and 
some  of  them  have  had  wit;  but  noth- 
ing else.  He  has  been  playing  around 
in  this  wit,  which  he  showers  fre- 
quently and  softly  like  snowflakes,  and 
trying  to  build  stories  out  of  it.  But 
naturally,  with  only  snowflakes  he  can 
only  build  snow  men,  and  they  soon 
melt  away. 


CTUDENTS  may  be  interested  in 
picking  up  the  new  collection  of 
Leo  Tolstoy,  called  "Stories  and  Dra- 
mas," and  published  for  the  first  time 
in  English.  My  guess  is  that  it  will 
also  be  the  last  time  in  English.  The 
stories  are  mostly  so  bad  that  it  is  a 
wonder  they  have  earned  a  transla- 
tion. I  would  not  be  surprised  if  they 
were  gathered  together  for  some 
thoughtless  purpose  and  published  be- 
cause of  the  author's  fame;  possibly 
some  old  practise  work  that  someone 
found  in  a  neglected  trunk  (if  trunks 
are  ever  neglected).     As  a   matter  of 


fact  the  stories  are  so  unlike  the  work 
of  Tolstoy  that  students  will  likely 
doubt  his  authorship  of  them.  The 
book  will  probably  prove  to  be  what 
the  booksellers  call  a  "dud."  I  also 
have  two  other  "duds"  to  review, 
about  which  the  less  said  the  better. 
One  is  "The  Golden  Key,"  by  Henry 
van  Dyke.  Dr.  van  Dyke  says  in 
part:  "I  have  chosen  for  this  book  a 
symbol:  The  Golden  Key.  Take  it 
and  use  it  as  you  will."  I  immediately 
think  of  Ben  Turpin,  disguised  as  Wis- 
dom, wearing  long  whiskers  and  gown 
and  holding  a  mammoth  yellow  key. 
The  book  is  meat  for  burlesque,  in 
that  van  Dyke  writes  so  seriously  of 
such  obvious  things;  and  the  wisdom 
is  a  little  cross-eyed.  Its  natural 
affinities  are  Mother  Goose  rhymes 
and  Arthur  Brisbane's  editorials.  The 
other  "dud"  is  "The  Understanding 
Heart,"  b\"  Peter  B.  Kyne.  This  tale 
of  California  forests,  like  all  the  rest 
of  his  stories,  is  ordinary;  but  as  usual 
it  has  its  bo.x-office  values.  We  have 
acquaintances  just  like  these  three 
books.  People  whose  bodies  are  well 
put  up,  whose  faces  are  attractive  and 
whose  talk  is  pleasing.  But  they  are 
blank  faces,  that  speak  of  neither 
quality  nor  struggle;  and  their  talk  is 
meager,  being  without  the  substance 
of  genuine  experience  or  originality. 
If  you  fall  for  people  of  that  sort,  you 

may  fall  for  these  books. 
*     *     * 

T  HAD  heard  several  interesting 
stories  about  her  and  thought  I 
should  like  to  know  her.  One  day  I 
saw  her  at  the  Red  Leaf  Bookshop; 
dressed  rather  too  exquisitely  I 
thought:  for  she  is  known  as  "The 
Hard-Boiled  \  irgin."  She  is  the  last 
brain-child  of  Frances  Newman.  The 
most  apparent  trait  of  the  novel's 
style  is  a  complete  absence  of  any 
dialogue.  But  this,  of  course,  is  only 
a  stunt,  like  making  a  movie  without 
sub-titles,  and  has  nothing  whatever 
to  do  with  the  book's  merit.  In  fact 
many  authors  have  considered  it  be- 
fore now  and  passed  it  up.  While  it 
may  seem  remarkable,  it  is  not  a  style 
likely  to  serve  well,  for  its  basis  is  too 
wholly  novelty.  It  becomes  a  style 
only  through  not  being  like  anything 
else;  such  as  a  house  without  any 
corners  would  be  unique,  but  very 
tiresome  and  so,  poor  architecture. 
But  there  is  something  in  the  writer's 
tedious  style  that  has  nothing  to  do 
{Continued  on  paje  i\) 


The  San  Franciscan 
25 


Where  are  We  Dancing  To 

Is  the  Art  of  the  Dance  Degenerating  "Circus-ward"? 

Bv  THEODORE  KOSLOFF 


THIS  question  has  been  repeating 
itself  constantly  in  my  brain 
ever  since  I  first  came  to  Cali- 
fornia seven  years  ago;  first  in  Los 
Angeles  and  then  here  in  San  Fran- 
cisco. The  answer  is  one  to  which  my 
ideals,  my  traditions  and  my  hopes 
can  never  be  reconciled — for  we  are 
dancing  to  the  Circus  instead  of  to  the 
Temple  of  Terpsichore! 

Brilliantly  talented,  as  young  Amer- 
icans are,  earnestly  as  they  will  study 
to  a  certain  point  of  technical  profi- 
ciency, great  as  is  their  natural  appre- 
ciation of  the  real  and  the  beautiful, 
it  is  as  yet  almost  impossible  to  teach 
them  to  understand  the  dance  as  an 
art.  as  a  means  of  expression  of  the 
emotions  in  perfect  harmony  of  rhyth- 
mic movement.  The  comprehension 
of  a  technique  that  surpasses  itself  and 
becomes  only  an  interpretive  instru- 
ment of  the  artist's  spiritual  exalta- 
tion is  still  too  fine,  too  far  for  them  to 
even  try  to  grasp. 


'T'HEIR  life  in  art  resembles  this 
■*■  beautiful  California;  they  study 
and  play  in  the  sun-filled  valleys,  a 
few  ascend  the  gentle  foothills,  but 
they  all  gaze  with  dispassionate  de- 
tachment upon  the  splendid  snow- 
covered  isolation  of  the  Sierra  Neva- 
das.  Where  are  the  pioneers  who  will 
endure  ridicule,  incredulity,  laughter, 
and  fight  until  they  conquer  those 
lonely  heights.?  Until  they  are  found, 
the  art  of  the  dance  will  continue  to 
retrogress  "circus-ward." 

A  few  months  ago  I  was  in  New 
York  and  was  amazed  at  the  quantity 
and  variety  of  dances  in  the  theaters; 
in  every  review,  musical  comedy,  cab- 
aret or  vaudeville  performance  I  saw 
every  type  of  pretty  female  executing 
every  imaginable  type  of  pirouette, 
jump,  split,  kick  and  other  contortion 
that  the  human  brain  can  conceive. 
Everything  I  saw — youth,  beauty,  tal- 
ent, technique,  costumes,  light — every- 
thing but  art,  everything  but  the  idea 
of  expressing  through  rythmic  move- 
ments the  melody  of  the  artist's  soul. 
Without  the  predominance  of  this 
ideal  no  art  can  live,  for  without  it, 
what  is  its  justification?  Art  is  the 
perfume  of  our  spiritual  evolution;  we 
go  to  see  and  hear  the  work  of  great 
artists,  not  to  admire  their  technical 
achievements,  but  to  feel,  to  be  led  by 


their  finer  understanding  gained 
through  years  of  lonely  fighting,  a  few 
steps  above  our  every-day  level. 


H^Sf 

^M 

■■ 

H^Ji 

^ 

^H 

^KJBBr,-- 

^^H 

^^^^V 

^^^^1 

^^^^^^ESrll 

K^ 

^^^^^^1 

^^^^^^^f 

"A     ,^^ 

^H^'^B^ 

^^^^H 

^^^^^^H|^^aVf 

■ 

^^0 

^1 

■^ 

H 

'^^^F    ^^Ih^^I 

^s 

1 

i^^^fl 

^^H 

m 

Theodore  Kosloff 

TRANCING,  most  primitive  of  all 
the  arts,  most  easy  of  comprehen- 
sion, most  difficult  of  execution,  can- 
not lose  its  message  of  super-physical 
beauty  for  a  moment  and  remain  an 
art.  Older  than  speech,  the  most  pri- 
mitive instinct  of  man  was  to  propi- 
tiate, to  thank,  to  rejoice,  to  mourn 
with  nature  in  movement.  Through 
the  ages  this  instinct  has  developed 
equally  with  the  religious  and  emo- 
tional life  of  every  race  and  is  still 
vigorously  alive  in  every  one  of  us 
today.  In  nioments  of  great  emotion 
we  really  speak,  we  use  only  move- 
ment, we  clasp  hands,  embrace,  cover 
our  eyes,  fling  open  our  arms,  or  fall  to 
the  ground.  Everybody  feels  and 
understands    expression    of    feeling 


through  dancing,  and  because  so  easily 
understood  it  is  so  difficult  to  do 
beautifully  enough  to  satisfy  that  uni- 
versal comprehension. 

What,  therefore,  have  the  contor- 
tions that  we  see  in  every  theater  in 
common  with  the  art  of  dancing? 
Nothing.  They  are  a  series  of  medi- 
ocre gymnastics.  We  can  go  to  the 
circus  and  see  feats  of  physical  agility 
that  take  our  breath  away,  and  those 
that  perform  them  are  undoubtedly 
artists,  but  artists  of  the  body,  while 
dancers  should  be  artists  of  the  soul. 


CO  little  is  known  about  the  real  art 
^  of  the  dance  in  America  that  it  is 
a  little  difficult  for  me  to  explain  the 
extraordinary  beautifying  effect,  both 
mental  and  physical,  it  has  upon  those 
who  study  it.  Remember  though  I 
am  speaking  of  the  art  of  the  dance, 
not  of  the  meaningless  movements  of 
the  body  usually  exhibited  in  its  place. 
There  is  only  one  lasting  ideal  in  any 
art — the  nearest  possible  attainment 
to  perfect  beauty  and  harmony,  and 
the  mere  fact  of  a  hazy  understanding 
of  this  ideal  awakening  in  a  human 
being's  brain  is  a  beautifying  influence. 

I  think  you  do  not  understand  how 
dancing  exercises  can  bring  about  such 
a  change.  First  realize  the  inertia  of 
the  greater  part  of  the  civilized  hu- 
man's body;  second,  understand  that 
the  real  classical  technique  of  the  dance 
is  founded  upon  a  very  sound  knowl- 
edge of  anatomy,  and  that  even  the 
first  simple  routine  of  exercises  uses 
every  muscle  in  the  body  from  head 
to  foot  in  an  anatomically  correct  and 
productive  manner;  thirdly,  that  un- 
der their  influence  the  whole  body 
comes  to  a  state  of  perfect  activity. 

Under  such  physical  conditions  the 
nerves  cannot  be  other  than  strong, 
and  with  steady  and  well  poised, 
peaceful  nerves,  certainly  the  mind 
becomes  exceedingly  active.  With  all 
that  is  alive  in  one  working  in  har- 
mony to  accomplish  beautiful,  rhyth- 
mic movements  to  express  beautiful 
ideas  to  beautiful  music,  is  it  still  so 
incomprehensible  that  artists  of  the 
dance  carry  a  beauty  about  them  that 
is  an  "outward  and  visible  sign  of  an 
inward  and  spiritual  grace".' 


The  San  Franciscan 
26 


Winter  Sports  in  California 


By  MORT  J.  DONOGHUE 


THIS  year  a  new  principality 
takes  its  place  in  the  Kingdom 
of  Winter  Sports.  The  re- 
gion around  Lake  Tahoe,  world 
famous  mountain  lake,  will  be  access- 
ible by  rail  in  winter  for  the  first  time 
and  will  take  its  place  with  tlie  other 
popular  \vinter  resorts  of  Truckee 
and   Yosemite. 

These  regions  have  long  been 
known  as  favorite  recreational  spots 
for  the  sportsman  who  yearns  for  the 
bracing  ])leasures  of  the  wintry  fast- 
nesses, and  now  the  picturesque  coun- 
try around  Lake  Tahoe,  world  fam- 
ous mountain  lake,  is  accessible  by  rail 
in  winter  for  tlie  first  time.  Lake 
Tahoe  has  been  called  "San  Fran- 
cisco's Playground,"  but  heretofore, 
due  to  its  inaccessibility  in  the  winter 
months,  its  recreational  facilities  have 
not  been  available  e.xcept  in  the  sum- 
mer. 

Lake  Tahoe  is  six  thousand  feet 
above  the  sea  level  in  the  Sierra  Ne- 
vada, a  lake  so  vast  that  a  steamer 
travels  72  miles  to  skirt  its  shores. 
Its  great  depth  prevents  it  from  freez- 
ing over  in  the  winter,  no  matter  how 
low  the  thermometer  may  drop,  and 
the  steamer  that  takes  visitors  for  the 
marvelous  journey  around  its  shores 
makes  the  trip  twice  a  week  in  the 
winter  season.  With  its  crystalline 
waters,  bordered  by  snow-covered 
mountains  and  the  picturesque  tav- 
erns and  chalets  nestling  among  tlie 
silvered  pine  trees.  Lake  Tahoe  is  one 
of  America's  most  entrancing  inland 
waters  in  winter  as  well  as  in  sum- 
mer. 

While  the  summer  months  at  Lake 
Tahoe  are  a  tonic,  the  winter  season 
there  is  probaloly  as  wholesome  and 
invigorating  as  at  any  other  resort  in 
the  world. 


'T*HE  summer  activities  at  Lake  Ta 
hoe  give  way  to  their  seasonal 
counterparts  when  winter  comes.  The 
pleasures  of  boating,  fishing,  liunting. 
swimming,  yachting,  golf  and  hiking 
are  forgotten  in  the  exhilarating  pas- 
times of  skating,  sleighing,  curling, 
mushing,  tobogganing  and  liockey. 
Three  toboggan  slides,  one  of  them 
almost  two  miles  in  length,  have  been 
constructed   at   Lake   Tahoe.      Scores 


of  toboggans,  large  enough  to  accom- 
modate eight,  ten  or  twelve  people, 
are  available  for  the  guests.  The 
three  slides,  with  high-banked  turns 
and  with  varying  degrees  of  speed, 
will  provide  thrills  for  even  the  most 
venturesome  visitor.  To  add  to  the 
comfort  of  the  participants,  a  donkey 
engine  has  been  installed  on  each  of 
the  slides  and  the  tobogganers  mav 
ride  back  to  the  top  of  the  slide  and 
avoid  the  wearisome  task  of  hauling 
their  vehicles  up  the  steep  inclines. 

Because  of  the  fact  that  Lake  Ta- 
hoe does  not  freeze  over  in  the  winter 
time,  two  huge  ponds  have  been  con- 
structed. One  of  tliese  ponds  is  in 
the  enclosure  of  the  huge  garage, 
where  ice  sports  ma}-  be  enjoyed  e\en 
in  the  most  inclement  weather.  The 
indoor  pond  is  well  lighted  and  equip- 
ped for  night  skating.  The  outdoor 
pond  is  the  larger  and  will  accommo- 
date those  who  wish  to  try  the  novel 
sport  of  ice  sailing.  Each  week-end 
during  the  winter  a  carnival  will  1je 
held  on  tlie  outdoor  pond,  the  pro- 
gram to  include  skating  races,  ski 
races,  snow  battles  and  ^nowshoe 
races. 


J.XCLUDED  in  Tahoe  activities  in 
its  first  season  will  be  the  unique 
pastime  of  sleighing  with  real  rein- 
deer for  steeds.  Several  of  these  arc- 
tic animals  have  been  brought  down 
from  Alaska  and  at  present  are  being 
domesticated  an<l  trained  to  pull  bob- 
sleds. This  unusual  s]5ort  will  give 
the  famous  resort  an  atmosphere 
available  at  no  other  place  in  tlie 
country.  Anotlier  facility  for  the  en- 
joyment of  winter  sports  is  the  triple 
ski  jump.  Ski  jumping  contests  will 
be  held  at  each  carnival.  Expert  ski- 
jumpers  will  lie  in  attendance,  and 
amateur  competitions  will  be  held 
throughout  the  season.  Near  the  edge 
of  the  lake  special  ]iatlis  have  been 
con.structcd  for  indiviilual  .^leds  and 
bobsleds  that  will  accumnv.idate  twenty 
passengers.  Snowsboe  and  skiing 
trips  have  been  arranged  to  nearb\- 
resorts  fringing  tlie  lake,  under  the 
direction  of  experienced  guifles.  The 
saddle  horses  of  the  summer  paths 
will  be  at  the  disposal  of  the  guests 
for  snowsboe  gallo])s  or  "skiioring," 
as  it  is  known  in  tlie  lexicon  of  winter 


sports.  The  liorses  will  be  equipped 
with  snowshoes  that  will  enable  them 
to  traverse  the  deepest  drifts.  Alas- 
kan dog  teams  will  be  at  tlie  disposal 
of  Tahoe  visitors  for  sleighing  trips 
through  the  picturesque  region  sur- 
rounding the  lake  .  More  than  a  score 
of  these  malamutes  have  already  ar- 
rived from  the  Yukon  with  their 
famous  mushers  in  charge  of  them. 


'TpIIE  Lake  Tahoe  region  becomes 
accessible  this  season  through  the 
construction  by  the  Southern  Pacific 
Company  of  a  broad-gauge  railroad 
from  Truckee  to  the  lake  and  the  in- 
stitution of  through  Pullman  service. 

The  usual  annual  winter  sports  will 
be  enjoyed  at  Truckee,  which  is  al- 
ready widely  famed  as  a  popular  win- 
ter resort.  Truckee  is  picturesquely 
situated  in  the  Sierra  Nevada,  on  a 
bend  in  the  Truckee  River  where  it 
Hows  out  of  Lake  Tahoe,  which  is 
just  fifteen  miles  fnjm  Truckee. 

Famous  among  tlie  di\-ersions  at 
Truckee  are  the  moonlight  sleighing 
parties  to  historic  Donner  Lake. 
llobart  Mills  and  the  lloca  Ice  Pond 
are  other  favored  spots  wliere  skating 
and  other  healthful  winter  sports  may 
lie  enjoyed.  .At  Truckee.  as  well  as 
Lake  Tahoe,  tobogganing  will  lure 
the  thrill-seekers,  while  skating,  ski- 
ing and  mushing  with  dog  teams  are 
always  popular. 


Y()SE:\IITb:,  one  of  the  world's 
wonders,  and  famed  tbrougliout 
the  universe,  jiresents  an  unforget- 
table picture  when  clothed  in  the 
.'>now  King's  white  mantle,  (^wing 
to  the  long  shadows  in  Yosemite  \^al- 
ley,  there  is  almost  always  snow, 
after  the  first  fall,  on  the  south  side 
of  the  valley.  Horseback  riding  and 
iiiking  are  early  winter  favorites  in 
this  picturesque  region.  To  tliese  are 
added,  as  the  winter  deepen-;,  all  the 
other  sports  on  winter's  diversified 
program.  Winter  guests  at  Yosemite 
will  be  accommodated  at  the  Sentinel 
I  lotel,  where  skates,  wearing  apparel, 
cutters  and  other  facilities  will  be 
available.  Ice  skating  in  the  valley, 
skiing,  tobogganing,  snowshoeing  and 
other  winter  sports  are  on  die  pro- 
gram  for  the  season  at  Yosemite. 


(-') 


IS  can 


When  the  Snow  Kintr  Dron^  h;/c-i        x,      .  ^^> 

^     "''  ^'^^^^  ^^^'^ntJe  on  the  Golden   Sr.r. 


^-     Donald  Bartlctt 

™  .7^".v/0'-  0/  San  Francisco. 
S-     .SU'whmg  Party  at  ioscmiu: 
■/■     M'ss    Joseplnne    Bernard    and    Mis, 


.      w''''''';!  t''."-.v/<7//a   of  San  Francisco 

'■    sonZ7%u.''r''" ■"''''  ^'"■'"'«  ^"/"'- 
•foil  0/  .•>„„  Francisco. 


r.     ^|Jss   Esu;U-    Taylor   of   San    Fran- 
n      l".'"'!'?''""'.0  ot   Tahoc. 


The  San  Franciscan 


28 


^ 


Investments  vs.  Unfinished  Business 


(EDITOR'S  NOTE.  For  the  benefit  and  informa- 
tion of  the  readers  of  THE  SAN  FRANCISCA^ 
it  is  planned  to  publish  the  knowledge  and  opinion 
of  those  authorities  in  our  community  on  the 
certain  subjects  which  are  interwoven  with  Finance 
and  Investment.  The  article  appearing  in  this 
issue  by  R.  B.  Randolph,  Trust  Officer  of  the 
Anglo  and  London  Paris  National  Bank,  explains 
to  the  layman  the  duties  and  capacities  of  Trus- 
teeship. 


THOSE  who  are  prudent  give  con- 
siderable thought  to  the  prob- 
lem of  their  present  financial 
security  and  to  the  security  of  their 
dependents  for  the  future.  It  is  not 
entirely  a  problem  of  the  getting,  but 
it  is  likewise  one  of  disposing.  For 
the  average  man  the  latter  is  the 
hardest,  ofttimes  because  it  is  the 
thing  he  dislikes  to  go  into,  perhaps 
because  he  thinks  the  necessity  too 
remote.  But  if  he  is  a  man  of  respon- 
sibilities and  if  he  is  to  do  that  duty 
which  he  owes  himself  and  his  family 
he  must  think  and  he  must  listen  and 
he  must  learn  about  things  such  as 
wills,  such  as  executors,  and  such  as 
trustees,  for  in  all  of  these  his  own 
future,  his  own  business  and  the  happi- 
ness of  himself  and  his  family  are  so 
closely  interwoven  that  it  becomes 
more  of  a  necessity  than  a  duty. 

Your  so-called  investments  of  today 
are  to  be  at  some  later  date  (very  much 
later  we  all  hope)  referred  to  as  your 
estate.  The  trouble  and  time  you 
have  given  up  to  the  wise  selection  of 
these,  possibly  a  life-time,  the  money 
which  has  had  to  be  accumulated  to 
purchase  them  now  demand  that  the 
same  earnest  consideration  be  given 
them  again  as  to  how  they  will  be 
handled  and  by  whom  when  these 
same  stocks  and  bonds,  which  you  now 
call  investments,  are  called  your  "Es- 
tate." 

It  seems,  therefore,  that  there  is  no 
good  reason  why  at  this  time  advant- 
age should  not  be  taken  of  those  safe- 
guards which  are  readily  available  for 
the  protection  of  your  family  and  "that 
estate." 

Everyone  who  has  any  of  this  world's 
goods,  whether  it  be  in  the  form  of 
stocks,  bonds,  other  personal  property, 
or  real  estate,  regardless  of  how  large 
or  how  small,  has  the  right  of  directing 
how  this  accumulation  shall  be  pro- 
tected during  a  life-time  and  how  it 
shall  definitely  be  handled  thereafter. 

There  are  many  simple  ways  of  ac- 
complishing this.      First,   if   it   is   felt 


By  R.  B.  RANDOLPH 

that  you  wish  to  handle  your  own  per- 
sonal affairs  while  living,  so  good.  This 
can  be  done  and  very  easily  too,  by  the 
creation  of  a  voluntary  trust  whereby 
you  may  retain  the  personal  direction 
of  the  investments  and  the  income  dur- 
ing your  life-time,  after  which  the  mat- 
ter takes  care  of  itself.  On  the  other 
hand  a  simple  form  of  instrument 
called  a  will  devised  by  our  laws  where- 
by the  direction  of  what  is  to  happen  to 
3-our  so-called  estate  may  be  governed. 

It  is  not  only  an  important  feature 
but  a  great  consolation  in  knowing  at 
this  time  who  the  responsible  party  is 
going  to  be  who  will  handle  that  estate 


R.  B.F.  Randolph 

Trust  Officer,  Anglo  London  Paris  National  Bank 

which  you  have  accumulated  during 
your  life-time,  to  feel  that  responsi- 
bility and  to  name  that  particular  in- 
dividual or  corporation,  for  either  may 
act  in  this  capacity. 

In  days  gone  by  friends  were  called 
upon  to  act  as  executors  and  trustees  of 
estates,  but  with  time  this  has  become 
old-fashioned,  until  today  the  average 
individual  believes  that  the  corpora- 
tion should  be  the  one  nominated  to 
handle  these  afi^airs — and  why.''  The 
answer  is  a  true  one  because  the  corpor- 
ation is  an  everlasting  fiduciary — it  is 
honest  and  can  exercise  that  good  judg- 


ment through  its  responsible  official 
staff,  and  again  it  is  never  too  much 
trouble  for  the  corporation  to  act  in 
this  capacity  as  it  might  be  for  a  friend. 
It  is  its  duty. 

Why  then  should  not  each  and 
everyone  of  us  at  this  time  when  con- 
sidering our  present  investments  or 
those  which  we  intend  purchasing  in 
the  early  part  of  this  new  year,  more 
definitely  consider  the  question  of  put- 
ting into  efi'ect  immediately  such  in- 
structions containing  our  desires,  either 
by  making  our  will  with  suitable  trust 
provisions  now  or  discussing  with  some- 
one familiar  with  this  type  of  work 
other  means  of  accomplishing  the  pur- 
pose we  have  in  mind  1 

It  cannot  be  pointed  out  too  strongly 
that  every  man  or  woman,  whether 
with  dependents  or  not,  should  at  least 
make  a  will  or  enter  into  an  agreement 
of  some  nature,  whereby  the  adminis- 
tration of  a  so-called  trust  during  their 
lives  will  be  an  efficient  one  and  still  re- 
tain that  feeling  that  thereafter  a  cap- 
able, efficient  and  everlasting  corpora- 
tion will  be  the  director  of  your  business 
at  some  future  time. 

It  should  be  borne  in  mind  that 
home-made  legal  documents  of  any  de- 
scription are  usually  dangerous — more 
particularly  concerning  a  will  or  a 
trust  agreement.  Every  individual 
should  consider  the  making  of  a  will 
not  only  a  privilege  but,  as  has  been 
said,  a  duty.  It  should  not  be  consid- 
ered as  a  troublesome  matter  or  as 
something  that  can  wait  or  be  put 
aside.  It  is  no  more  difficult  than  that 
of  taking  out  a  life  insurance  policy  or 
of  deeding  a  piece  of  propert}\  and  it 
may  be  kept  in  mind  that  a  will  can  be 
changed  at  any  time  to  suit  changed 
conditions,  and  just  so  with  a  living 
trust  agreement. 

What  is  designated  in  the  trust  fund 
goes  to  those  who  are  provided  for  if 
the  provision  has  been  made  and  is  se- 
cured for  them  for  as  long  as  your 
wishes  have  provided  in  the  agreement. 

There  is  a  fundamental  argument  of 
prudence  which  makes  the  considera- 
tion today  of  the  living  trust  advisable 
for  the  men  or  women  who  are  thinking 
of  their  families'  future  protection. 

It  is,  of  course,  always  advisable  to 
consult  with  those  whom  you  are  sure 
can  give  you  the  proper  advice  and  the 
benefit  of  their  good  counsel  and  judg- 
ment in  matters  of  this  nature. 


The  San  Franciscan 
29 


■)-v.  \  '■< 


Use  your  Bank's 
FULL  service! 


i#'?^^  ' -i 


ri 


'^t 


JVhat  are 

COMPLETE  TRUST  FACILITIES? 


EX'ERY  man  of  great   responsibilities   has   used   the  Trust   De- 
partment facilities  of  his  bank  in  some  emergency — perhaps  as 
trustee  of  a  corporate  bond  issue,  as  an  agent  for  the  custody 
of  securities,  as  a  fiscal  or  paying  agent  or  depository. 

Still,  few  men  know,  from  personal  experience,  the  jull  extent  of 
usefulness  of  a  Trust  Department  such  as  The  Anglo's.  It  can  be 
executor  or  trustee  under  wills;  a  trustee  of  living  trusts  for  the 
benefit  of  the  maker  or  others,  a  transfer  agent  or  a  guardian,  an 
assignee  in  a  receivership,  a  trustee  in  escrow  transactions. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour,  some  time  when  you  are  in  The  Anglo,  can 
almost  certainly  place  you  in  possession  of  new  knowledge  of  the 
breadth  of  modern  trust  department  facilities.  It  will  be  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  that  may  some  day — perhaps  tomorrow — save  you  days 
or  months  of  personal  time  and  responsibility. 


THE  ANGLO  &  LONDON  PARIS 
NATIONAL  BANK 


(Trust  Department) 


The  San  Franciscan 
30 


m 


THE  RENDEZrOUS 

(Continued  from  page  12) 


put  it  in  words  and  it  won't  be  easy  for 
you  to  realize  what  I'm  saying — but 
oh,  you  must!  As  Lawrence  Warring's 
wife  I've  been  in  prison  and  my  heart 
has  beaten  against  invisible  bars  which 
held  you  from  me  I  Tonight — I  broke 
those  bars  and  I  came  here — and — 
and  you  won't  realize  what  it  means 
to  me.     I — I  lo\"e  you  so. 

{He  sits  dozen  again.  When  he 
speaks  there  is  a  conscious  effort  at  being 
calm.] 

Grey:  Sj'dney,  it  means  too  much 
to  both  of  us  to  spoil  it.  Have  you 
had  an  understanding  with  Larry.' 

Sydney:  What  do  you  mean? 

Grey:  I  mean,  does  Larry  know  that 
you've  left  him.' 

Sydney  {She  laughs,  not  pleasantly; 
there  is  no  mirth  in  it):  Oh,  yes — Larry 
knows  I've  left  him. 

Grey:  Are  you  sure.' 

Sydney  {She  nods):  Quite! 

Grey:  Does  he  realize  you're  in  earn- 
est.' That  you  don't  intend  to  return 
to  him.' 

Sydney:  He  knozcs  I'll  never  go 
back. 

Grey:  How  did  he  take  it.' 

Sydney:  He  feels  badh-  now,  but 
he'll  get  over  it — Larry  will. 

Grey:  Sydney,  has  he  any  idea 
where  you  are.' 

Sy'dney:  Yes,  he  knows  where  I  am. 

Grey:  You  mean  he  knows  you're 
here — at  this  time  of  night — alone — 
with  me? 

Sydney:  No,  dear,  not  that:  that's 
the  farthest  thing  from  his  mind. 
He's  not  worrying  zvhere  I  am,  he 
just  feels  badly  that  I've  gone. 

Grey:  Sydney,  I  don't  understand 
you.     You  talk  in  such  vague  circles. 

Sydney:  Richard  dear,  don't  try  to 
understand.  All  I  want  is  to  have 
you  come  with  me,  to  tell  me  that  you 
love  me  and  to  know  how  much  I  love 
you — that  I've  always  loved  you  and 
— that  the  moment  I  was — free — I 
came  to  you! 

Grey:  But,  Sydney,  you're  not 
free;  not  while  you're  Lawrence  War- 
ring's  wife. 

Sydney  {She  rises  slozvly.  Her 
voice  is  zveary):  Richard,  is  there  no 
way  that  I  can  make  you  understand 
that  I  am  free?  that  I've  left  Larry 
for  ever  and  ever: 

Grey  {He  rises.  They  face  each 
other):  Sydney,  I  love  you  so  much  I 
can  see  only  one  way  out.  You  go 
back  tonight — and  tomorrow  . 
oh,  Sydney,  it  won't  be  long  before  we 
can  begin  life  again  together. 

Sydney  {She  is  crying  softly):  And 
vou  won't  come  with  me? 


Grey:  Because  I  dare  not! 

Sydney:  \'ery  well,  Richard,  I'll  go, 
but  not  back  to  Larry.  You  see — 
that's  impossible.  I'll  go  alone  where 
I  wanted  to  take  you.  As  for  tomor- 
row .      well 

Gv.KY{He  steps  nearer  to  her):  Sydney! 
{His  arms  go  out.)  Kiss  me  good 
night. 

Sydney  {She  steps  back  aioay  from 
him,  shaking  her  head):  That  is  impos- 
sible, too.  {She  moves  to  center  stage. 
Her  voice  is  flat  and  colorless  as  she 
says  softly:)  Good  bye,  Richard. 

Grey  {He  attempts  a  brave  cheerful- 
ness): Not  good-bye,  Sydney!  Why, 
there's  tomorrow  and  tomorrow  and 
.  .  .  Now,  I'll  call  a  cab.  {He 
goes  to  the  telephone.  She  picks  up  her 
cape  and,  trailing  it  behind  her,  crosses 
the  stage  slowly  to  the  bedroom  door. 
She  turns  on  the  threshold  and  says:) 

Sydney:  I'm  going  to  straighten  my 
hair.  {She  disappears.  He  picks  up 
the  receiver.) 

Grey:  Graystone  4500,  right. 
Hello,  Richard  Grey  speaking;  will 
you  send  a  cab  at  once  to  my  apart- 
ment? Thank  you.  {He  hangs  up 
the  receiver  and  walks  over  to  the  fire- 
place. He  stands  lost  in  thought  for  a 
minute;  then  he  looks  at  the  watch  on 
his  wrist,  frowns  and  calls  softly:)  Syd- 
ney! {There  is  no  answer.  He  calls 
louder:)  Sydney!  {Still  no  anszver. 
He  looks  puzzled,  crosses  to  center  stage, 
stops,  then  goes  to  bedroom  door  and 
calls:)  Sydney!  {He  goes  into  the 
room.  From  within  he  is  heard  to  call 
once,  twice,  his  voice  rising  anxiously. 
He  is  heard  moving  about.  When  he 
conies  back  onto  the  stage  he  is  plainly 
upset  and  excited.) 

Grey:  Sydney,  where  are  you?  {He 
searches  the  living-room.  He  is  bezvil- 
dered.  His  voice  is  panicky  as  he  calls. 
He  rushes  into  the  hall,  comes  back  and 
goes  into  the  bedroom  again.  He  re- 
turns and  calls-?)  Drake,  Drake!  {Drake 
appears  at  door  at  right.  He  has  on  a 
dressing  gown  over  his  pajamas  and 
slippers.) 

Dr.-vke:  Why,  what  is  it,  Mr.  Grey? 

Grey:  Drake,  something  has  hap- 
pened! A  woman  was  here  in  this 
room  with  me  less  than  fifteen  min- 
utes ago.  She  went  into  my  room  to 
fix  her  hair  while  I  called  a  cab  to 
take  her  home,  and  now 
{He  stops  helplessly.)     She's  gone! 

Drake:  Gone? 

Grey:  Yes,  gone,  I  tell  j-ou,  from 
m}-  bedroom. 

Dr.xke:  Beg  pardon,  sir,  but  that's 
impossible.  There's  no  way  to  get 
out  of  the  apartment  from  your  bed- 
room. 

Grey:  But   I  tell  vou  she  did. 


Drake:  Perhaps,  sir,  she  left  by 
the  front  door.  I'll  see.  {Drake  goes 
out  into  the  hall.  Richard  Grey  searches 
the  bedroom  again.  They  re-enter  the 
room  simultaneously.  Grey's  face  is 
pitiful;  Drake's  is  questioning.) 

Drake:  Mr.  Grey,  are  you  sure 
there  was  someone  here  tonight? 

Grey:  Good  God,  of  course  I  am! 

Drake:  But,  sir,  the  front  door 
hasn't  been  opened  since  I  locked  it. 
The  burglar  catch  is  still  on. 

Grey:  Drake,  do  you  doubt  my 
word  ? 

Drake:  Well,  sir,  it's  only  that  I 
don't  see  how  a  woman  got  in  and 
out  again  without  opening  the  door! 

Grey:  But  I  tell  you  she  did — and 
we've  got  to  find  her.  Drake,  you 
search  every  inch  of  this  apartment. 
I'm  going  down  to  talk  to  the  door- 
man. {He  exits  through  door  at  right; 
Drake  enters  bedroom  shaking  his  head. 
The  phone  rings.  Drake  comes  out  and 
answers  it.) 

Drake:  Hello.  Yes,  this  is  1109. 
No,  this  is  Drake  speaking,  Mr.  War- 
ring. Mr.  Grey  has  just  stepped  out. 
Is  there  any  message?  What's  that? 
Mrs.  Warring?  She — what?  I  .  .  . 
oh  .  .  .  That's  dreadful!  {There 
is  a  long  interval  zvhile  he  listens  in- 
tently.) I'll  tell  Mr.  Grey.  He'll  feel 
badly,  I  know,  sir.  I'm — I'm  sorry, 
sir.  {He  hangs  up  the  phone,  zvalks 
over  and  is  standing  looking  down  at 
the  photograph  on  the  desk  when  Grey 
returns.  He  is  alarmed  to  the  point  of 
hysteria.) 

Grey:  Drake,  no  one  saw  her  come 
in,  no  one  saw  her  leave — I'm    . 

Drake  {interrupts):  Mr.  Grey,  I've 
bad  news  for  you.  Mr.  Warring  just 
called. 

Grey:  Lawrence  Warring? 

Drake:  Yes,  sir,  it's — it's  about 
Mrs.  Warring. 

Grey  {his  face  lights  up  with  relief): 
She's  at  home? 

Drake:  Yes,  sir,  I  don't  suppose 
they'll  move  her  until  the  storm  is 
over. 

Grey:  Move  her?  What  do  you 
mean? 

Drake:  She's  dead,  sir! 

Grey:  Dead! 

Drake:  She  died  about  half  an  hour 
ago.  Mr.  Warring  said,  sir,  that  she 
asked  for  you  toward  the  last.  They 
think  she  had  something  to  tell  you, 
but  she  died  before  they  could  get  the 
call  through  to  tell  you  to  come. 

{Richard  Grey  steadies  himself.  He 
passes  his  hand  over  his  eyes  like  a  man 
in  a  dream.    He  murmurs:) 

Grey:  And  I  couldn't  understand 
that  she  was  free! 

Curtain. 


The  San  Franciscan 
31 


The  Book  Stall 

(Continued  from  page  24) 


with  frame-work  and  is  much  more 
important;  something  of  an  impish 
cleverness,  as  if  someone  with  a  care- 
fully appraising  eye  were  looking  in  at 
your  windows  and  watching  you  live. 
And  the  awareness  of  that  quality 
grows  on  you  as  you  read  farther  along. 
It  comes  like  slow,  monotonous  music; 
boring  you  at  first,  then  clutching 
your  attention,  and  finally  fascinating 
you  as  you  realize  its  significance.  And 
that  redeeming  virtue  is,  that  the 
thoughts  as  well  as  the  words,  are  so 
shrewdly  and  quickly  insinuating. 
When  the  author  seems  to  be  offering 
3'ou  a  glass  of  sweet  cherry-punch,  you 
drink  and  find  (delightfully)  that  it  has 
been  charged  with  Scotch.  She  has 
carried  this  insinuating  mood  to  such 
length  that  she  has  proven  the  para- 


dox of  a  very  educated  and  traveled 
girl,  being  actually  a  very  shallow  one. 
She  has  shown  subtly  what  in  certain 
persons  has  been  so  obvious:  that 
they  have  imagined  reading  proper 
books,  going  with  prominent  people, 
and  traveling  abroad,  has  in  itself 
made  them  learned;  while  ten  minutes 
conversation  would  show  they  have 
had  no  consequential  contacts.  They 
are  like  some  of  our  late  second  lieu- 
tenants, who  learned  the  manual  of 
arms,  peeked  into  a  few  barracks,  put 
on  a  gas-mask,  and  imagined  they  had 
experienced  army  life.  I  wish  this 
book  might  find  its  way  to  a  certain 
landlady  I  once  had  in  \'irginia.  But 
it  probably  won't,  for  such  a  delicious 
novel  is  only  for  the  more  civilized 
reader. 


Fragments  of  the  Nineties 

Continuation  from  page  7 


Louis  Parrotts  have  the  most  ideal 
situation.  They  have  their  summer 
home  in  San  Rafael  which  permits 
them  an  occasional  visit  to  town 
without  an  apparent  break  in  the 
summer  festivities.  They  are  now 
back  for  the  winter.  I  met  Louis  on 
Montgomery  Street  yesterday  and  he 
wished  to  be  remembered  to  you. 

I  met  Charlie  Blinn  this  morning 
and  he  informs  me  that  a  wedding  of 
prominence  in  Alameda  circles  took 
place  a  short  time  ago.  This  was  the 
union  of  Jean  Russell  and  Edgar 
Painter.  It  is  my  recollection  that 
you  do  not  know  them,  as  I  did  but 
slightly.  She  is  the  daughter  of  the 
John  A.  Russells  of  Alameda  and  he 
is  the  son  of  the  late  Jerome  Painter. 
Charlie  said  that  the  wedding  was  a 
delightful  affair  and  took  place  in 
the  Alameda  home  of  the  Russells. 

I  must  bring  this  letter  to  a  close 
as  every  minute  now  is  an  encroach 


ment  on  a  luncheon  engagement  with 
Fred  Crocker.  However,  in  closing  I 
must  mention  a  matter  that  very 
nearly  slipped  my  mind.  You,  of 
course,  remember  that  very  good 
friend  of  mine,  Dr.  Leonard  Wood, 
the  army  physician  that  has  been 
stationed  at  the  Presidio.  Leonard 
has  obtained  a  two-months'  leave  of 
absence  to  go  to  Washington  where 
he  is  to  be  married  to  a  Miss  Condit- 
Smith  of  that  city.  The  couple  may 
go  to  New  York  on  their  wedding 
journey.  He  inquired  as  to  your 
address  with  the  hope  that  you  would 
show  them  the  city.  I  assured  him 
that  to  do  such  would  prove  a  great 
pleasure  to  you.  This,  I  am  sure  will 
prove  to  be  the  case. 

Hoping  that  this  letter  will  find  you 
in  the  best  of  health, 

I  am  your  sincere  friend, 

William . 


Katherine  Church 

43  E.  50th  St., 
New  York  City 


SPEC!. BLUING   IN 

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Gertrude  Wood 
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229  Post  Street 

You  are  cordially  invited  to  visit 
our  new  Store 


The  San  Franciscan 
32 


1 


-GERJE- 

Smart 
Hats 

From 

Rue  Royale 

and 

Fifth  Avenue 


540  Sutter  Street 
San  Francisco 


Soigne — The  Cream  of 
the  Mode 

(Continued  from  page  23) 

throughout  their  entire  wardrobe  from 
morning  clothes  to  evening  gowns. 
The  black  eccentricity  is  smart  to  a 
degree  in  women  fortunate  enough  to 
be  chic  in  this  trying  color.  These 
stunning  creatures — and  one  sees  many 
of  them  in  Paris  these  days — go  about 
in  black  sports  frocks  even,  and  give 
the  appearance  of  beautiful  young 
widows.  The  dresses  are  simple  in 
cut  and  unrelieved  by  trimming. 

The  light  chiffon  frock  is  smart  for 
the  less  formal  occasion.  It  must 
have  the  floating  look  that  was  the 
key  to  chic  last  year.  But  this  season 
the  float  must  be  combined  with  more 
sculptural  body  lines  in  the  hip  sec- 
tion of  the  gown.  The  "Egyptian 
girdle"  of  chiffon,  often  metal  em- 
broidered, fills  this  need,  sharply  out- 
lining the  curve  of  beautiful  hips.  It 
is  at  once  the  delight  of  the  slender 
woman  and  the  despair  of  her  heavy 
sister. 

Blue  has  crept  into  the  mode  but 
green  in  all  its  variants  still  holds  its 
place  in  the  world  of  chic.  This  gra- 
cious color  adapts  itself  to  frocks  for 
all  occasions. 

Beige  and  brown  still  rule  sports 
frocks,  particularly  the  woolen  types. 
And  the  felt  hat  is  still  monarch 
although  the  crown  line  has  changed 
radically.  But  the  brim  must  ripple 
and  must  be  turned  down. 

Dame  Fashion  is  acquiring  a  way  of 
late,  of  making  some  absolute  decrees 
and  this  one  regarding  the  hat  is 
among  the  foremost  of  her  edicts. 

M.   BUCHATOV. 

*      *      * 

Bihtis  and  Jean 

{Continued  from  page  IT) 

risies.  It  is  a  perfume  concocted  by 
a  man,  it  is  impure.  \\  e  used  spike- 
nard and  myrrh. 

Jean:  You  knew  no  better. 

BiLiTis:  Your  breasts  are  little,  re- 
fined, seditious.  The}'  droop  like  dy- 
ing lilies.  They  are  sorrowful.  Your 
feet  are  cramped  and  ugly.  They  are 
pathetic  like  a  humpback  is  pathetic. 
Your  men  are  ugly — 

Je.\n:  Then  your  maidens  did  have 
breasts  like  autumn  apples  and  your 
men  hyacinthine  hair.' 

BiLiTis:  Yes. 

Jean:  But  we  do  not  want  men  with 
hyacinthine  hair.  We  admire  straight, 
precise,  wetted  hair,  brows  lined  with 
perplexity,  eyes  narrowed  with  pain, 
and  eyelids  heavy  with  weariness. 


Cyffering  for  your 
consideration  new 
Spring  Footwear 
daily  arriving  .   .   . 


FRED  E.  WHITE 

The  BOOTERY 

C.  H.  WOLFELT  CO. 

152  GEARY  STREET 

SAN  FRANCISCO 
LOS  ANGELES  PASADENA 


The  San  Franciscan 
33 


BiLiTis:  They  are  ugly,  these  men  of 
yours.  We  were  beyond  you,  even 
then,  way  beyond — 

Jeak:  Look  at  this  diamond.  It  has 
a  beauty  and  a  value  you  are  not  able 
to  appreciate.  It  represents  gold,  ex- 
plorations, intellect,  imagination,  skill, 
hardness,  cruelty,  sophistication, 
strength,  the  slaying  of  the  heart 
even;  there  are  centuries  of  suffering 
and  of  science  between  you  and  it. 
Look  at  it!  It  glitters  victoriously. 
Flawless,  bought  with  labor,  eyesight, 
greed,  beauty,  kisses  and  duplicity. 

BiLiTis:  Nevertheless,  my  coral — 
It  is  beautiful  without  all  that. 

Je.\x:  Yes,  of  course,  your  coral  is 
beautiful.  But  for  us  coral  is  some- 
thing decadent  and  complicated,  worn 
in  a  moment  of  weariness  and  relaxa- 
tion.   \\'hile  for  you  it  is — simply  pink. 

BiLiTis:  Even  so,  I  should  rather  be 
Bilitis. 

Jean:  So  should  I. 
*     *     * 

About  Art  and  Artists 

HAIG  PATIGAN'S  selection  of 
Helen  Wills  as  a  type  of  Ameri- 
can girlhood  beauty  is  quite 
justified  by  the  altogether  lovely  bust 
of  her  he  has  just  completed.  The 
classic   modeling   portrays   a   type   of 

beauty  that  scorns  prettiness. 

^     ^     ^ 

\yT'.RXER  B.  DREVVES,  the  Ger- 
^^  man  artist  who  did  the  interest- 
ing etching  of  the  Telephone  Buikling 
appearing  in  this  issue,  has  left  for 
Europe,  going  by  way  of  the  Orient, 
where  he  plans  to  spend  some  time 
sketching.  Ticfore  leaving,  Drewes  an- 
noimced  his  intention  of  returning  to 
San  Francisco  to  make  his  permanent 
home.  I-Ie  will  be  more  than  wel- 
comed, for  his  work  has  established 
him  as  an  artist  of  unusual  rank. 

^         %         af: 

D.VLPH  STACKPOLE  is  working 
on  an  over-fireplace  panel  in  re- 
lief for  the  home  of  Col.  C.  E.  S. 
Wood.  Stackpole  is  working  in  mod- 
ern idiom  in  a  way  that  finds  favor 
among  art  ])atrons. 

%  ^  =^ 

TV/rME.  MARIAN  YORESKA,  who 
did  the  exquisite  miniatures  of 
Mrs.  W'alter  Ehlers  Buck,  is  now 
painting  a  miniature  of  the  young 
artist,  Ward  Montague.  Montague, 
himself,  has  recently  completed  four 
heroic  figures  for  a  war  memorial  to 
be  erected  in  Martinez.  Working  in 
concrete,  the  young  sculptor  achieved 
a  conventionalization  of  soldiery  that 
makes  of  the  figures  symbols  rather 
than  representations. 


The  Bennett 

MK.  RICHARD  BENxNETT,  in 
his  usual  unrestrained  and  most 
passionate  manner,  has  again 
frothed  in  rage,  this  time  literally — 
on  one  of  his  wigs — which  he  hurled 
at  iiis  Saturda}-  night  audience  at  the 
Columbia  Theater. 

We  were  not  present  at  the  per- 
formance, but  friends  who  attended 
tell  us  that  a  small  and  quite  unmoved 
audience  allowed  ISennett  and  his  com- 
pany t(5  do  the  piece  with  a  minimum 
of  encouragement  from  the  house. 
After  the  last  curtain  the  audience 
moved  to  go,  but  The  Bennett,  over- 
flowing with  bile  and  luicontroUed 
bilge,  dashed  to  front  stage  and  liter- 
ally _\elled  to  the  audience  that  he  had 
something  to  sav.  and  he  saiil  it.  Said 
in  substance  the  San  Francisco  which 
had  welcomed  him  v>-ith  a  unique  and 
cosmopolitan  acclaim  before  the  great 
fire  was  no  more ;  that  so  far  as  he 
could  percieve  it  was  peopled  with 
dodos  who  didn't  know  a  good  thing 
set  before  them.  He  then  pulled  a 
beautiful  bit  of  pantomime,  wherein 
he  yanked  ofl:  his  wig,  spit  on  it  and 
hurled  it  into  the  audience.  As  one 
of  the  castigated  remarks,  Bennett 
fortunately  chose  the  other  side  of  the 
footliglits  for  this  new  role.  America 
will  never  have  the  privilege  of  again 
seeing  Isadora  Duncan,  and  let's  hope 
so  far  as  Bennett  is  concerned  that  San 
Francisco  will  be  stricken  from  his 
itinerary.  To  our  mind  nothing  re- 
mains but  for  Bennett  and  good  old 
loud-voiced  Billy  Sunday  to  pair  ofif 
and  give  Pantages  a  thrill. 

^  ^  ^ 

Telephone  Building 

In  an  effort  to  typify  the  growth  of 
San  I'rancisco,  the  San  Franciscan 
has  used,  as  a  frontispiece  for  this 
issue,  an  etching  of  the  Telephone 
Building  arising  in  its  splendor  amidst 
the  squalor  of  the  surrounding  neigh- 
borhood. 

Considered  a  tyi)ical  example  of  the 
American  receding  plan  of  construc- 
tion, the  building  stands  as  a  fitting 
monument  to  the  telephone  industry 
and  the  men  and  women  of  San  Fran- 
cisco who  made  it  possible. 

The  ])oints  of  vantage  on  the  roof 
of  the  building  offer  the  observer  a 
wonderful  birdseye  view  of  the  citv 
and  the  bay  district.  Guides  are  main- 
tained to  conduct  visitors  to  various 
points  of  interest  in  the  structure,  and 
the  telephone  company  has  extended 
a  cordial  invitation  to  everyone  to  take 
advantage  of  the  inspection  privileges. 


HMCornyn 

and 

Company 


Investment 
Counsellors 


Stocks 

and 

Bonds 


114  Sansome  Street 
San  Francisco 


The  San  Franciscan 
34 


Imported   from   San 
Francisco 

{Continued from  page  13) 

"Just  which  days  do  you  mean?"  I 
felt  rather  smug  about  this  inquiry. 

"Why,  when  I  was  writing  for  Scrib- 
ner's,"  he  replied.  "You  see,  I  just 
had  to  ask  them  where  they'd  like  to 
have  us  go,  and  off  we  went,  contract 
in  the  pocket,  and  no  worries  about 
whether  the  articles  and  sketches 
would  find  a  market.  It  was  very 
nice."  I  agreed  to  this  rather  heartily, 
and  proceeding  on  the  old  theory  that 
one  thing  always  leads  to  another,  I 
suggested: 

"Perhaps  you  are  planning  another 
trip  out  West — er — shortly?" 

"We  were  there  last  year,"  he 
sighed.  "I  had  been  doing  a  set  of 
murals  for  the  William  Bourn  home 
down  the  Peninsula,  and  they  were 
hung  in  the  fall." 

Now  we  were  on  the  firm  ground  of 
his  art — and  he  told  of  his  visit  to 
Muckross,  the  Bourn  estate  on  the 
Lakes  of  Killarney  in  Ireland,  where 
he  made  the  sketches  for  the  ball- 
room paneling  in  the  great  Georgian 
home  near  San  Francisco.  He  spoke 
of  his  joy  in  creating  the  murals  I  had 
seen  in  the  Seaman's  Bank,  and  told 
about  painting  the  canvases  in  France 
last  summer,  having  received  word  of 
his  selection  as  artist  just  two  days  be- 
fore sailing  from  New  York.  He  made 
no  attempt  to  disguise  the  real  glee  he 
must  have  felt  at  this  high  honor — 
there  is  nothing  blase  and  high-hat 
about  Ernest  Peixotto,  Chevalier  of 
the  Legion  of  Honor,  Chairman  of  the 
American  Committee  of  the  Fontaine- 
bleau  Art  School — and  a  dozen  other 
things.     That  is  part  of  his  greatness. 

We  wandered  eventually  into  a 
little  room  off  the  large  studio— a 
room  that  is  so  French  in  its  furnish- 
ings and  atmosphere  that  one  almost 
expects  to  hear  the  shrill  Paris  taxi 
horns  honk.  A  room  hung  with  lovely 
old  originals,  where  Peixotto,  the 
wanderer,  seems  much  at  home.  He 
started  talking  about  the  last  Beaux 
Arts  ball — Parisian  atmosphere,  life 
and  figures.  I  leaned  forward  eagerly 
— here  was  copy.  But  alas!  we  were 
interrupted.  Later,  as  I  rode  down 
nine  floors  in  the  elevator,  I  enter- 
tained myself  with  pictures  of  Ernest 
Peixotto  at  the  masked  ball — he  and 
his  artist  wife  very  gay,  very  young 
and  delightful. 


THE  SAN  FRANCISCO  BANK 

SAVINGS                                                                                                                                    COMMERCIAL 
INCORPORATED  FEBRUARY  lOTH.  1868 

One  of  the  Oldest  Banks  in  California, 
the  Assets  of  which  have  never  been  increased 
by  mergers  or  consolidations  with  other  Banks 

MEMBER  ASSOCIATED  SAVINGS  BANKS  OF  SAN  FRANCISCO 

526  California  Street,  San  Francisco,  Cal. 
DECEMBER  31st,  1926 

Assets $111,776,567.46 

Capital,  Reserve  and  Contingent  Funds 4,550,000.00 

Employees'    Pension     Fund     over     $565,000.00, 

standing    on    Books    at                        1.00 

MISSION  BRANCH Mission  and  21st  Streets 

PARK-PRESIDIO  BRANCH Clement  St.  and  7th  Ave. 

HAICHT  STREET  BRANCH Haight  and  Belvedere  Streets 

WEST  PORTAL  BRANCH West  Portal  Ave.  and  Ulloa  St. 

Interest  paid  on  Deposits  at  the  rate  of 

FOUR  AND  ONE-QUARTER  (4H)  per  cent  per  annum, 

COMPUTED  MONTHLY  and  COMPOUNDED  QUARTERLY, 

AND  MAY  BE  WITHDRAWN  QUARTERLY 

fl 

General  Publishing 

35  Years  Experience  in  All  Branches 
of  the  Printer's  Art 

Phillips  &  Van  Orden  Co. 

511  Howard  St.  Sutter  970 

SAN  FRANCISCO 


IVCIEH 


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J'ATi  /Tancijc©  .^^^^  pa?i 


THE 


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ESTABLISHED   1852 


SHREVE  &  COMPANY 

JEWELERS  and 
SILVERSMITHS 


Post  Street  at  Grant  Avenue 


San  Francisco 


1  L 


rvx 


T/ic  Theatre 

TiiK  Ci'rran;  Lrjve  in  a  Mist,  with  Madge 
Kennedy  and  Sidney  Blackmer. 

TiiK  LuRii;:  The  Harem,  with  Mary  Dun- 
can and  all  star  cast. 

Ai.cazar:  Meet  the  Wife,  with  Marion  Lord 
and  John  Stokes. 

Pri;siui;\|-:    The    Ghost    Train,    with    the 
Hcnr\   Duffv  Plavers. 


Music 

San  Matko  Philharmonic  Society:  .At 
Woodlawn  Theatre,  Hillsborough,  Sun- 
day, July  24,  Ossif  Gabrilotcitsch  con- 
ducting. Symphony  No.  6,  "Patheliqiie" 
(Tschaikowsky) ;  Two  Nocturnes  (De- 
bussy) ;  Overture  to  "Willkim  Tell" 
(Rossini). 

San  Francisco  Symphony  Orchestra:  Xi 
Civic  Auditorium,  Tuesday,  July  26,  Os- 
sif Gahrilouilsch  conducting.  Same  pro- 
gram as  above  concert. 

San  Francisco  Symphony  Orchestra:  .At 
Civic  Auditorium,  Tuesday,  August  2, 
Alfreil  Hertz,  conducting.  Overture  "/// 
Springtime"  (Goldmark)  ;  Symphonv  Xo. 
5  "From  the  \e:c  U'orl.i"  (Dvorak); 
"The  Pines  of  Rome"  (Respighi). 

Movies 

California:  Chang.  Life  in  the  Siamese 
jungles  thrillingly  told. 

Sr.  Francis:  lieau  Geste,  return  eng.agement 
at  popular  prices. 

Wari-iei.d:  First  run  pictures,  changed 
weekly;  Fanchon  and  Marco's  Ideas,  with 
Walt  Roesner. 

Granada:  T/ie  Dnma/i  Sisters  on  stage  and 
screen. 


Announcement 

In  order  that  the  San  Fran- 
ciscan will  be  on  the  news 
stands  and  in  the  hands  of  our 
subscribers  simultaneously  with 
other  magazines  of  the  same 
date  the  present  issue  is  dated 

JULY- AUGUST 

'beginning  with 
this  Issue 

THE 
SAN  FRANCISCAN 

will  be  published  on  the  twen- 
ty-fifth of  the  month  preceding 
the  date  of  issue.  This  change 
does  not  involve  the  loss  of  a 
single  copy  as  subscriptions  will 
be  automatically  extended  and 
Advertising  contraas  will  be 
adjusted  to  the  new  dating. 


Art 

Cai.h^ornia  Palace  of  the  Legion  of 
Honor:  Textiles,  costumes  and  other  art 
objects  from  the  collections  of  the  late 
Mrs.  Phoebe  .Apperson  Heart.  Archer  M. 
Huntington  collection  of  old  French  fur- 
niture and  tapestries.  Chinese  and  Korean 
art  objects,  recent  gift  of  .Albert  M. 
Bender. 

De  Young  Memorial  Mvsei'm:  Paintings 
by  California  artists,  including  31  can- 
vases of  the  .Alice  Skae  collection. 

Pai'i.  Elder  Gallery:  E.xhibition  by  Cali- 
fornia artists. 

Galerie  Beaux  Arts:  Closed  during  July. 

Will  reopen  in  August  with  paintings  by 

Rinaldo  Cuneo  and  E.  Charlton  Fortune. 
Gi'MP  Galleries:  Etchings  by  E.   Blam- 

pied,  Armin  Hansen,  Eniil  Ganzo,  Lewis 

Orr  .ind  Roi  Partridge. 
Modern  Gallery:  Informal  summer  group 

show.  Puppet  Players  on  Saturdays. 
\'icKERY,  .Atkins  &  Torrey:  Paintings  by 

European  and  American  artists. 

Worden  Gallery:  Works  by  California 
artists. 

Rcstauratits  and  Cafes 

The  Saint  Francis:  Dinner  and  Supper. 
Dancing  in  the  Garden  Room.  The  best 
dance  music  in  town. 

Tait's-at-the-Beach:  Sloat  Boulevard.  San 
Francisco's  Smartest  Restaurant. 

Cafe  Marquard:  Geary  and  Mason.  .A  cafe 
of  Continental  Europe  in  San  Francisco. 

La  Casa  Bigin:  441  Stockton.  The  so  called 
home  of  "Real  Bohemians." 

The  Aladin  Studio:  363  Sutter.  Luncheon, 
Tea,  Dinner.  Dancing  and  Revue. 

Cahiria:  530  Broadw.iy.  Dinner.  Dancing 
7  to  1 .  Informal,  inexpensive  and  amusing. 

The  New  Shanghai  Cafe:  332  Grant  .Ave- 
nue. Chinese  and  .American  food.  One  of 
the  few  Oriental  Restaurants  in  the  Citv. 


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Portrait  by  Town  and  Country 


Helen  Wills 

Ca/ifoniia's  O'jcn  Ambassador  to  E)iglaiid  and  the  Continent 


THE 


SAN  TRANCISCAN 


Boosters  Apologia 

why  San  Francisco  Must  Remain  the  MetropoHs 

By  George  P.  West 


EJitor's  Note:  George  P.  West  is  a  newspaper  and 
magazine  writer  who  has  lived  in  San  Francisco  for 
fifteen  years.  He  wrote  the  article  on  California  in 
"These  United  States,"  a  symposium  originally  pub- 
lished in  "The  Nation,"  and  contributed  "California 
Literati"  to  the  American  Mercury  last  year. 


FOR  two  generations  at  least  Ameri- 
cans have  suffered  from  a  bad  case  of 
urbismania,  a  word  here  coined  to 
denote  a  somewhat  irrational  infatuation 
with  city  life  and  city  bigness.  England's 
Cockneys  are  amusing  and  admirable 
enough,  in  their  way,  but  nobody  wants 
to  be  one,  and  the  highest  prestige  has 
gone  for  centuries  to  those  who  live  in 
the  country.  Englishmen  go  to  town 
when  they  must  and  escape  when  they 
can.  Whereas  in  America  the  New  York- 
er does  an  absurd  amount  of  strutting. 
More  often  than  not  he  is  a  native  of  the 
farm  or  smaller  city,  but  he  regards  his 
migration  to  the  metropolis  in  the  nature 
of  an  escape,  and  for  the  rest  of  his  life 
he  patronizes  his  old  friends  and  neigh- 
bors. 

It  was  not  alway  so.  Once  the  fron- 
tier kindled  the  imagination  of  the  same 
country  boys  who  now  dream  of  sky- 
scrapers and  crowded  streets.  But  the 
frontier  disappeared,  and  in  its  place 
came  industry.  Our  urbismania  is  clear- 
ly one  of  the  symptoms  of  America's 
transition  from  an  agricultural  to  an  in- 
dustrial nation.  The  eyes  of  every  lively 
youngster  now  turn  cityward,  and  the 
larger  the  city  the  more  eagerly  they  turn. 


This  is  to  be  no  peaan  for  the  bucolic 
life.  It  is  no  etymological  accident  that 
the  word  denoting  a  courteous  and  gra- 
cious habit  is  urbanity.  Cities  not  only 
wear  oft'  the  rough  edges  and  rebuke  the 
uncouth — they  also  provide  a  sufficient 
number  of  like-minded  individuals  in 
any  given  category  to  foster  and  encour- 
age variation,  which  is  to  say,  superiority. 
I  remember  suddenly  believing  that 
Roosevelt  might  be  elected  President  in 
1912  after  hearing  16,000  people  cheer 
him  in  Madison  Square  Garden,  and  be- 
ing reminded  by  William  Kent  that  what 
I  had  seen  meant  nothing. 

"Why,"  he  said,  "You^could  fill  Mad- 
ison Square  Garden  with  people  who 
believe  it  is  a  crime  to  eat  eggs! " 

You  could,  and  likewise  with  people 
who  preferred  Joseph  Conrad  to  Harold 
Bell  Wright,  or  El  Greco  to  Lyendecker. 
We  hear  a  lot  about  standardization  in 
our  cities,  but  it  is  nothing  in  comparison 
with  the  standardization  in  our  country- 
sides and  in  our  small  towns. 

Q    O:  the  large  city  rewards  its  lovers. 

•^  Deplore  as  you  will  its  lost  motion 
and  liystcria,  its  noise  and  herding  crowds, 
its  over-supply  of  "smart"  salesmen  and 
its  love  of  front.  You  must  still  admit 
that  the  city's  present-day  domination 
of  our  national  life  is  the  beginning  of 
civilization  in  America.  That,  in  fact, 


is  very  near  the  point  of  what  I  started 
to  say.  For  a  reaction  against  the  city  is 
well  under  way.  And  it  is  stronger  in 
San  Francisco  than  in  most  places,  for 
the  reason  that  San  Francisco  was  so 
uniquely  delightful  as  a  small  city  and 
for  the  further  reason  that  San  Fran- 
ciscans have  the  habit  of  looking  back- 
ward and  exaggerating  the  good  things 
of  the  past.  It  is  part  of  their  heritage  as 
sons  of  men  who  lived  an  epic,  and  a 
very  lovable  part.  But  the  reaction  is 
general. 

One  must  take  one's  work  with  enorm- 
ous solemnit)'  in  New  York  in  order  to 
blind  one's  self  to  the  folly  of  living  in 
the  place.  In  other  cities,  too,  we  are 
realizing  that  every  additional  thousand 
of  population  adds  to  the  discomfort  of 
getting  about,  and  increases  rents,  and 
works  against  that  informal  friendliness 
of  the  street  and  shop  and  restaurant 
which  in  San  Francisco  particularly  made 
life  pleasant. 

Also  there  are  deeper  and  more  per- 
sonal reasons  for  the  reaction.  New  York 
has  been  pretty  well  cleaned  out  of  first- 
rate  writers  because  these  found  that 
they  could  not  do  their  work  there.  The 
life  was  ton  stimulating,  with  too  many 
contacts  and  too  much  shop-talk.  They 
fled  to  the  country  or  to  smaller  towns, 
whence  they  come  in  now  and  then  to 

(Continue J  to  Page  32) 


Tnii    San    Franciscan 
[lo] 


Now  It  Can  Be  Told 


THE  searchlight  of  pure  reason  and 
expert  analysis  having  been  turned 
on  the  intricacies  of  the  local  traffic 
problem,  a  solution   for  the  congestion 
and  confusion  has  been  found !  No  mere- 


ly indigenous  experimenter  could  have 
delved  into  the  complexities  of  the  situ- 
ation and  found  the  worm  at  the  heart  of 
the  rose  as  has  the  highly  praised  and  still 
more  highly  priced  expert  imported  from 
Gotham  by  our  studious  police  depart- 
ment. The  traffic  problem  has  been  dis- 
solved like  a  mist  on  the  mountain  top, 
the  disease  has  been  diagnosed.  Why  does 
it  take  twenty  minutes  to  traverse  six 
blocks  on  Kearney  street.'  Why  does  the 
innocuous  pedestrian  take  his  life  in  the 
same  hands  that  clutch  his  bundles  when 
he  would  essay  to  cross  one  of  our  down 
town  thoroughfares?  There  is  one  reason, 
and  one  only.  Orderly  progress  is  barred 
in  San  Francisco  by,  horrors  of  horrors, 
flowerstands  on  the  streets,  little  oases  on 
ground  sacred  to  big  business,  uselessness 
purveyed  in  the  very  shadow  of  com- 
mercialism. 

Away  with  these  blots  on  our  munici- 
pal escutcheon!  What  have  beauty  and 
fragrance  to  do  with  the  heart  of  a  big 
cit)'?  Flowers  belong  in  serried  ranks  be- 
hind plate  glass  at  $2.50  a  dozen,  not 
laughing  and  nodding  in  the  sun,  or  wav- 
ing friendly  greetings  through  the  fog. 
Remove  profane  hands  raised  against  the 
utilitarian  and  essential  stand  placed  to 
display  the  latest  murder  and  the  most 
salacious  suicide,  glorify  the  hydrant, 
guardian  of  our  safety,  trap  for  the  un- 
wary motorist,  and  therefore  source  of 
revenue  for  the  right  arm  and  itching 
palm  of  the  constabulary.  But  demolish 
the  flowerstand,  presided  over  by  a  smil- 
ing gentleman  of  Latin  extraction,  let 
100  %  Americanism  triumph,  and  traffic 
will  flow  like  a  stream,  the  mechanical 
lion  and  the  footsore  lamb  will  pass  by 
in   uninterrupted   harmony. 

Wiiy  should  an  efficiency  expert  pause 


if  he  aims  to  destroy  a  unique  and  charm- 
ing feature  of  San  Francisco  life?  Why 
should  he  stop  to  think  that  the  flower- 
stands  nestle  at  the  very  curb,  neither  on 
street  or  sidewalk,  obstructing  nothing  at 
all?  Away  with  them,  he  cries,  and  we 
must  listen,  because  his  one  cry  and  edict 
have  been  so  expensi\'e  that  we  dare  not 
reason,  ours  but  to  do  and  die. 

A  ND  while  we  marvel  at  the  astuteness 
of  experts,  and  wonder  that  longevity 
is  possible  at  all  in  modern  life,  we  are 
forced  to  comment  on  the  newest  local 
sport  decreed  by  our  beneficent  powers 
that  be,  namely,  organized  hero  worship. 
It  has  grown  to  such  a  state  now  that  the 
poor  citizen,  crossing  the  street  mayhap 
to  buy  a  harmless  necesary  pair  of  purple 
garters,  pathetically  striving  to  cater  to 
his  suppressed  desires  thereby,  or  the  fur- 
clad  matron,  putting  plutocracy  aside, 
bended  for  Woolworth's  hospitable  doors. 


or  the  senile  shuffle  of  the  octogenarian 
and  crippled  messenger  boy  will  be  ter- 
minated in  their  very  genesis  by  the  im- 
petous  dash  of  a  parade.  First  come  six 
special  policemen  on  motorcycles,  dazzl- 
ing as  to  star  and  goggles,  imposing  as 
to  uniform  and  breath-taking  as  to  speed. 
Next  is  a  fleet  of  taxicabs,  proceeding  in 
formal  rows,  followed  by  a  limousine  or 
two,  all  racing  violently  either  to  or 
from  one  of  our  railroad  terminals,  to 
escort  the  newest  hero. 

Perhaps  he  is  the  victor  in  the  latest 
gum  chewing  contest  sponsored  person- 
ally by  Wrigley,  or  it  may  be  the  young- 
est bathing  beaut}',  equipped  with  scant 
costume  and  long  curls  or,  perchance  it  is 
the  man  who  first  thouirht  of  flavoring: 
the  mucilage  used  on  postage  stamps.  But 
he  may  be  whom  he  may,  we  must  parade 
to  meet  him,  and  parade  him  to  his  hostel- 
ry. What  matter  if  dozens  of  us  are 
slain  !  Has  not  idolatry  always  demanded 
its  victims? 


TN  these  days  of  thought  transference, 
radio  and  libidos,  the  management  of 
a  downtown  department  store  has  devised 
a  method  of  communication  between 
customers  and  their  friends  that  is  un- 
usual and  untrammeled,  to  say  the  least. 
Right  inside  the  main  entrance  of  the 
shop  is  a  table,  upon  which  rests  a  large 
book,  of  the  sort  in  which  grandfather 
used  to  keep  his  accounts.  Tied  to  the 
book,  unquestionably  as  a  convenience  to 
the  customer,  not  in  deprecation  of  his 
moral  character,  is  a  pencil.  A  sign  prop- 
ped up  on  the  table  reads  "Appointment 
Book."  In  glancing  idly  through  the 
pages  we  learned  that  the  frequenters  of 
tills  shop  write  messages  to  their  friends, 
who  subsequently  pause  long  enough  in 
their  running  to  read. 

The  lack  of  self-consciousness  dis- 
played by  our  sturdy  yeomanry  is  illum- 
inating, to  say  the  least.  Many  of  these 
messages  are  more  or  less  uninspiring,  and 
unrevealing.  After  all,  what  can  one  tell 
of  a  person's  soul  when  he  or  she  writes 
"I  will  meet  you  at  the  stocking  counter," 
or  "Couldn't  wait  any  longer  because 
Junior  got  restless."  But  idle  curiosity 
came  into  its  own  and  proudly  took  its 
place  well  in  the  forefront  of  human 
virtues  when  our  glancing  eye  paused 
and  was  held  by  the  following  gem — 
"Helen: — Waited  one  half  hour.  Bill 
and  I  have  gone  to  Redwood  City  for 
minister.  Won't  see  you  till  after  honey- 
moon.— Clarice  and  Bill."  That  was 
good,  very  good,  but  it  was  not  all.  The 
final  item  which  suffused  our  timid  cheek 
with   a   roseate   hue,   and  prompted   our 


agile  mind  to  ponderings  anent  over- 
population in  urban  life  in  contradistinc- 
tion to  the  simplicity  of  natural  laws,  was 
this:  "Flo: — Meet  us  at  the  St.  Fran- 
cis Ladies'  Waiting  Room,  this  one  is 
crowded," 


'"pHE  periodic  art  revival  typified  in 
■^  our  midst  by  a  display  in  the  show 
windows  of  a  famous  dealer  in  Oriental 
whatnots  has  been  with  us  again.  We 
gazed  at  the  ingenious  arrangement  long 
and  lingeringly,  reminded  of  the  com- 
ments one  hears  while  standing  awe- 
struck before  some  painting  technically 


known  as  still-life.  We  mean  the  sort  of 
thing  where  disconsolate  and  deceased 
ducks  hang  their  lifeless  but  lifelike 
heads  over  the  edge  of  a  table,  or  that 
moving  representation  of  some  poor  fish 
out  of  water,  surrounded  by  glowing 
peaches,  unripe  grapes  and  rigid,  martial 
bananas.  "Isn't  it  wonderful — so  real- 
istic!" 

So  was  the  window.  There  was  a  little 
turtle,  crawling  amorously  towards  his 
mate.  One  had  to  look  twice  at  the  price- 
mark  dangling  on  its  neck  to  be  sure  it 
wasn't  ali\e.  What  if  the  graceful  plas- 
ter-of-Paris  deer  had  detachable  horns, 
whose  ends  did  not  fit  exactly  into  place? 
The  impatience  of  the  delicately  poised 
forefoot,  the  limpid  glass  eye,  the  sym- 
metrically ruffled  hide  improved  on  na- 
ture. Had  the  paltry  sum  of  $15  been 
jingling  in  our  outworn  but  faultlessly 
pressed  jeans,  we  could  have  gone  home 
the  proud  possessor  of  a  friendly  little 
bunny.  It  warmed  the  cockles  of  our 
cynical  old  heart  to  see  several  long- 
legged  storks,  openly  displayed  in  this 
obstctrically  informed  age,  their  long 
necks  unbent  under  the  blows  of  scepti- 
cism, their  beaks  a  bit  ajar,  as  if  waiting 
for  the  little  diaper  destined  to  nestle 
there  so  poetically. 

Tliere  were  countless  little  gnomes, 
too,  each  with  his  long  white  beard,  de- 
signed in  the  days  when  hirsute  adorn- 
ment was  magnificent,  before  the  trim 
neatness  of  the  Smith  Brothers  and  ch'p- 
ped  severity  of  the  post-war  mustache 
came  into  vogue.  Each  darling  little 
gnome  was  smoking  his  cute  little  pipe, 
and  on  each  head  was  a  little  cap,  red, 
blue,  green,  or  what  have  you.  And  our 
old  friend,  Little  Red  Riding  Hood  was 
there,  carrying  her  dutiful  basket  to  lur 
ailing  grandparent  on  the  distaff  side. 


And  in  the  basket,  openly  flaunted,  was  a 
wine  bottle.  Quite  true,  we  reflected,  the 
dear  old  caraffe  and  the  little  brown  jug 
would  be  all  too  soon  forgotten  did  not 
children's  lore  remind  us  of  them. 

And  the  piece  de  resistance,  placed 
squarely  in  the  center  of  this  feast  for 
the  eye,  was  an  old  oaken  bucket,  danger- 
ously and  attractively  poised  on  the  edge 
of  the  well,  with  little  drops  of  realistic 
and  motionless  water  scattered  hither  and 
yon.  For  the  trifling  sum  of  $650  bucket, 
rope,  well  and  water,  with  a  small  plot 
of  green,  green  grass  could  ha\e  been 
ours.  We  were  tempted,  and  were  about 
to  yield,  when  our  bootlegger  hailed  us, 
reminded  us  of  one  thing  and  another, 
thus  forcing  us  to  relinquish  even  the 
most  realistic  water  for  ever. 

EMONSTRATION  of  the  cold- 
iloodcdness  of  scientists  in  pursuit 
of  their  studies  has  recenth'  come  to  light 
in  a  painful  incident  which  occurred  at 
the  seal  tanks  of  the  Steinhart  Aquarium 
a  few  days  ago.  Elbowing  our  way 
through  a  dense  crowd  we  saw  three  seals, 
cruell)'  crated,  reposing  on  a  baggage 
truck.  • 


D 


They  were  sobbing  as  if  their  hearts 
were  rent  in  twain,  and  the  big  tears  of 
uncontrollable  emotion  were  furrowing 
the  even  smoothness  of  their  dark,  damp 
cheeks. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this?"  we 
cried,  more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger. 

"They're  going  to  Washington,  D.C.," 
the  keeper  sadly  said.  "They're  starting 
a  zoo  back  there,  and  they  ain't  got  no 
seals.  So  I  got  to  send  them,  if  it  docs 
break  me  all  up.  They  won't  eat  a  full 
meal  for  six  weeks  at  least,  but  they  got 
to  ii'i. 

A  lump  in  our  own  throats,  we  watch- 
ed the  disconsolate  animals  being  driven 
•  iway.  So  dignified  and  so  helpless  did 
they  seem,  in  the  abandon  of  their  grief. 
Alas,  we  reflected,  and  again  alas!  Can 
this  be  progress,  can  this  be  civilization, 
when  loyal  spirits  can  be  broken,  happy 
homes  disrupted,  because  forsooth,  they 
have  no  seals  in  Washington,  D.C.? 


The    San    Franciscan 

Never  will  we  forget  the  woebegone, 
trapped  look  on  the  dumb  but  harrowed 
countenance  of  the  biggest  seal  of  all. 
He  was  filling  his  eyes  with  the  last  sight 
he  ever  expected  to  have  of  Nellie,  his 
beautiful,  shiny  lady  love.  He  understood 
only  too  well.  He  and  his  fraternity 
brothers  were  off  for  Washington,  D.C., 
where  there  were  no  seals,  destined  to 
live  a  celibate  life  forever. 

-*— * 

TljrOW  we  do  malign  the  great  among 
lis!  Yea,  verily,  we  are  blushing  to 
the  lessening  roots  of  our  receding  hair 
because  of  an  anecdote,  bearing  the  stamp 
of  authenticity,  which  we  have  just  had 
whispered  to  us  while  chatting  over  our 
afternoon  milk  shake  with  a  Congress- 
man recently  returned  from  the  seat  of 
government.  Forever  blasted  in  our  mind, 
and  in  yours,  respected  reader,  must  be 
the  scurrilous  legend  anent  our  beloved 
Coolidge's  taciturnity.  This  simple  little 
tale  may  spread  abroad  in  the  land  so  that 
Silent  Cal  may  come  into  his  own  again. 

We  were  lazily  manufacturing  con- 
versation with  our  congressional  friend, 
asking  disenterestedly  about  unimportant 
matters,  such  as  the  income  tax,  which 
does  not  affect  us,  the  liquor  question, 
which  does,  and  other  items  that  one 
would  mention  to  a  Congressman.  After 
a  brief  lull  in  the  talk,  and  some  slight 
preoccupation  of  mind  caused  by  a  broken 
straw  buried  deep  in  the  dregs  of  the  milk 
shake,  we  mentioned  the  celebrated  si- 
lence attributed  to  the  President. 

"Indeed  he  does  talk,  and  with  anima- 
tion, too,"  thundered  our  vis-a-vis.  "All 
you  have  to  do  is  to  broach  the  one  sub- 
ject closest  to  Calvin's  heart." 

"And  what  might  that  be?" 

"Well,  I'd  have  you  know  that  Cal 
talkeii  to  me  for  two  hours  not  lonsi  ago," 
answered  our  enthusiastic  representative, 


"on  the  ground  rules  and  excitements  of 
the  game  ()f  puichrsi!" 

I'oo  gratified  to  answer,  we  accounted 
for  our  choking  spell  by  the  sudden  and 
complete  disappearance  of  the  recalci- 
trant straw. 


The    San    Franciscan 

[12] 


THERE  was  no  moon  or  stars  to 
light  the  way.  Eternity  brooded  in 
the  darkness.  The  path  was  narrow 
and  treacherous  and  the  abyss  waited 
below  with  a  great  opened  mouth.  Silence 
reigned  untroubled  save  for  an  occasional 
groaning  of  the  wind.  Monstrous  rocks 
crouched  threateningly  by  the  way.  Two 
strano-e  travelers  went  cautiously  on  the 
path.  Their  voices  frightened  the  silence 
and  the  rocks  gaped  suspiciously  at  them. 
The  sound  of  their  footsteps  ruffled  the 
slumbering  blackness. 

One  of  the  travelers  was  a  ver)'  old 
man,  shrunken  and  ugly  with  age.  He 
had  no  covering  on  his  head  and  his  hair 
dripped  about  his  face  in  long  thin  wisps. 
The  old  man  was  very  ugly.  He  car- 
ried with  him  a  shabby  satchel  which  he 
clutched  hungrily.  He  put  one  foot  be- 
fore the  other,  gingerly.  He  was  horribly 
afraid  of  the  treacherous  path  and  the 
abyss  below. 

The  other  traveller  was  young  and 
stepped  lightly  with  the  step  of  youth. 
He  had  a  beautiful  face.  He  had  come 
to  guard  the  old  man  from  evil,  from 
robbers  who  might  waylay  him  and  con- 
fiscate the  satchel.  For  in  this  satchel 
was  an  inconceivable  treasure,  thousands, 
hundreds  of  thousands,  a  million  bank 
notes.  The  young  man  was  very  poor  and 
with  each  step  he  repeated  to  himself, 
"How  poor  I  am.  How  poor  I  am."  He 
hated  himself  because  he  was  poor  and  he 
hated  the  old  man  because  he  was  rich. 
He  said  to  himself:  "The  old  man  is  dis- 
gusting. He  is  ugly,  he  is  old  and  he  is 
afraid  to  die.  He  does  not  want  to  die.  He 
is  very  rich."  He  watched  the  old  man 
who  stepped  fearfully  and  hated  him  be- 
cause he  cared  so  much  for  his  life.  He 
said  to  himself:  The  old  man's  life  is 
worth  nothing."  He  repeated  the  words 
of  a  great  poet:  "He  owes  God  a  death." 
The  young  man  whispered  this  over  and 
over. 

The  old  man  was  mightily  afraid  of 
the  blackness  of  the  abyss  but  he  was  not 
afraid  of  the  poor  young  man  with  the 
beautiful  face. 

"There  is  more  danger  here,  it  seems. 
Will  you  carry  my  satchel.  Yes,  it  seems 
the  path  is  more  dangerous  here,"  the 
old  man  complained  in  a  hushed  voice, 


The  Abyss 

By  Elva  Williams 

passing  his  burden  to  the  young  man. 
They  went  on. 

In  the  satchel  was  the  young  man's 
happiness.  In  it  was  a  world  of  sound  and 
color,  a  world  of  exquisite  things.  Rare 
books  with  ravishing  covers  were  in  it, 
the  leisure  to  write  his  poetry  and  the 
power  to  win  his  love  were  in  it.  O !  his 
love  was  a  great  thing,  he  thought.  His 
leisure  and  his  books  and  his  poetry  were 
nothing  beside  his  love. 

"No  one  knows,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"No  one  knows  where  we  are  tonight. 
No  one  knows  what  desolation  we  are 
passing  through."  For  the  old  man  had 
kept  the  journey  a  secret.  He  was  afraid 
some  evil  woidd  befall  him  and  his 
precious  burden  would  be  taken  from 
him.  The  old  man  was  a  coward  and 
afraid  of  things  but  he  was  not  afraid 
of  his  beautiful  companion. 

The  young  man  followed  the  old  man 
slowly.  In  his  breast  was  a  growing  ha- 
tred of  the  withered,  tottering  figure 
before  him.  The  old  man  would  die  soon, 
ver)^  soon  perhaps.  He  would  lie  on  a 
dirt)-  bed  and  vile  odors  would  emanate 
from  him.  The  young  man  shuddered. 
Death  was  dirt)'.  The  abyss  was  cleaner 
and  more  merciful.  His  hand  tightened 
about  the  handle  of  the  satchel,  for  in 
the  satchel  was  his  love,  his  great  throb- 
bing love. 

The  young  man  reasoned.  "The  gifts 
of  the  gods  are  divided  sparingly.  No 
man  has  everything."  The  old  man  was 
rich  but  he  did  not  have  youth  or  beauty. 
The  old  man  did  not  have  love.  One  hap- 
py man  was  better  than  two  discontented 
men.  He  could  not  give  the  old  man  his 
youth,  his  beaut)'  or  his  love.  But  he  could 
take  the  old  man's  money.  Besides  the 
old  man  was  not  a  poet.  "He  owes  God 
a  death,"  he  repeated.  "It  would  be  mer- 
ciful. It  would  be  an  act  of  mercy.  I 
would  never  regret  it.  Why  should  I 
regret  it.''  A  strong  man  would  do  it. 

They  went  on  and  the  blackness  deep- 
ened. The  old  man  emitted  little  ugly 
sounds  of  distress,  while  the  other  gazed 
fearlessly  inquiringly  into  the  tenebrous 
depths  of  the  abyss  and  asked  himself, 
"Am  I  strong?  Am  I  strong  enough?" 

The  old  man  tripped.  "Help,"  he 
gasped  in  a  weak  voice.  The  young  man 


who  was  there  to  protecet  him  reached 
out  a  gentle  hand  and  pushed  him  into 
the  yawning  darkness.  All  about  was  a 
petrific  silence  and  the  young  man  was 
alone. 

THEREAFTER  came  the  world's  de- 
lights. He  became  elegant.  He  was 
courted,  feted  and  honored.  He  imitated 
the  excesses  of  an  Oriental  potentate.  He 
surrounded  himself  with  splendor  and 
gaiet)'  and  watched  the  world  gasp  at 
jiis  caprices.  He  developed  a  mania  for 
big  things.  He  bought  only  immense  pic- 
tures. His  tapestries  covered  great  spaces 
in  his  halls.  His  marbles  were  of  the  for- 
midable stature  of  the  old  Greek  gods. 
He  collected  books  of  large  dimensions 
and  was  ill  at  ease  because  he  could  not 
find  them  larger.  He  had  a  passion  for 
columns  and  broad  staircases  and  squand- 
ered his  gold  in  making  them  bigger  and 
bigger.  His  bed  was  a  monstrous  thing, 
great  and  wide  and  high.  He  could  lose 
himself  in  his  bed.  His  houses  were  large 
beyond  all  saying  and  his  longing  for 
high  ceilings  ended  in  his  having  certain 
rooms  with  only  the  sky  above.  He  liked 
big  women  with  gigantic  shoulders  and 
Amazonian  strength.  He  lost  his  desire 
for  harps  and  delicate  music.  Only  the 
crash  of  brass  and  cymbals  aflFected  him. 
No  music  was  loud  enough,  deafening 
enough.  He  loved  bright  colored  silks  and 
had  them  brought  to  him  in  hundreds  of 
yards,  while  he  would  sit  in  an  enormous 
chair  and  run  his  fingers  over  the  silk  and 
pull  it  to  him  as  it  made  an  unending 
train  of  bright  color  over  a  polished  floor. 
He  wanted  to  dwarf  himself.  He  felt  a 
certain  security  in  immensity. 

His  first  disillusion  was  his  love.  He 
came  to  her  laden  with  gifts.  He  watched 
her  eyes  open  in  astonishment  and  lis- 
tened to  the  platitudes  which  flew  from 
her  lips.  He  touched  her  flesh  and  it 
was  warm,  lukewarm.  He  found  in  her 
touch  no  strange  surprise.  Before,  he  had 
wanted  to  squander  her  refreshing  inno- 
cence. Now,  he  found  her  innocence 
wearisome.  He  discovered  they  were  not 
destined  to  love  each  other.  She  was  but 
another  woman  with  a  pretty  face. 

Men  envied  his  wealth  and  beauty 
and  women  clamored  for  his  love.  They 

(Continued  to  Page  zi) 


The    San     ^'ranciscan 
[13] 


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The  Dark  Lady,  a  camera  study  by  Johan  Hage??ieyer 


The    San    Franciscan 

[h] 


Edgar  Saltus 

In  Praise  of  the  Last  of  the  Pagans 


EDGAR  Evertson  Saltus — a  name. 
The  greatest  American  stylist  is  less 
tiian  that.  No  foreign  nation  has 
recommended  him  to  his  countrymen. 
Poe  had  his  Baudelaire.  Whitman  and 
Cabell  found  the  suret}'  of  British  ac- 
ceptance. But,  save  a  few  short  papers 
by  brave  souls,  Saltus  lingers  in  literary 
oblivion.  A  badly  written  biography  bears 
the  name  of  one  of  his  wives.  Nothing 
of  the  artist  arises  from  its  turbid  lines. 
Edgar  Saltus  moved  silently  through 
our  time,  writing  wierdly  beautiful  sto- 
ries, essays,  criticisms,  philosophies,  his- 
tories, and  poems.  So  softly  he  trod  few 
heard  his  passing.  Millions  know  the 
forests  of  literature,  but  the  dryads  are 
seldom  disturbed.  Here  was  an  artist  not 
of  this  world.  A  fair,  bright  figure  that 
sang  the  story  of  forbidden  things.  Saltus 
was  the  minstrel  of  mythology.  Misun- 
derstood because  he  sang  not  in  subser- 
vience. Rather  he  carolled  as  one  who 
knows  that  faith  is  tinsel,  but  beautiful 
withal.  Wise  men  muttered  of  disrespect 
and  irreverance.  The  curious  are  never 
reverent. 

Life  to  Saltus  was  a  rich  wonderland 
of  amusing  contradictions.  The  decad- 
ence that  was  Rome.  The  orgy  that  was 
Russia.  The  folk  lore  that  was  religion. 
The  ghosts  that  are  ideals.  Into  this  maze 
of  shunned  subjects  he  went  unafraid 
for  his  heart  was  of  faery.  The  darkest 
contraversial  theories  of  the  ages  were 
his  themes.  To  him  they  were  not  ab- 
struse at  all.  Most  of  them  were  so  illy 
conceived  as  to  be  diverting.  He  laughed, 
and  translated  their  obscurity  into  simple 
lyrics  with  such  facility  that  the  world 
was  suspicious.  Pundits  were  loath  to 
admit  the  impeccable  verity  of  his  state- 
ments. They  probably  did  not  under- 
stand, or  feared  for  their  livelihood. 
Few  men  have  been  so  completely  master 
of  interpretation.  Involved  and  fear- 
some philosophies  become  opinions  com- 
mon to  most  men,  dressed  in  the  simple 
raiment  of  his  making. 

Single  phrases  evoke  kaleidoscopic  pro- 
cesions.  Pages  picture  decades,  and  so  sure 
was  his  artistry  that  drab  facts  of  history 
become  vivid  moving  pictures  of  living 


By  Rex  Smith 

stories.  He  gave  to  the  American  lan- 
guage a  beauty  undreamed.  Slang  and 
colloquial  expressions  melted  into  caldron 
of  his  witchery.  Epigrams,  metaphors, 
paradoxes,  and  ethereal  figures  of  speech 
bubbled  forth  ceaselessly.  They  will  be 
eternal.  Pen  tipped  with  a  jewel,  he  wrote 
his  radiant  way  with  ink  of  the  rainbow. 
It  was  not  the  hard,  white  brilliance  of 
Pater.  Softer  than  the  glazed  azulejos  of 
Emerson.    It    throbbed   with    life    that 


Decoration 

By  Joan  Ramsay 

White  birds  circling 

The  tree-crowned  cliff 

Scatter  and  wheel 

In  bright  windy  space  .  .  . 

Waves  at  its  base 

Thunder  and  curl — 

Water  endlessly 

Rising  and  falling, 

Sucl<ing  and  whirling  .   .   . 

Through  the  sheer  golden  height 

From  green  cliff-top 

To  green  water 

Birds  diving  and  soaring 

Weave  a  shimmering 

Pattern  of  wings  .  .  . 


failed  often  in  the  synthetic  imagery  of 
Wilde.  Here  was  a  confident  Huysmans. 
With  all  of  the  imaginative  erudition, 
but  more  tolerance  for  fact.  In  the  hey- 
day of  his  accomplishment,  Saltus  had 
no  "entangling  alliances"  of  mind. 
•*— *■ 

'T'RUE,  in  early  life  he  was  a  disciple 
-*•  of  Schopenhauer  and  von  Hartmann. 
Emerson  left  an  imprint.  Then  came 
a  succession  of  tutors — Hugo,  d'Aure- 
villy,  Gautier.  But  let  that  be.  It  was  en- 
couragement rather  than  influence,  save 
in  one  case.  Saltus  came  under  the  spell 
of  that  almost  divine  master  of  prose — 
Flaubert.  A  comparison  of  Salammbo 
and  The  Imperial  Purple  shows  plainly 
the  kindred  strains  of  descriptive  magic. 
It  is  a  rhythm  that  unrolls  to  a  surge  of 
blinding  splendor  or  softens  to  a  pastorale 
without  breaking.  There  arc  short,  ex- 
ploding   sentences    that    impinge    their 


meaning.  There  are  long  and  sonorous 
sweeps  of  colorful  fugues.  But  nit  more 
important  that  the  fairy-like  traceries 
of  words  that  enchant  like  the  echo  of 
a  rain-dove's  crooning.  The  opulence 
of  his  genius  proved  his  own  theory  that 
"the  inexpressible  does  not  e.xist." 

A  story  of  the  tsars.  The  Imperial 
Orgy,  glows  with  the  powerful  vitality 
of  that  descriptive  power  inherited  from 
Flaubert.  "Without  was  Moscow,  Rus- 
sia's Mekka.  Within  was  the  Kreml, 
Moscow's  heart.  I\an  was  an  ideal  tyrant. 
The  Kreml  was  a  tyrant's  ideal,  a  city 
of  assassins  that  looked  on  a  city  of  vic- 
tims. Fortress,  abattoir,  seraglio,  acrop- 
olis and  necropolis  in  one,  for  a  heart  it 
was  infernal.  Ivan  was  born  there,  lived 
there,  died  there,  haunts  it  still.  It  was 
not  his  work,  it  was  his  portrait." 

One  dip  into  The  Imperial  Purple  is 
proof  of  his  amazing  interpretive  powers. 
It  is  the  entire  story  of  the  dissolution  of 
the  Roman  empire  told  within  two  hun- 
dred pages.  Historians,  with  thousands, 
have  succeeded  in  being  merely  obscure. 
The  end  of  the  Roman  emperor  Helio- 
gabalus  is  described  in  this  astonishing 
casual  way:  "One  day  this  little  painted 
girl,  who  had  prepared  several  devices 
for  a  imique  and  splendid  suicide,  was 
taken  unawares  and  tossed  in  the  la- 
trinae." 

The  Pomps  of  Satan  is  just  what  the 
name  implies,  but  charmingly  told.  It  is 
brimming  with  witticisms,  epigrams,  and 
the  impressions  of  his  personal  experi- 
ences. "A  man  li\'es  as  long  as  he  desires, 
a  woman  as  long  as  she  is  desirable." 
"Tliere  are  women  who,  on  not  a  dollar 
more  than  twenty-four  thousand  a  year, 
manage  to  look  like  angels.  Only,  of 
course,  much  better  dressed." 

T_riS  range  was  limitless.  Interpreter 
again — The  Lords  of  the  Ghost- 
land  is  a  comjjarative  histor)'  of  religions. 
Told  by  a  god  turned  minstrel.  Theolo- 
gians might  learn  much  from  its  pages. 
He  speaks  with  the  authority  of  facts 
twined  into  a  priceless  tapestry.  No  expla- 
nation, and  no  solution  suggested.  Just  a 
(Continued  to  Page  31) 


The    San    Fran 


c  I  s  C  H  N 


[15] 


Enter  the  Orchestra  Conductor 


Some  Reflections  Upon  the  Problems  Confronting  Wielders  of  the  Baton 

By  Ada  Hanifin 


O-DAY  is  the  era  of  the  symphony 
I  conductor.  He  is  the  lion  of  the 
hour.  The  "prima  donna"  of  the 
age.  If  he  be  great,  he  is  one  of  the 
chosen  few.  He  is  the  master  of  many 
moods,  a  protean  personality  who  can 
lend  his  fancv  to  the  prismatic  audacity 
of  the  Spanish  muse  or  be  graciously  ele- 
gant with  Mendelssohn.  He  is  a  com- 
posite of  many  temperaments.  He  may  be 
romantic,  precise,  energetic,  tender  or 
ruthless.  His  knowledge  of  orchestral  in- 
struments is  microscopically  complete. 
He  is  the  artist,  the  musician,  the  \ir- 
tuos. 

If  he  is  the  thorough  musician,  not 
favored  by  the  gods,  the  director  un- 
touched by  a  spark  of  Holy  fire,  he  will 
be  occupied  solely  with  the  art  of  per- 
forming orchestral  music,  interpreting 
sincerely  and  lucidly,  to  the  best  of  the 
best  of  limitations,  the  works  of  the 
masters  and  the  moderns.  His  may  not 
be  the  gift  to  guide  the  destinies  of  men 
of  talent.  Leaders  are  born,  not  made. 
Yet  he  will  give  the  best  that  is  within 
him. 

And  if  he  be  the  professional  \irtuos, 
lie  will  perhaps,  temporarily,  dazzle  with 
his  portraits  of  a  few  chosen  composers 
with  whom  his  own  peculiar  tempera- 
ment is  in  sympathy. 

Or  he  may  win  your  favor  with  his 
charm  and  personality,  and  a  certain 
cleverness  which  may  be,  momentarih', 
mistaken  for  real  ability.  He  will  prob- 
ably be  adored  by  the  fair  ones.  Abused 
by  the  critics.  He  is  the  matinee  idol  born 
of  a  new  day,  beside  whom  the  hero  of 
yesterday  is  but  a  pallid  and  insipid 
miniature. 

There  are  conductors  who  interpret 
music,  conductors  who  re-create  music. 
And  there  are  conductors,  a  few  of 
them,  who  would  cause  the  composer  to 
writhe  in  agony.  (But  fortunately,  in 
most  instances,  the  composer  has  long 
since  been  out  of  hearing  distance,  and 
if  alive,  he  would  perhaps  prefer  the 
Sting  of  death  to  the  privilege  of  being 
present  during  the  unmindful  torturing 
of  his  brain  child.)  Each  conducts,  with 
his  own  ideas,  prejudices,  idiosyncrasies, 
or  shortcomings. 


'  I  'HERE  is  the  conductor  whose  baton 
■^  becomes  a  thing  of  flame  when  it 
t  Hichcs  the  colorful  garb  of  Rimski- 
Korsakoff,  and  transforms  drab  sur- 
roundings into  a  shimmering  Oriental 
sea.  But  when  he  would  fain  ride  with 
the  Valkyries,  his  magic  wand  is  of  a 
sudden  replaced  by  a  rod  of  iron,  its 
heavy,  rhythmic  accent  conveying  an 
image  of  well-trained  Teutonic  horses 
which  had  learned  to  repeat  the  precision 
of  the  goose-step.  In  attempting  to  dis- 


O551P  GAiiRii.owrrscH 
A  fiirirafure  by  Dickenson 

cover  a  foreign  countr)-,  he  loses  sight  of 
the  gods. 

And  there  is  the  conductor  whose 
tempo  is  seemingly  sanctioned  by  the 
metronome,  and  who  reads,  ever  so  cor- 
rectly, such  words  as  "adagio"  and  "con 
brio";  the  conductor  who  regards  him- 
self as  an  instrument,  a  means  to  an  end 
— and  that  end  is  the  clearest  and  fullest 
communication  of  the  contents  of  the 
music  in  hand  as  the  composer  wrought 
and  felt  it;  the  conductor  who  makes  the 
music  a  living  part  of  himself  and  invites 
liis  audience  to  receive  his  reactions  to  his 
impressions  after  it  has  passed  through 
hisown  temperament.  And  the  conductor 


who  has  vision,  sympathy  and  understand- 
ing, who  is  apt  in  the  expression  of  uni- 
versal feeling,  and  who  is  as  flexible  and 
variable  in  his  expression  as  expression 
itself. 

Symphonic  music  is  the  highest  mani- 
festation of  mankind.  The  symphony 
orchestra  is  the  fullest  and  most  eloquent 
instrument  of  musical  expression.  And 
the  art  of  conducting  one  of  the  most 
complex  and  exacting  of  professions.  It 
is  work  that  calls  for  a  ripened  mind  and 
a  magnificent  energy.  And  how  few  of 
us  when  attending  a  symphony  realize 
the  scope  of  the  conductor's  achievement! 

'  I  'HE  most  colossal  figure  among  or- 

chestral  conductors,  the  god  of  them 
all  who  has  the  world  at  his  feet,  is  the 
Italian,  Arturo  Toscanni.  His  retentive 
powers  are  phenomenal.  He  has  conduct- 
ed from  memory  the  most  important  of 
the  Italian  and  French  operas  and  the 
great  music  dramas  of  Wagner,  as  well. 
He  is  untheatrical.  Yet  he  is  both  bold 
and  shy.  He  is  simply  genius. 

There  are  a  number  of  eminent  con- 
ductors who  are  directing  the  destinies 
of  the  great  orchestras  throughout  the 
country.  Damrosch,  Koussevitzky,  Stock, 
Alfred  Hertz,  Mengelberg,  Stranzky, 
Stokowsky,  Gabrilowitsch,  van  Hoog- 
straten  and  Monteux  are  but  a  few  of 
them. 

Symphony  has  now  become  a  part  of 
the  life  of  the  people. 

It  is  not  enough  for  the  symphony  en- 
thusiast to  have  his  fill  of  orchestra  music 
during  the  winter.  He  must  have  it  in  the 
summer  too.  New  York  and  California, 
particularly,  have  spread  the  gospel  of 
simimer  symphony.  But  the  New  York 
Stadium  and  the  Hollywood  Bowl  fea- 
ture open-air  concerts.  In  San  Francisco 
where  the  climate  is  temperate,  the  con- 
certs are  held  in  the  Civic  Auditorium. 

Bruno  Walter,  Ossip  Gabrilowitsch, 
Emil  OberhofFer,  Willem  van  Hoog- 
straten,VladimirSha\  itch,  Alfred  Hertz, 
Mishel  Piastre)  and  Dr.  Hans  Leschke 
will  conduct  in  San  Francisco  this  sum- 
mer. Monteux  is  scheduled  to  appear  in 
Hollywood  as  are  Bruno  Walter  and  Al- 
fred Hertz. 


The  Pickle  Market,  by  Howard  Sitnon 


A  \ihrnnt  wood-cut  eilipIo}ing  daring  tone  effects.  Black  and 
nliitc,  that  clouble  negation  of  color  suffice  for  Howard  Simon 
to  develop  the  impression  of  the  entire  range  of  color,  so  com- 
plete is  his  mastery  of  the  medium.  In  "The  Pickle  Market" 


Mr.  Simon  has  caught  the  grotesque  and  the  pathetic  qualities  of 
seemingly  drab  types.  After  attracting  attention  in  Paris,  Mr. 
Simon  has  come  to  San  Francisco  where  he  plans  to  make  his  home. 


The    San     Franciscan 
[17] 


The  Shouting  Gallery 

Wherein  We  Continue  To  Unveil  Some  Terribly  Intimate  Portraits 

By  Margaret  S.  Kuhns 


The  Big  Feller 

The  stage  was  set  for  the  reception, 
the  plutocratic  paunch  pushing  its  prow 
forcibly  forward,  in  recognition  of  its 
owner's  power,  the  property  and  badge 
of  a  self-styled  "big  feller,"  a  force  to 
be  reckoned  with  in  the  community. 

The  appurtenances  were  perfect — the 
big,  expensive  office,  the  massive  mahog- 
any desk,  the  gentlemanly  secretary,  and 
the  wistfully  apealing  stenographer,  the 
French  telephone,  the  double  row  of 
push-buttons,  the  militant  carnation  in 
the  consciously  fashionable  buttonhole. 

The  effect  had  not  been  created  over 
night.  Twent}'  years  or  more  had  been 
devoted  to  the  perfecting  of  the  picture, 
and  now  nothing  was  left  to  do,  or  so  it 
seemed,  except  put  in  the  fine  strokes, 
the  delicate  lines  that  indicated  leisure 
and  success. 

There  had  been  the  beginning,  the 
breaking  away  from  the  safe,  conserva- 
tive course  pointed  out  by  two  generations 
of  plodding  forebears.  Business  success 
was  not  enough — social  success  was  emi- 
nently to  be  desired.  The  decision  had 
had  to  be  made — whether  to  cultivate 
prelates  and  their  abundant  followers,  or 
to  court  the  more  worldly  sophisticated, 
exclusive  sets.  The  ultimate  golden  key 
had  been  in  his  hand,  but  which  lock  to 
tr}',  there  was  the  rub. 

And  then  inspiration  had  come !  Why 
not  make  of  it  a  skeleton  key,  and  open 
all  doors  at  once.  There  was  the  solution ! 
And  so  the  coat  of  many  colors  had  been 
donned,  the  gayety  of  the  hues  covering 
the  hair  shirt  which  lay  beneath.  Pious 
with  the  prelates,  ebullient  with  the  elite, 
and  always,  unfailingly  hospitable  and 
generous. 

His  passage  down  one  of  the  streets 
in  the  financial  district  of  the  city  was  a 
triumphal  march.  "Hello,  Tom !  "  "H'are 
you,  Jim ! "  "How's  the  wife,  Howard ! " 
Eager  eyes,  scanning  the  faces  of  the 
passing  throng,  but  never  forgetting  to 
glance  often  enough  at  the  companion 
of  the  moment.  Dozens  of  companions, 
of  scores  of  busy  moments,  but  always  a 
little  lack  of  ease,  perhaps  a  slight  over- 
effusiveness. 


Finally  had  come  the  time  for  the 
grand  tour  to  Europe,  with  wife  and 
family.  A  six  weeks'  itinerary  was  event- 
ually arranged  for,  and  the  "Big  Feller" 
left  home  in  the  only  drawing  room  on 
the  observation  car.  Seasickness  cramped 
geniality  a  bit  on  shipboard,  but  dry 
land  soon  restored  the  abundant  vitalit)'. 
Through  the  capitals  of  Europe  he  dashed, 
always  ready  with  odious  comparison  to 
things  American. 

"No  siree,  these  guys  can't  teach  us 
anything.  Look  at  the  sissies,  stopping 
everything  for  a  cup  of  tea,  even  in  the 
banks."  Thus  went  England.  "And  they 
call  this  a  traffic  system?  Ever)^  feller  for 
liimself,  and  there  ain't  no  hindmost." 
That  settled  Paris,  but  the  gibe  was 
studied  for  future  reference,  to  be  told 
over  the  cognac  at  the  next  domestic  din- 
ner table. 

"This  Mussolini  certainly  has  some 
good  ideas,"  grudgingly  admitted,  "but 
the  crazy  dagoes  don't  appreciate  them,  so 
what's  the  use.  I  dunno,  it's  a  funny 
game,  when  a  guy  controls  a  place  with 
castor  oil,  and  plays  the  fiddle  in  his  spare 
time.  He'd  never  get  by  in  the  U.S.A." 

So  the  Big  Feller  was  soon  back,  and 
glad  to  be  there. 

The  day  after  his  arrival  he  was  walk- 
ing down  the  street  again,  revelling  in  the 
ver)-  sound  of  the  familiar  "H'are  you, 
Henry!"  and  "You  bet  I  like  it  here, 
J.ackf" 

"Me  for  America,"  he  declared  to  his 
secretary,  "where  I  can  get  good  liquor 
as  long  as  I  pay  for  it,  and  where  I  can 
vote,  and  know  what  I  think  means  some- 
thing, where  a  big  feller  is  really  big. 
But  say,  Stephenson,  if  you  ever  do  get 
to  Paris,  don't  miss  the  Folies  Bergere. 
I  went  twice — I  couldn't  get  what  they 
were  talking  about  the  first  time,  it's  s:i 
long  since  I've  spriken  any  French." 

T/ic  Doivagcr  and  the 
Decorator 

Flaunting  the  glib,  unbridled  vocabu- 
lary of  a  sixteen-year-old  school-girl,  re- 


plete with  "expressive,"  "gorgeous,"  and 
"charming"  he  was  plying  his  trade.The 
very  thought  of  the  crudities  of  acknowl- 
edged trade  were  repulsive  to  his  little, 
pink-embroidered  soul,  but  extortionate 
trade  it  was  just  the  same.  Peddling  pat- 
terns to  ignorance,  hawking  baubles  to 
climbers! 

The  purveyor  of  'interesting"  wall 
papers,  "thrilling"  curtains,  and  "allur- 
ing" chairs  was  monarch  of  all  he  sur- 
veyed, in  the  studio  whose  dim,  religious 
light  banished  all  suggestion  of  commer- 
cialism. Here  came  the  puffy  wives  of 
successfully  tired  business  men,  with 
Early  American  aspirations,  period  plans 
and  decorative  debauches  in  view. 

Dulcet  tones  fell  from  the  thin,  ascetic 
lips.  "This  will  make  perfectly  gorgeous 
curtains,  and  this  color  just  expresses  your 
husband's  virile  personality.  But  some- 
where near  we  must  have  a  touch  of 
mauve,  to  suggest  your  light,  feminine 
allure."  And  the  dought)'  dowager  dim- 
ples in  every  crevice  of  all  her  chins.  The 
halo  around  the  carelessly  disordered, 
slightly  oily  head  of  the  autocrat  of  the 
refectory  table  was  mirrored  in  her  wat- 
ery, blue  eyes. 

"I  am  afraid  that  the  sets  of  books  we 
selected  for  your  country  house  just 
won't  do  in  town."  Progress  and  art  were 
marching  expensively  forward.  "We  had 
them  all  bound  in  such  light  colors,  you 
remember.  Are  they  ever  removed  from 
the  shelves?" 

A  beatific  and  cherubic  smile  illu- 
mined the  master's  melancholy  cast  at 
the  negative  answer. 

"Oh,  well,  then  we  can  have  slip  bind- 
ings made  for  them,  to  go  over  the  old 
ones,  if  you  don't  want  entirely  new 
ones.  Now  then,  about  that  smoking 
room."  Here  a  slight  grimace  of  disgust 
appeared.  "Must  your  husband  persist  in 
his  archaic  ideas?  Well,  what  does  he 
require?"  This  with  a  patronizing  smile 
for  the  absent  butter  and  egg  man. 

"But  yon  must  be  married  to  a  mon- 
ster! Morris  chairs!  Red  wall  paper! 
Sectional  book  cases!  A  billiard  table! 
AND  cuspidors!"  At  this  climax  both 

(Cuntinucd  to  Page  29) 


The    San    Franciscan 

[.8] 


Portrait  by  C.  Burton  Huse 


Mrs  Thomas  Elwood  Webster 
The  former  Miss  Geneva  White  whose  marriage  this  luoiith  in  Palo  Alto  was  an  event  for  Society 


The    San    Franciscan 
[19] 


The  Reigning  Dynasty 


IF  the  following  remarks  seem  to  be 
made    from   a   particularly   crabbed 
point  of  view,  it  must  be  remembered 
that  the  monthof  July  is  not  conductive  to 

writing.  There  are  no  authorities  avail- 
ed 

able  to  base  this  deduction  on — but  ex- 
perience is  still  the  best  teacher.  The 
society  editors  are  slumped  in  the  hard 
chairs  of  their  dingy  offices,  watching 
the  play  of  visions  of  cool  Del  Monte, 
inspiring  ^'osemite.  Lake  Tahoc,  Pebble 
Beach,  El  Mirasol,  Santa  Barbara  and  a 
half  a  hundred  other  delightful  places 
following  hard  upon  each  other  over 
the  handles  of  their  paper-cutters.  It  is 
not  the  plcasantest  of  situations  especi- 
ally if  the  weather  is  a  bit  miu'ky  as  it  is 
apt  to  be  in  dear  old  San  Francisco  in 
July,  or  even  if  it  is  a  bit  foggy  as  it  is 
more  apt  to  be. 

So  bear  with  us  as  you  read  these  notes, 
beneath  your  banana  bushes  or  trees  or 
whatever  bananas  grow  on.  Bear  with 
us  while  )()U  make  that  perfect  approach 
shot.  Do  not  be  too  hard  on  us  even  if 
you  do  not  make  that  game  in  one  hand, 
there  are  always  more  cards  in  the  deck 
and  always  a  new  deal.  We  near  your 
forbearance. 

TO  proceed 
When  a  knot  is  tied  doubly  it  lias 
little  chance  of  slipping;  that  is,  if  tiic 
material  with  which  it  is  tied  is  sturdy. 
Whether  this  is  true  of  marriages  or  not 
remains  to  be  seen. 

Double  weddings  seem  to  be  gaining 
in  popularity.  It  is  not  the  same  double 
wedding,  however  of  a  generation  ago. 
In  the  early  part  of  last  month,  the 
Reigning  Dynasty  (amen!)  received  a 
gentle  slap  in  the  face  when  Sophia  Bron- 
well  (whom  we  have  seen  now  and  again 
enjoying  herself  at  the  Alladin  Night 
Club)  and  Curtis  Hutton  glided  off  to 
Redwood  City  and  took  possession  of  a 
marriage  license.  The  Brownell  family 
bore  up  bravely  and  insisted  with  a  hland 
face  that  it  was  Sophia's  little  way  of 
formally  announcing  the  engagement 
and  that  no  ceremony  had  been  per- 
formed. Opinions,  never-thc-less,  differ 
■  as  to  the  latter  part  of  the  statement. 

At  any  rate  a  nice,  safe,  sane  and  con- 
ventional service  was  read  "at  the  home 
of  the  bride's  parents  with  only  the  im- 


mediate families  and  close  friends  of  tiic 
couple  attending." 

■^—^ 

TPHEN  towards  the  end  of  that  dear 
•*-  old  month  called  June,  Barbara  Wil- 
lett  and  Charles  Edwin  Sudden  made  the 
most  of  the  bridegroom's  surname.  On 
Tuesday,  June  21  to  be  exact,  the  couple 
dashed  to  the  famous  (by  now  almost 
infamous)  Redwood  City,  procured  the 
inconvenient  but  necessary  marriage  li- 
cense and  submitted  to  a  ceremony  read 
by  the  unromantic  Justice  Ray  Griffin. 
This  was  kept  under  cover  better  than 
the  former  elopers'  march  had  been.  Ap- 
parently no  one  except  the  families  sus- 
pected the  former  athlete  from  Stanford 
and  his  dashing  bride,  for  the  following 
day  a  hurried-up  marriage  was  arranged 
with  Reverend  Frank  Brush  without  tiu 
slightest  grunt  of  an  objection.  The  same 
words  were  solemnly  pronounced  over 
the  heads  of  the  erring  ones  that  they  had 
heard  the  day  before,  in  the  quiet  little 
Swedenborgian  Church.  This  would  have 
made  everything  look  alright  if  Griffin 
had  kept  still.  But  he  could  contain  him- 
self no  longer  and  the  news  was  out.  Oil 
Hum  ...  It  gi\es  the  dailies  something 
to  write  about. 

The  bride  is  the  daughter  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Walter  Willett  and  a  sister  of  Mrs. 
Harrison  Godwin  (Audrey  Willett)  and 
Mrs.  Lorin  Tryon  (Ola  Willett).  She 
is  also  a  niece  of  Mrs.  George  Forderer 
of  this  city.  Sudden  is  the  son  of  Mrs. 
W.  A.  Heitman  and  the  late  Charles  E. 
Sudden.  He  attended  Stanford  Univer- 
sity and  was  a  member  of  the  Zeta  Psi 
tong. 

•^1 — ^ 

VYTE  heard  a  very  interesting  story  the 
"^  other  day  about  a  lady  who  was 
smart.  The  complimentary  reference  to 
the  intellect  of  Mrs.  Frederick  Sharon 
(who  winters  at  the  Plaza  and  summers 
at  Menlo  Park)  was  due  to  the  fact  that 
it  is  well  known  that  at  the  time  of  pro- 
hibition Mrs.  Sharon  bought  the  entire 
stock  of  Bourbon  whiskey  which  the 
Palace  Hotel  happened  to  have  on  iiand 
at  the  time  of  the  disaster, 
■sj— ^ 

T)  UT  of  the  masses  of  tulle,  orange 
-^  blossoms,  veils,  (heirloom  and  other- 
wise), somethings  old,  somethings  new, 


somethings  borrowed  and  somethings  blue 
which  go  to  make  up  the  summer  bride 
we  find  standing  head  and  shoulders 
above  the  rest,  one  truly  stately  and  ele- 
gant woman  who  goes  to  take  the  vows  in 
an  unruffled,  dignified  manner.  Such  a 
one  was  Miss  Geneva  White,  who  on 
the  first  day  of  July  became  the  bride  of 
Thomas  Elwood  Webster  at  four  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon  at  the  home  of  the  bride 
in  Palo  Alto.  The  wedding  took  place 
in  the  Italian  Garden  of  the  home,  the 
services  being  read  under  a  large  oak . 
tree  where  an  altar  had  been  erected. 

The  march  of  the  bridal  party  led 
from  the  house  to  the  altar  through  an 
aisle  formed  of  pastel  shaded  stock.. 
Thrown  over  the  altar  was  a  gold  and 
siher  brocaded  satin  cloth  and  on  either 
side  were  tall  urns  of  pastel  flowers. 
White  gardenias  and  candles  were  also 
on  the  altar. 

The  bride  a  tall,  stately  blonde  young 
American  woman  who  is  remembered 
for  her  excellent  modelling  in  the  Junior 
League  fashion  shows,  wore  a  Vionnet 
model  of  white  satin  slightly  draped  in 
front  and  with  a  train  falling  from  the 
hips.  It  was  of  course,  of  the  conventional 
white  satin.  The  sleeves  were  of  rose 
point  lace  which  had  been  on  the  gown 
of  the  bride's  mother,  the  late  Mrs.  Bur- 
rell  White.  Some  of  the  lace  was  also  in- 
serted to  form  a  V  in  the  long  train.  The 
veil  was  of  tulle  and  was  held  by  a  band 
across  the  forehead  of  rose  point  lace  and 
a  wreath  of  small  orange  blossoms  crossed 
in  the  back  of  the  head.  She  carried  but- 
terfly orchids  which  fell  in  sprays  to  the 
bottom  of  the  skirt. 

The  wedding  breakfast  was  served  in 
the  house  the  rooms  being  decorated  in 
the  pastel  shades  and  lighted  only  by  the 
tapers.  The  bride's  table  was  covered 
with  green  and  silver  metal  cloth  and 
trimmed  with  gardenias  and  lilies  of  the 
\  alley.  The  other  tables  had  green  cloths 
and  on  them  were  pastel  colored  flowers 
combined  with  gardenias. 

The  bride  and  groom  are  passing  their 
lioneymoon  in  Honolulu  and  will  return 
to  California  for  a  short  visit  when  they 
will  go  east  by  way  of  the  Canadian 
Pacific,  stopping  at  Lake  Louise  and 
BanflF.  Their  home  will  be  in  Haveford, 
Pennsylvania,  a  suburb  of  Philadelphia. 


The    San    Franciscan 

[20] 

{~\y  course  there  have  been  such  quan- 
^■^  titles  of  marriages  these  past  few 
months  it  is  very  plausible  that  many 
would  smack  of  an  informal  nature.  But 
for  something  new,  we  cede  all  honors 
to  that  "thus  far"  most  illusive  young 
batchelor,  George  McNear,  Jr.  and  his 
bride,  nee  Louise  Hellman.  The  dailies, 
those  worthy  institutions,  stimulated  us 
over  our  shredded  wheat  one  Monday 
morning  with  the  naive  announcement, 
(posed  photographic  verifications),  that 
the  marriage  had  taken  place  sometime 
between  midnight  and  dawn  at  Mr.  Mc- 
Near's  apartment,  which  is  one  of  those 
delightfully  mannish  sort  of  abodes  that 
if  you  can  make  your  way  through  the 
orange  rinds  and  chesterfield  vapor,  you 
find  a  view  of  the  bay.  Directly  after  the 
wedding  breakfast,  the  McNears  started 
soutli  to  break  the  news  to  the  bride's 
mother,  Mrs.  George  Hellman.  Stuart 
Hellman  is  her  brother  and  Nancy  Hell- 
man, a  young  movie  star,  is  her  sister. 

MRS.  Helen  Irwin  Crocker  has  re- 
turned from  New  York  to  be  pres- 
ent for  the  finishing  of  her  villa  at  Pebble 
Beach.  Houses  of  such  distinction  and 
charm,  that  in  every  way  reflect  the 
owner,  may  well  come  under  the  title  of 
villa;  a  name  that  has  a  delightful  hint 
of  old  world  loveliness  in  its  sound.  And 
indeed  Pebble  Beach  with  its  supreme 
beauty  and  smartness,  could  well  become 
America's  Riviere.  Mrs.  Crocker's  place 
has  several  interesting  points.  All  the 
bathrooms  are  built  round,  and  the  tubs 
have  been  brought  from  India  and  are 
made  of  a  peculiar  heavy  glass,  clear  and 
of  brilliant  colors,  so  that  if  one's  imag- 
ination is  fertile,  there  are  all  sorts  of 
possibilities  such  as  a  plunge  of  rubies  or 
sapphires,  or  what  have  you!  ! 
-S— ^-«- 

WE  will  permit  ourselves  to  be  very 
\ulgar  at  this  point. We  could  be  in- 
fiiu'tely  more  vulgar,  but  we  are  able  to 
refrain  and  will  simply  pun.  Many  ol 
the  Reigning  Dynasty  are  getting  up  in 
the  world.  Now  that  that  is  oflt  our  system 
— to  elucidate — we  refer  to  the  bunga- 
lows which  are  being  built  atop  some  of 
the  city's  highest  buildings.  We  beg  of 
you  Mr.  John  Drum  and  Mr.  William 
H.  Crocker,  to  be  extremely  careful 
about  the  sort  of  persons  you  will  enter- 
tain from  time  to  time.  We  lowly  ones 
who  needs  must  tread  the  rugged  pave- 
ment beneath  have  great  fears  of  flying 


gin  bottles  and  other  misguided  missiles, 
for  that  matter.  At  least  we  beg  of  you 
to  cry  "fore"  at  crucial  moments. 
■)5 — ^ 

"pROBABLY  one  of  the  most  straight- 
■'-  backed  but  thoroughly  exclusive  affairs 
given  recently  was  the  dinner  Mrs.  John 
B.  Casserly  and  Mrs.  Nion  Tucker  gave 
followed  by  a  musicale  in  the  Woodland 
Theatre  at  Hillsborough.  (The  voice  is 


I  Find  in  a  Bird's  Song 

By  Saimi  Pukema  Fassett 

1  find  in  a  bird's  song 

Life  encompassed  in  four  sounds; 


Two  notes  that  soar, 
Two  that  drop. 
No  more. 

Ecstacy  star-pierced, 

Agony  clod-anchored. 

Oh,  all  of  life  and  death! 

A  babe's  wonder  at  its  petal  power, 

Youth  and  maid  beneath  a  leafy  bough 

Age  on  his  mellowed  journey  back ; 

Meeting  .  .  .  loving  .  .  . 

Mating  .  .  .  leaving  .  .  . 

All  these  I  find  in  a  bird's  song: 
Two  notes  that  soar, 
Two  that  drop. 
No  more. 


immediately  lowered  into  hushed  whis- 
pers) The  Philharmonic  Society  of  San 
Mateo  was  invited  among  t>thers.  The 
part)'  was  an  aftermath  of  the  Sunday 
afternoon  concerts  given  by  the  Phil- 
harmonic Society  in  San  Mateo. 

Mrs.  George  N.  Armsby  as  president 
of  the  society  must  be  congratulated  upon 
her   work.   The   white   clad   handsome 


woman  lends  dignity  and  is  a  pleasantly' 
conspicuous  figure  wherever  she  appears. 
The  attractive  outfit  of  periwinkle  blue 
and  white  hat  of  tan  horsehair,  is  pecul- 
iarly becoming  to  Mrs.  Casserly.  Mrs. 
J.  Downey  Harvey  frequently  appears 
at  the  concerts  in  an  entirely  black  outfit 
with  which  she  wears  a  leghorn  hat  of 
the  same  sombre  color. 

T  N  glancing  over  the  social  notes  of 
-^  one  of  our  leading  papers  we  find 
that  a  certain  visitor  and  his  wife  from 
Newport  and  New  York  were  enter- 
tained here.  The  editor  then  goes  on  to 
carefully  explain  who  the  first  wife  of 
the -man  was.  Not  content  with  that  the 
little  article  ripples  on  to  say  that  after 
he  dix'orced  his  second  wife  she  married 
a  prominent  movie  actor.  And  lastly  the 
third  and  present  wife  seems  to  be  very 
young  and  beautiful.  It  is  also  tucked  in 
that  the  gentleman  is  a  Yale  graduate 
and  was  in  the  diplomatic  service.  Too 
bad.  He  probably  is  always  expecting 
diplomacy  and  probably  always  being 
disappointed. 

VV/ELL,  well,  Helen  you've  shaken 
^^  our  faith  in  womankind.  After  all 
this  time  we  thought  it  was  no  other 
than  the  Prince  of  Wales  and  now  look. 
A  plain  ordinary  American — not  even 
a  little  bit  of  a  title  like  sister  got.  Oh 
yes,  of  course,  he's  a  Harvard  man  and 
a  member  of  the  Knickerbocker,  The 
Turf  and  Field,  The  Brook  and  Harvard 
University  Clubs,  not  to  mention  the 
Racquet  and  Tennis  combined  with  the 
City  Midday,  but  never-the-less  you  can 
never  be  able  to  prefix  those. 

■*—;■«- 

/^SSIP  de  Perelma  the  Russian-Ameri- 
^-'^can  portrait  painter  who  is  the  house 
guest  of  James  D.  Phelan,  at  Montalvo, 
has  completed  the  portraits  of  Mrs.  Gert- 
rude Atherton,  Mrs.  Charles  W.  Fay 
and  Colonel  Harry  Holand.  At  present 
the  distinguished  artist,  whose  work  has 
attained  international  recognition  and 
praise,  is  working  on  a  p;)rtrait  of  Miss 
Rowena  Mason.  Following  the  comple- 
tion of  this  canvas,  de  Perelma  will  do 
Mrs.  Richard  Doyle  and  her  children. 
The  Reigning  Dynasty  looks  forward 
with  keen  anticipation  to  de  Perelma's 
exhibition  which  will  be  held  in  the  early 
Autumn. 


The    San     Franciscan 

[21] 


ASSUMING  an  air  of  unlimited  lei- 
sure and  complete  detachment,  we 
have  spent  days  wandering  through 
certain  shops  in  San  Francisco,  culling 
here  and  there  a  flower  of  information, 
and  hegctting,  perhaps  illegitimately,  a 
liberal  education,  the  fruits  of  which  we 
magnanimously  offer  to  share  with  our 
many  avid  readers. 

Mo\eil  hy  pity  for  the  poor  benighted 


male,  who  receives  such  scanty  attention 
these  days,  hosiery  having  given  way  to 
hip  flasks,  we  were  lured  into  the  exclu- 
sive atelier  of  Monsieur  Swift,  attracted 
by  something  in  the  window  which  we 
had  never  seen  before.  It  was  a  bathing 
suit,  to  be  sure,  one  of  the  very  p  )pular 
two-piece  sort.  Our  gaze  was  rixeted  in 
fascination  to  the  trunks  thereof,  equip- 
ped witii,  of  all  things,  a  pocket!  Oiu" 
nimble  fancy  cavorted  at  the  sight,  stim- 
ulated by  the  thought  that  at  last  the 
hardy  beach-comber  will  have  a  place  to 
park  his  handkerchief,  cigarettes  and 
lighter,  so  essential  to  comfortable  nata- 
tion. 

Another  unusual  feature  in  Swift's 
stock  is  a  lounging  robe,  selling  for  a 
|)altry  $200,  of  scarlet  cut-vehet  in 
an  elaborate  brocade  pattern.  There  is 
another  such  garment  still  available,  of 
so-called  tinsel  velvet,  predominantly 
bright  red,  with  gold  threads  woven 
through  the  material,  retailing  for  a  mere 
$150.  Quite  an  original  contribution  to 
the  well-dressed  man's  wardrobe  is  a  blue 
necktie,  decorated  chastel)'  with  careless- 
ly applied  white  polka  dots.  This  haber- 
dashing  trifle  is  unique,  we  are  informed, 
because  the  design  has  achieved  its  effec- 
tive irregularity  by  means  of  hand  stamp- 
ing, infinitel)'  superior  to  the  more  usu.il 
and  accurate  machine  stamp. 


As  Seen  By  Her 

'TpHE  much  vaunted  Deau\ille  Shop, 
■*-  downstairs  in  the  City  of  Paris,  but 
not  in  the  basement,  (common  word, 
tliat )  seems  \ery  much  deserted  these 
days.  It  is  almost  entirely  populated  by 
salesgirls,  but  at  that  it  is  almost  impos- 
sible to  obtain  service.  In  a  humble  tone 
we  inquired  after  a  tuxedo  model  blue 
sweater,  of  the  sort  being  worn  todav  on 
all  the  better  dressed  golf  courses,  and 
were  referred  to  four  different  girls 
before  the  final  xestal  virgin  finally 
consented  languidly  to  open  a  show  case. 
After  a  considerable  amount  of  search- 
ing she  announced  that  such  a  sweater 
was  not  to  be  had,  and  that  was  that. 

fust  across  from  the  sport  sweater  de- 
partment are  men's  athletic  accessories. 
We  were  informed  by  the  dapper  young 
shiek  in  charge  that  the  new  belts  promi- 
nently displayed  on  a  table  were  the 
greatest  invention  in  sartorial  art  of  mod- 
ern times.  They  are  made,  for  $3.50,  of 
a  fine  wire  mesh,  and  the  advantage  is 
tiiat  they  are  so  much  cooler  than  any 
trouser  supporter  yet  de\ised,  a  necessity 
in  the  tropics,  a  comfort  here! 

A  most  intriguing  application  of  his 
art  has  just  been  perfected  by  John  Held 
Ji-.,  tlie  originator  of  those  engaging 
round-headed  and  slim-bodied  sketches 
of  the  younger  generation.  He  has  de- 
signed a  series  of  scarfs,  p:iur  le  sport, 
stamped  with  his  famous  flappers  and 
their  bo)-  friends,  all  bearing  his  signa- 
tiue. 

There  is  one  for  golf,  for  tennis,  for 
riding  and  for  the  various  other  outdoor 
activities.  On  each  one  Held's  youngsters 
disport  themselves  in  appropriate  fashion. 
These  may  be  secured  in  San  Francisco 
at  Magnin's  and  the  City  of  Paris,  and 
are  bound  to  be  very  much  the  thing  be- 
for  many  weeks  ha\'c  elapsed. 


TQ^'  the  way,  we  stopped  in  our  dizzy 
-*^  round  the  other  day  to  partake  of  a 
dish  of  tea  at  the  Palace  Hotel.  Where 
are  the  elite  of  yesteryear.?  We  were 
surrounded  by  what  appeared  to  be  a 
high  school  sorority,  out  for  an  orgy.  All 
the  maidens  were  giggling,  awestruck 
and  ecstatic,  each  dressed  in  a  bouffant 
dress  of  rigid  taffeta,  each  with  the  cor- 
sage  pinned   exactly  at   the  extreme   tip 


of  the  right  clavicle,  and  each  immedi- 
ately absorbed  upon  the  arrival  of  food. 
We  were  in  a  somewhat  reminiscent 
m;)od,  mindful  of  the  days  of  yore,  when 
tea  at  the  Palace  meant  San  Francisco's 
400  enjoying  a  quiet  hour.  We  were  also 
mindful  of  the  times  when  we  lunched 
like  epicureans  at  the  Palace.  Today  we 
don't  go  there  any  more.  We  cannot 
afford  the  tariff  and  we  do  not  like  the 
fare. 

■^ — ;■<■ 

/^  UMP'S  and  Marsh's,  both  considered 
^-^  leading  dealers  in  Oriental  art  goods, 
afi'ord  an  enlightening  contest.  As  we 
entered  Gump's  both  our  toes  and  our 
imaginations  were  struck  by  a  large  as- 
sortment of  ship's  lanterns  plentifully 
reposing  for  some  little  distance  along 
the  floor.  These  may  be  had  for  amounts 
varying  from  $12.50  to  $25.  We  bought 
just  such  a  lantern  not  long  since  from 
a  humble  ship  chandler  doing  business 
somewhere  along  the  waterfront,  paying 
something  in  the  neighborhood  of  $3 
for  it.  Of  course  we  carried  it  home 
ourselves,  but  supposing  we  did. 

A  comparatively  recent  addition  to  the 
already  variegated  stock  at  Gump's  is  a 
so-called  jewelry  counter,  in  addition  to 
the  department  which  carries  fine  jade. 
We  saw  nothing  there  to  attract  even  the 
most  adornment  mad  fl.ipper. 

Marsh  has  devised  some  unusual  spe- 
(Contimifd  to  V-Ajiv  v?) 


1 


The    San    Franciscan 

[22] 


TheFor>?hil  Garden  of  George  A.  Ncwhall,  in  Hillsborough  Calif. 

A  szceet  seclusion  this  of  sun  and  sJutle, 

A  cjlm  as\lum  from  the  l/usy  zcorhl. 
Where  greed  and  restless  dire  do  ne^er  \iiz-.>de, 

Kor  iiezcs  of  \-hange  and  mart  each  morning  hurled 
Round  half  the  glohe^  no  noise  of  party  feud 
Disturbs  this  peaceful  spot  nor  mars  its  perfect  quietude. 

— John  Russell  Hayes 


The    San    Franciscan 

[23] 


What  Price  Crowns 

The  European  Infiltration  of  Blue  Blood  To  Hollywood 


IT  is  beginning  to  look,  in  Hollywood, 
as  though  the  producer,  the  director  and 

his  assistants  will  be  forced  to  keep  up- 
on their  desks  in  addition  to  the  Standard 
Casting  Directory  and  other  similar  vol- 
umes designed  to  facilitate  the  casting 
of  pictures,  copies  of  Burke's  Peerage, 
Almanac  dc  Gotha  and  the  Blue  Book. 

Already  on  the  ground  are  these  for- 
tunate brothers.  Prince  Serge  Ma\ani  of 
Georgia,  whose  glossy  raven-black  hair 
matches  that  of  his  wife,  Pola  Negri,  as 
does  the  leonine  mane' of  Prince  David 
Mdvani,  the  blonde  loveliness  of  Mae 
Murray. 

Then,  of  course,  as  a  permanent  resi- 
dent, there  is  the  Marquis  Henri  de  la 
Falaise  with  his  wife,  Gloria  Swanson. 
And  now  Count  Leo  Tolstoy  has  taken 
root  in  Hollywood  after  being  brought 
from  Russia  to  supervise  the  filming  of 
his  father's  masterpiece,  'Resurrection." 

Working  for  Harry  d'Arrast,  the 
young  French  social  favorite,  who  at 
present  is  directing  for  Lasky,  is  Count 
jean  de  Limur  as  is  also  Manuel  de  Ola- 
zabal  whose  family  own  miles  of  cattle- 
strewn  pampas  in  the  Argentine.  Their 
possessions  border  upon  the  equally  large 
holdings  of  the  Gramajo  family,  whose 
son,  Arturito,  bob-sled  champion  of  St. 
Mauritz,  is  now  giving  Douglas  Fair- 
banks technical  assistance  with  the  film- 
ing of  an  epic  of  the  Argentine,  entitled 
"The  Gaucho." 

Anthony  Asquith,  son  of  the  famous 
Margot  and  the  former  English  premier, 
and  brother  of  Princess  Bibesco  of  Rou- 
mania,  worked  with  Douglas  on  his  last 
picture. 

Count  Caracciolo,  from  Italy,  as- 
sumed for  film  work  the  less  pretentious 
an  more  pronounceable  name  of  simple 
Mario  Carillo,  the  name  also  borne  by 
his  cousin  Leo  Carillo,  of  "Lombard!, 
Ltd.,"  fame. 

One  of  Mario's  first  experiences,  was, 
when  answering  a  call  for  a  man  to  play 
the  part  of  a  Count,  he  encountered  a 
casting  director  who  calmly  informed 
him,  ""^'ou  won't  do,  young  man,  you're 
not  the  type.  You  don't  look  like  a  Count, 
and  furthermore,  you  don't  act  like  one ! " 


By  Harry  Crocker 

"What  a  pit}',"  replied  Mario,  smiling, 
"because  I  happen  to  be  one!" 

'Applesauce!"  was  the  only  comment 
of  the  casting  director. 

■fl — fr 

QEEN  Marie  of  Roumania  was  of- 
fered when  in  New  York,  twenty- 
fi\e  thousand  dollars  for  a  single  appear- 
ance in  a  film,  an  oflFer  which,  however, 
she  refused.  Nor  could  Lady  Diana  Man- 
ners of  "The  Miracle"  be  persuaded  to 
stay  on  in  Hollywood  for  pictures,  after 
the  departure  of  the  spectacle. 

Generals  Plashkoff  and  Ikanikoflt  of 
the  Imperial  Rusian  Army,  have,  since 
the  revolution,  learned  to  turn  to  good 
account  their  abilit)'  to  wear  uniforms 
with  a  military  swagger,  and  are  con- 
sidered indispensible  to  any  militaristic 
film. 

As  a  technical  director.  Count  Pierre 
de  Ramey  finds  that  a  picture  dealing 
with  a  mythical  kingdom  is  not  to  be 
dealt  with  strictly  according  to  the  laws 
which  govern  the  court  etiquette  of  an 
actual  monarchy. 

The  only  reply  vouchsafed  to  certain 
of  his  objections  such  as,  "My  dear  di- 
rector, in  the  Court  Guard,  a  sabre  is 
never  worn  if  the  guardsman  is  already 
equipped  with  a  halberd!"  or  "It  is  in- 
correct for  a  soldier  to  carry  a  shield 
when  he  in  encased  in  a  curiass!"  was, 
"Aw,  we  can  get  away  with  it  all  right, 
y'see  this  is  a  mythical  kingdom!  There 
ain't  no  etiquette;  we  make  it  up  as  wc 
go  along! " 

And  so  as  the  extras  tramped  upon 
the  sets  accoutred  in  all  too  full  a  panoply 
of  armor,  de  Ramey  could  but  sigh  and 
shrug  his  shoulders. 

The  Earl  of  Ilchester  recently  paid 
a  visit  to  Hollywood,  a  visit  inspired  by 
his  great  interest  in  pictures.  He  did  not 
participate  in  anv  film  work,  but  entered 
so  entluisiasticalh'  into  the  social  lite  of 
Hollywood,  that  he  completely  exhausted 
all  the  relavs  of  film  folk  delegated  to 
keep  him  amused. 

In  turn  picture  people  found  it  amus- 
inti  to  see  how  enthusiastically  Lord 
Claude  Hamilton,  Equcrn,-  to  His  Royal 
Majesty,  the  King  of  England,  also  a 


visitor,  entered  into  a  scene  in  one  of 
Madame  Elinor  Glyn's  pictures  which 
portrayed  a  Bolshevistic  uprising  in  a 
mythical  kingdom,  and  equally  amusing 
to  hear  him  later  express  his  fears  as  to 
the  political  consequences  of  his  possible 
detection  in  the  film,  subsequent  to  its 
release  in  England,  in  so  revolutionary 
a  scene. 

Count  Lambert  from  France,  is  at 
present  in  Hollywood,  seeking  screen 
lionors;  Count  Andreas  de  Segurola,  who 
is  better  known  for  his  work  in  opera, 
has  played  with  great  success  his  first 
role  in  a  film  with  Gloria  Swanson,  and 
seems  won  to  the  silver  sheet,  while  the 
latest  arrival  in  Hollywood,  is  no  less  a 
personage  than  the  grandnephew  of  the 
late  Emperor  of  Austria,  the  Archduke 
Leopold,  who  is  signed  with  Eric  von 
Stroheim,  to  play  a  picture  dealing  with 
the  post  war  history  of  the  Hapsburgs. 
■^—^ 

"YYTlTH  so  much  royalty  apt  to  be 
*^  upon  a  set,  it  will  be  a  ticklish 
question  to  determine  the  order  of  pre- 
cedence when  the  nobility  line  up  to 
receive  their  pay. 

Then,  too.  Princess  Maria  de  Bour- 
bon of  the  Spanish  branch  of  that  ancient 
and  noble  house  essayed  in  pictures,  jour- 
neying from  New  York  to  Hollywood 
as  the  protege  of  Marion  Davies. 

As  befitted  her  royal  position,  if 
perhaps  a  little  above  her  station  as  a 
mere  aspirant  for  screen  honors — she 
was  installed  within  the  studio  walls 
in  a  sumptuous  dressing  room.  This  it 
seems,  was  a  blunder  upon  someone's 
part,  as  that  particular  dressing  room — 
one  of  the  I'frst  upon  the  lot — had  already 
been  assigned  to  Nazimova,  who  how- 
e\er,  liad  not  yet  taken  possession. 

Arri\ing  upon  the  lot  in  tlie  absence 
of  the  Princess  to  find  her  room  cluttered 
up  with  the  royal  cosmetics  and  costumes, 
Nazimo\a  had  her  maid  deposit  the  ef- 
fects of  the  interloper,  as  she  considered 
the  person,  to  whom  they  might  belong, 
upon  the  cement  path  outside  the  door. 

'I'he  royal  lady  was  horrified  sorpe- 
wliat  later  to  discover  her  possessions  un- 

(Contiiiucd  to  I'agc  31) 


The    San    Franciscan 


The  Bookstall 


FEW  writers  have  equaled  Karel 
Capek  in  writing  the  "wonder  tale." 
Popular  mystery  is  seldom  of  literary 
consequence,  while  the  finer  wonder 
tales,  such  as  Arthur  Machen's,  deal  with 
mysterious  powders  and  super-natural 
powers.  But  of  writers  dealing  with 
more  plausihle  materials  and  yet  obtain- 
ing their  effects  in  the  fine  manner,  Mr. 
Capek  has  done  the  best  work  since  H. 
G.  Wells's  Tales  of  Wonder,  a  volume 
little  known  in  this  country,  and  to  which 
Capek's  work  has  a  strong  resemblance. 
Capek  came  to  the  front  with  his  great 
play  R.  U.  R.,  and  increased  his  follow- 
ing with  his  novel  Kraktitit.  Now  comes 
his  The  Absolute  At  Large,  a  dramatic 
and  rather  diabolical  burlesque.  The 
story  is  based  upon  the  invention  of  a 
Karburator  which  manufactures  the  Ab- 
solute, as  the  Absolute  is  expressed  in 
the  theory  of  Pantheism.  When  tliis  di- 
vine energy  is  turned  loose  on  the  world 
astounding  troubles  begin.  The  tale  is 
perhaps  too  loosely  done  to  be  highly  im- 
portant as  a  novel,  but  will  certainly  rank 
ns  a  splendid  burlesque,  chiefly  on  poli- 
'ics  and  religion.  The  Clerics  may  raise 
some  objection  to  the  book,  but  lately 
their  objections  sell  more  books  than  their 
praise.  Anyone  who  believes  that  what 
we  want  is  a  land  of  boundless  plenty, 
(attention  Ladies'  Clubs),  should  by  all 
means  read  this  book. 

The  Absolute  At  Large,  by  Karel  Ca- 
nf"k;   The  Macmillan  Co.,  price  $2.50. 

TN  his  newest  novel,  Marching  On, 
-^James  Boyd  gives  us  the  first  really 
good  novel  of  the  Civil  War  since  The 
Red  Badge  of  Courage.  Boyd  scored 
rather  well  with  his  tale  of  the  Revolu- 
tion, Drums,  and  many  critics  wondered 
if  it  weren't  an  accident.  But  the  new 
novel  proves  otherwise,  for  it  is  a  highly 
intelligent  story  of  that  period,  and  it 
breathes  a  far  truer  atmosphere  of  the 
South  than  any  of  those  other  and  more 
sentimental  novels  have  done.  Boyd's 
\icwpoint  is  that  the  Civil  War  freed 
the  "white  man"  of  the  South,  meaning 
the  five  and  a  half  million  of  them  not 
ovyning  niggers.  And  that  it  restored  the 
dignity  of  white  labor,  giving  the  white 
Southerner  a  chance  to  assert  himself.  In 


By  William  Ahlefeld  Flanagan 

addition  to  making  intelligent  observa- 
tions, Mr.  Boyd  is  a  very  capable  writer, 
with  a  neat  sense  of  restrained  drama. 
It's  a  book  worth  owning,  and  one  that 
would  be  a  fine  gift  for  an  intelligent 
old  veteran. 

Marching  On,  by  James  Boyd;  Scrib- 
ner's,  price  $2.50. 

TN  the  midst  of  the  hundreds  of  annual 
-*■  love  stories,  most  of  which  soon  die, 
there  comes  one  by  an  English  writer, 
H.  T.,  that  is  probably  destined  to  long 
life.  As  It  ]Vas  is  a  very  short  novel, 
revealing  in  a  wistful  but  candid  narra- 
tive, an  artless  and  passionate  love.  The 
simplicity  of  its  narrative-style  is  well 
suited  to  the  fine  simplicity  of  such  an 
aflFection.  David  of  the  story,  represents 
Edward  Thomas,  an  English  piet  killed 
in  the  war.  He  was  the  husband  and 
lover  of  H.  T.  the  author.  This  novel 
was  suppressed  in  Boston,  for  which  the 
author  should  be  congratulated.  This  is 
one  sort  of  love  story  that  will  grow 
more  popular  in  this  country  as  we  get 
less  prudish ;  and  it  is  the  sort  which  true 
lovers  remember,  and  know  to  be  the 
sweetest. 

As  It  Was,  by  H.T. ;  Harper  &  Broth- 
ers, price  $2.50. 


CTILL  another  book  worth  reading  is 
^  The  Main  Stream,  by  Stuart  Sher- 
man ;  a  volume  of  articles  chiefly  about 
writers,  that  is  done  in  good  style  and 
gives  the  reader  a  distinct  idea  about  the 
personalities  with  whom  Sherman  deals. 
But  the  book  will  last  as  one  of  character 
portraits,  not  one  of  literary  criticism.  In 
every  chapter  Sherman  approaches  the 
man  rather  than  the  man's  work.  Now 
and  then  he  drops  revealing  flashes  about 
art,  but  more  often  than  not,  he  does  this 
by  quoting  his  subjects'  words.  In  the 
chapter  on  William  Beebe  for  instance, 
he  brings  out  that  one  must  completely 
identify  himself  with  what  he  studies  or 
writes  of,  must  temporarily  become  a 
bird,  a  tree,  a  God,  a  devil.  But  these 
were  the  words  of  Beebe,  not  of  Sher- 
man. Probably  Sherman  believed  this  too, 
and  it  may  have  been  this  that  led  him 
to  try  and  understand  the  man  he  criti- 


cised. Such  an  understanding  helps  great- 
ly but  it  is  only  one  step  in  the  under- 
standing of  a  writer's  work.  Sherman 
reaches  a  point  where  he  thinks  he  has  the 
writer's  own  character  sized  up,  (always 
doubtful),  and  then  seeks  pieces  of  his 
work  to  fit  in  with  what  he  thinks  of  the 
man.  Even  Anatole  France  is  portrayed 
from  the  viewpoint  of  what  kind  of  a 
man  he  was,  rather  than  what  kind  of  a 
writer.  The  chapter  on  Dreiser  is  good 
because  the  more  personal  side  of  his 
work  includes  all  the  values  it  has.  Of 
Montaigne,  Sherman  says  that  his  observ- 
ations were  of  less  importance  than  the 
"sweet  reasonableness"  with  which  he 
uttered  them.  In  m)'  opinion,  a  critic  who 
believes  that  Montaigne's  mood  is  more 
important  than  liis  observations,  can 
scarcely  be  classed  as  a  great  critic. 

The  Main  Stream,  by  Stuart  Sher- 
man; Scribner's,  price  $2.50. 

/^NE  of  the  things  which  continue  to 
^^puzzle  readers  and  w.irry  librarians 
and  book-sellers,  is  the  order  in  which 
the  books  of  James  Branch  Cabell  sh  udd 
be  read.  As  most  readers  know,  these 
hooks  did  not  come  out  in  the  order  of 
st  iry  form,  Jurgen  being  the  first  usually 
read,  but  belonging  about  sixth  in  the 
chronology.  For  the  benefit  of  those 
puzzled  I  am  giving  here  the  prop?r  order 
in  which  the  books  should  be  read,  and 
including  in  the  chronology  several  un- 
published books,  the  first  to  appear  this 
fall. 

First,  Beyond  Life;  and.  Figures  of 
Earth;  3rd,  The  Silver  Stallion;  4th, 
Dom-nei  and  The  Music  Behind  the 
Moon;  5th,  Chivalry ;  6th,  Jurgen;  7th, 
The  Line  of  Love;  8th,  The  High 
Place;  9th,  Gallantry  ;  1 0th,  Something 
About  Eve  (this  to  be  the  new  Autumn 
hook);  Iltb,  The  Certain  Hour ;  1 2th, 
The  Chords  of  Vanity;  13th,  From  the 
Hidden  JVa\  and  The  Jewel  Merchants ; 
1 4th,  The  Rivet  in  Grandfather's  Neck ; 
15th,  The  Eagle's  Shadow;  1 6th,  The 
Cream  of  the  Jest;  17th,  The  Witch 
Woman  (to  be  published  in  Autumn, 
1928);  1 8th,  Townsend  of  Lichfield 
(to  be  published  in  Spring,  1929);  igth, 
Straivs  and  Prayer  Books. 

(Continued  to  Page  3;) 


The    San    Franciscan 
[25] 


Page  Mister  Sargent 

We  Find  Representation  of  His  Work  in  San  Francisco 

By  Aline  Kistler 


SENATOR  James  D.  Phelan's  recent 
purchase  of  Sargent's  crayon  portrait 
of  Mrs.  Montague,  a  London  beauty, 
has   formulated   a   question   concerning 
Californian  appreciation  of  the  work  of 
one  of  America's  acclaimed  artists. 

It  was  natural  to  suppose 
that  one  could  say  just,  "An- 
3thcr  Sargent  is  here,"  and  let 
it  go  at  that.  Certainly,  with 
the  wealth  and  art  apprecia- 
tion centered  in  and  about 
San  Francisco,  it  would  be 
presuming  very  little  to  ex- 
pect one  crayon  drawing,  no 
matter  how  fine  an  example, 
to  make  a  very  small  splasii 
in  tile  pool  of  Sargent's  work 
that  might  have  preceded  it 
into  the  city. 

But  when  the  question 
came,  of  how  this  drawing 
ranks  with  the  Sargent's  al- 
ready here,  there  was  a  stut- 
tering and  stammering  and 
blank  expression.  Yes — er — 
but  what  Sargent's  are  there 
in   this  part  of   California? 

One  connoisseur  and  an- 
otncr  were  questioned.  One, 
a  director  of  a  public  gallery 
at  that  shook  his  head  and  said 
he  did  not  think  there  were 
any.  Another  mentioned  one 
— another  two — and  so  it 
went.  Books  were  consulted, 
biographies  and  sale  lists — 
still  information  was  meagre. 

Thus  it  appears  that  the 
addition  of  the  sketch  of  Mrs. 
Montague  to  Senator  Phelan's 
art  collection   is  an   event   which   calls 
atention  to  the  late  John  Singer  Sargent. 
Thus  we  turn  from  the  art  of  the  mo- 
ment to  that  of  one  whose  recognition 
abroad  has  done  so  mucli  for  the  status 
of  American  art. 

This  sketch  of  the  London  beauty, 
one  of  Sargent's  minor  works,  bears  the 
characteristic  dash  and  spirit  of  his  can- 
vases. In  it  one  finds  that  deft  surety 
which,  coupled  with  his  instinctive  re- 


finement and  controlled  sobrieti'  of  feel- 
ing, brought  Sargent  instant  and  lasting 
recognition  on  two  continents. 

The  sketch  has  the  verve  of  something 
dashed  off  carelessly;  but  one  finds  in  it 
an  awareness  of  subtle  racial  difi^erences 


Sargent's  fortiM  of  Mrs.  Montague, 
vou-  in  the  possession  of  James  D.  Phelaii 

that  marks  it  as  far  from  a  haphazard 
experiment.  It  is  as  though  Sargent  had 
pulled  aside  a  curtain  to  allow  us  an  in- 
timate glimpse  of  the  lady.  But  it  is  an 
intimacy  of  that  degree  and  qualitv  wliich 
passes  for  intimacy  in  polite  society  to- 
day. Here  is  no  unveiling,  no  naked 
trutli.  Sargent  was  too  much  tlu-  tactful 
gentleman  to  betray  the  lady  too  far.  His 
is  the  brilliant  epitome  rather  than  a 
profound  study. 


Senator  Phelan's  interest  in  Sargent 
is  not  a  recent  development.  Over  ten 
years  ago,  he  presented  "The  Mother," 
one  of  Sargent's  fascinating  water  colors, 
to  the  Bohemian  Club.  And  just  last 
summer,  when  he  was  in  London,  he 
purchased  an  oil  portrait  of 
an  Italian  youth. 
■%—^ 
'T~'HE  Bohemian  Club  water 
-^  color  is  a  lovely  thing,  il- 
lustrative of  the  way  Sargent 
created  a  new  and  distinct 
style  in  this  tricky  medium. 
In  it  he  conveyed  a  vivid  im- 
pression of  the  scene  before 
him  by  brilliant  touches  of 
color  and  strong  contrasts  of 
light  and  shade.  His  broad, 
vigorous  style,  despite  itssum- 
mariness,  gives  a  marvelous 
sense  of  actuality  in  "The 
Mother."  The  composition  is 
interesting  as  a  successful  ex- 
periment with  the  focus  of 
main  interest.  His  figures  of 
mother  and  child  are  far  to 
one  side,  hardly  in  the  picture 
at  all,  but  the  emphasis  is 
maintained  by  well  handled 
balance    and   rhythm. 

The  portrait  of  an  Italian 
youth  in  Senator  Phelan's  pri- 
^■ate  collection  was  originally 
bought  at  the  auction  of  Sar- 
gent's work  after  his  death. 
It  is  one  of  the  less  known 
portraits  but  is  a  good  ex- 
ample of  the  work  showing 
the  most  direct  Florentine  in- 
fluence. 

The  best  known  of  Sar- 
gent's paintings  in  this  region  are  "The 
Sketchers,"  owned  by  Mrs.  Harriet 
Schimmerhorn,  formerly  Mrs.  H.  P.  Car- 
olan;  and  "A  Trout  Stream  in  Tyrol," 
owned  by  Miss  Helen  Cowell.  These  are 
larger  canvases  and  are  counted  among 
Sargent's  more  serious  works. 

Among  others  of  Sargent's  works  in 
and  about  San  Francisco  are  the  portrait 
of  Mrs.  Douglas  Dick,  owned  by  John 

(Continued  to  Page  33) 


The    San    Franciscan 
[26] 


Titans 


The  Powers  That  Direct  the  Destiny  of  San  Francisco 
/  Herbert  Fleishhacker 

By  GoBLiND  Bkhari  Lal 


THE  genius  of  Order  is  incarnate 
in  Herbert  Fleishhacker. 
It  seems  that  his  face  reveals  his  gift 
of  putting  things  into  an  orderly  pattern. 
I  draw  your  attention  especially  to  his 
head.  And  now  obser\e  his  visceral  reser- 
voir, from  the  throat  to  the  thighs.  Here 
is  stored  up  a  titanic  dynamo,  the  batten,' 
of  action  that  is  released  at  the  bidding 
of  the  thought  started  in  that  impressive, 
dome-like  brain.  So,  I  should  generalize 
and  say  that  the  genius  of  Order  and 
action  combined  is  incarnated  in  Herbert 
Fleishhacker. 

For  once,  I  am  not  fooling  with  phren- 
ology. The  outward  impression  may  be 
but  an  accidental  circumstance.  But  it 
matches  remarkably  well  with  his  spirit. 
Mr.  Fleishhacker  has  his  throne-room  in 
San  Francisco  in  a  characteristic  office- 
room  in  the  Anglo  &  London  Paris  Na- 
tional Bank.  This  room,  like  its  master, 
has  an  exalted  ceiling  shaped  like  a  Bis- 
marckian  liead.  Built  of  deep  brown  and 
rich  wood,  it  is  yet  singularly  simple,  and 
apparently  constructed  for  undisturbed 
and  concentrated  and  quick  thinking, 
planning  things  out.  It  is  the  appropriate 
headquarters  of  a  generalissimo,  the  arch 
strategist  and  commander  of  big  busi- 
ness on  the  Pacific  coast. 

It  is  hardly  fair  to  employ  any  rubber- 
stamp  descriptions — Napoleonic  or  Mus- 
solinic — about  Fleishhacker.  For  he  is 
entirely  his  own  self,  and  a  representa- 
tive San  Franciscan.  In  word,  it  is  not  in 
Paris  or  Rome  or  London  that  a  man  of 
this  disposition  could  be  suitably  placed. 
Bonaparte  and  the  Duce  are  very  names 
of  some  gory  significance.  Herbert  Flei- 
shhacker, on  the  contrary,  is  saturated 
with  the  milk  of  humanity.  He  is  not, 
however,  a  sentimentalist.  What  he  is, 
is  this:  genuinely  democratic. 

How  varied  are  Herbert  Fleishhacker's 
civic  and  commercial  and  industrial  in- 
terests! Is  there  any  major  business  ac- 
complished in  San  Francisco,  and  its 
environs,  without  Mr.  Fleishhacker's  ad- 
vice,assistance  or  downriglit  direction?  ? 
It  seems,  not.  There  is  but  little  use  in 
attempting  to  list  even  the  major  mer- 


cantile and  banking  and  industrial  enter- 
prises that  he  commands.  His  brain  and 
sinew  gives  support  to  banks,  factories, 
shipping  and  lumber  firms,  and  charity 
organizations  without  end.  He  is,  in 
sooth,  one  of  the  few  men  in  San  Fran- 
cisco who  bring  order  out  of  chaos,  unit}' 
out  of  diversity,  in  the  seething  and  mul- 
titudinous life  of  California. 

Not  even  in  early  youth,  Herbert  Flei- 
shhacker mam'fested  any  lack  of  tile  in- 
stinct of  order.  He  had  faith  in  himself, 
from  tlie  beginning.  That  means  that  he 
had  an  excellent  perception,  an  eye,  for 
the  entire  Order  of  community  life,  and 
his  own  place  in  that  life.  He  had  in- 
stinctively sized  up  the  situation  around 
him  in  any  field  that  he  entered.  And, 
at  once  he  had  a  hunch  about  his  own 
especial  job  in  that  situation.  This  extra- 
ordinaiy  gift  of  perception  kept  up  his 
trust  in  himself.  He  needed  it,  too,  in  the 
earlier  stages  of  his  development. 


TT  is  just  fifty-five  years  since  Herbert 
-*-  Fleishhacker  was  born  in  San  Fran- 
cisco, the  younger  son  of  Aaron  and 
Delia  Sterm  Fleishhacker.  He  was  edu- 
cated at  a  grammar  school,  but  it  was 
on  leaving  the  class-rooms  that  his  real 
training  for  life  commenced — in  his 
father's  paper  box  factory. 

Herbert  Fleishhacker  was  between  14 
and  15  years,  when  he  got  a  job  in  the 
paper  factory,  and  he  toiled  like  any 
other  workman.  He  asked  for  no  sj^ecial 
consideration.  He  was  given  none.  He 
maiie  full  use  of  his  well  set  physique. 
It  built  him  compactly.  It  was  soon  after 
this  initiation  into  honest  labor  that  his 
father  died.  Now  he  had  to  assume  the 
responsibilities  of  the  family,  together 
with  his  elder  brother  Mortimer.  The 
two  brothers  became  the  masters  of  the 
paper  mill,  and  they  made  a  division  of 
labor  at  the  start.  Mortimer  Fleishhacker 
took  charge  of  the  industrial  manage- 
ment. And,  Herbert  took  the  open  road, 
and  he  started  to  bring  in  orders.  He  was 
a  Napoleonic  young  drummer.  His  ten- 


acity was  superb.  In  end,  he  brought  his 
game  down.  Was  the  prospective  cus- 
tomer altogether  too  uppish?  No  matter. 
Closed  doors  could  be  opened,  Herbert 
Fleishhacker  would  open  them,  sooner 
or  later.  Some  times  it  took  three  or  four 
years  to  land  an  order.  But,  he  landed 
it  nevertheless.  A  calm  resoluteness  was 
soon  supplemented  by  admirable  tact  and 
courtesy  and  courageous  humor.  The 
combination  is  irresistable,  when  it  serves 
as  a  gunpowder  to  the  shots  of  uncom- 
mon inherent  ability.  Herbert  Fleish- 
hacker is  reticent  about  most  of  the  epi- 
sodes of  those  early  days,  that  bring  out 
how  potent  a  salesman  he  was,  being  both 
a  diplomat  and  unremitting  hammerer. 
Under  the  able  internal  and  external 
strategy  of  Mortimer  and  Herbert  Flei- 
shhacker the  paper  and  paper-box  factory 
thrived  rapidly. 

Herbert  Fleishhacker  made  a  trip  to 
Oregon.  Here,  he  saw  something  new 
happening.  A  railroad  was  planning  to 
sell  some  of  its  land,  coxered  with  ex- 
cellent lumber.  Herbert  Fleishhacker  in- 
stantly swooped  down  upon  the  deal,  and 
like  an  eaglet  seized  it  on  the  most  advan- 
tageous terms.  The  transaction  brought 
to  him,  and  his  brother,  always  the  team 
companion,  a  net  profit  of  $300,000. 
This  stroke  increased  not  only  his  re- 
sources, but  also  his  skill  and  energy  and 
his  financial  perception.  From  now  on, 
he  rose,  meteor-like.  He  organized  a 
paper  mill  in  Oregon,  and  another  in 
California.  And,  then  he  saw  an  oppor- 
tunity to  develop  hydro-electric  power. 
It  was  a  tributary  of  the  Truckee  River, 
Nevada,  that  appeared  to  Herbert  and 
Mortimer  Fleishhacker  as  a  potential 
agency  for  the  dex'elopment  of  electrical 
energy.  They  put  this  through,  with 
promptness  and  skill.  A  little  later,  an 
electrical  company  was  started  in  San 
Francisco.  It  was  the  germ  of  the  Great 
Western  Power  Company,  and  the  Flei- 
shhacker brothers  headed  the  enterprise. 
Herbert  Fleishhacker  is  still  the  vice- 
president  of  the  company. 

(Continued  to  Page  30) 


The    San     Franciscan 
[27] 


Herbert  Fleishhacker 


Portrait  by  Bvye 


The    San    Franciscan 
[28] 


flattered   him   and  grouped  about  him. 

They  were  his  puppets  who  danced  about 

and  amused  him.  He  became  pale.  They 

cautioned  him  about  his  excesses.  He  was 

bored.  They  suggested  a  new  pleasure. 

He    was    extravagant.    They    hinted    at 

greater  extravagances.  Hisburden  weigh- 
to  o  o 

ed  heavily  upon  him.  His  costly  paintings 
were  as  nothing  to  him  who  had  loved 
beauty.  His  rare  books  remained  neg- 
lected while  he  poured  over  a  fat  his- 
tory of  crime.  At  a  symphony,  the  deep 
dissonances  mocked  him.  Music  was  a 
torture  to  him.  All  beauty  was  a  torture 
to  him.  His  whole  being  seemed  to  be  but 
two  wide  eyes  that  saw  a  withered,  tot- 
tering figure  walking  everlastingly  be- 
fore him.  He  grew  impatient  with  him- 
self. He  abused  himself.  He  hated  him- 
self because  he  could  not  forget  the  re- 
pulsive old  man.  And  he  became  paler. 

/^NE  afternoon  as  he  alighted  from 
^^his  carriage  he  noticed  a  young  man 
standing  near  his  house,  watching  him 
studiously.  There  was  something  in  the 
young  man's  attitude  that  arrested  his 
attention.  He  was  a  poorly  clad  figure 
but  his  grace  lent  a  dignity  even  to  his 
rags.  He  thought  of  his  own  youth  and 
beauty.  The  bystander  was  curiously 
like  himself  as  he  had  been  before  the 
fatal  journey.  He  sent  for  the  young 
man  who  came  toward  him  with  glad 
steps. 

He  spoke  to  the  young  man  about  the 
weather  and  inquired  about  his  health, 
watching  him  with  envious  eyes.  And 
the  young  man  answered  absent-mind- 
edly, admiring  iiis  costume,  his  carriage, 
his  wealth. 

'Poor?" 

"Very,"  the  young  man  laughed. 

This  chance  meeting  developed  into 
a  constant  companionship.  He  learned 
that  this  youth  was  filled  with  the  dizzy 
dreams  that  had  been  his  in  the  misty 
years  behind  him.  He  questioned  the 
young  man  about  his  dreams.  He  an- 
swered that  he  was  an  artist  but  that  he 
had  no  money  to  buy  oils,  he  had  scarcely 
enough  money  to  buy  bread.  He  did  not 
help  him.  The  artist  told  him  of  a  girl 
who  loved  him  but  he  had  no  money  to 
realize  their  love. 


The  Abyss 

(Continued  from  Page  12) 

He  found  a  certain  satisfaction  in 
watching  the  young  man  struggle.  This 
was  the  man  he  was  looking  for.  This 
man  was  the  man  who  would  understand. 
This  was  the  man  who  would  do  as  he 
had  done.  He  was  burning  to  question 
him  and  led  up  to  the  question  in  all  sorts 
of  devious  ways. 

"Which  do  you  think  the  greater  evil," 
he  asked  him  one  day,  "poverty  or  mur- 
der." 

The  artist  was  not  astonished.  "Pov- 
erty is  a  predicament,  while  murder  is 
a  crime.  They  are  both  vulgar  but  pov- 
erty we  may  blame  on  the  gods  and  mur- 
der we  must  blame  on  ourselves." 

"One  usually  leads  to  the  other,"  the 
older  man  suggested  slyly. 

"Only  among  beastly  people,"  the 
artist  answered  calmly. 

He  felt  sure  the  youth  was  insincere. 
He  was  certain  he  was  lying.  The  young 
man  envied  him.  He  loved  the  things 
that  only  wealth  could  buy.  Did  not  his 
eyes  wander  liungrily,  lingeringly  over 
the  luxuries  in  his  rooms?  There  was  no 
doubt  about  it.  He  would  do  it.  He  form- 
ulated a  daring  plan.  The  artist  wanted 
something.  He  would  give  him  the  op- 
portunity' to  get  it.  He  laughted  with  glee 
at  the  thought  of  his  plan.  He  was  sure 
of  his  estimate  of  the  man.  The  man 
hated  him.  He  was  glad  he  hated  him. 
He  had  set  out  deliberately  to  make  him- 
self hateful  to  the  young  man.  He  was 
convinced  the  young  man  would  do  it. 

So  one  dark  night  the  two  of  them  set 
out  on  the  same  torturous  path  of  black- 
ness that  he  had  traversed  a  good  many 
years  before.  He  played  the  old  man's 
role  this  time  and  the  young  man  fol- 
lowed him.  The  abyss  below  them  was 
great  and  bewildering.  They  went  on 
and  on,  the  young  man  whistling  behind 
him,  startling  the  silence  with  his  music. 

"He  is  beautiful,"  the  old  man  said, 
hating  him.  "He  is  young,  he  is  gay.  He 
will  do  it.  This  will  be  my  compensa- 
tion." He  thrilled  at  the  idea  of  com- 
pensation. 

The  path  became  more  precipitous 
with  each  step  and  there  was  no  moon  or 
stars  to  light  the  way.  The  silence  was 
black  and  heavy.  The  silence  was  smoth- 
ering. The  poet  refrained  from  whistl- 
ing. The  rocks  gaped  at  them  like  suspic- 
ious monsters.  Desolation  was  there. 


"Let  him  think,  let  him  think.  He 
hates  me,"  the  old  man  whispered  to  him- 
self as  he  walked  carefully.  The  artist 
followed  him  silently. 

The  minutes  passed  slowly  as  though 
loathe  to  depart  and  the  old  man's  ex- 
citement was  intensified.  "Will  you  car- 
ry this,"  he  said.  "It  seems  it  is  more 
dangerous  here.  Yes,  it  seems  so."  He 
gave  his  satchel  to  the  young  man  who 
took  it  and  said  not  a  word.  "In  it  is  all 
my  wealth,  all.  Be  careful  of  it  for  all 
of  my  wealth  is  in  it."  He  hesitated,  then 
added,    "All  in   cash." 

The  old  man  waited  for  the  crucial 
moment.  It  was  not  time  yet,  he  con- 
sidered. The  time  had  not  yet  come.  He 
was  prepared  to  die.  He  wished  to  die. 
He  longed  for  the  abyss.  Why  did  he  not 
do  it?  The  suspense  was  intolerable. 

"I  should  not  have  brought  my  wealth 
on  such  a  dangerous  path,"  he  com- 
plained, slyly.  And  the  young  man  said 
nothing. 

A  faint  pink  outlined  the  blackness  of 
the  rugged  mountains  beyond.  The  old 
man  did  not  perceive  it  immediately. 
Then  suddenly  he  whispered  to  himself 
frantically,  "What  is  that?  What  is  it? 
The  path  is  easier.  There  is  light.  "He 
addressed  the  artist,  "What  is  the  light? " 

"The  dawn,"  came  the  serene  answer. 

He  suffered  a  con\ulsion  of  despair. 
A  horrible  despair  came  with  the  realiza- 
tion that  the  artist  had  not  done  it,  that 
it  had  never  occurred  to  him  to  do  it.  He 
sensed  the  glad  step  of  the  youth  behind 
him.  His  mistake  was  ghastly. 

"The  dawn,"  he  cried  shrilly,  incred- 
ibly. "I  can't  believe  it.  Tiie  dawn?  No. 
I  deny  it." 

With  an  easy  movement  he  fell  from 
the  path  into  the  depths  below.  His  mis- 
ery was  drowned  in  the  blackness  and  his 
cries  were  lost  in  the  silence. 

•^— * 
'"pHE  old  man  had  not  taken  the  rigid 
■*-  precautions  of  his  predecessor.  The 
young  artist's  startled  innocence  was 
taken  for  a  badly  concealed  guilt  and  the 
Just  Men  condemned  liim  to  hang  by 
the  neck.  Some  little  time  after,  this  was 
done  and  his  body  hung  limp  from  the 
gallows  and  his  face  was  purple  and 
ugly;  his  tongue  fell  out  from  his  mouth 
and  there  was  no  remaining  trace  of  his 
beauty. 


The    San     Franciscan 


The  Shouting  Gallery 

(Continued  from  Page  17) 

the   speaker   and    his   cowering   listener 
were  in  tears. 

"I  can't  help  it,"  the  woman  sobbed 
nervously.  "He  says  he'll  divorce  me  if 
he  can't  have  one  room  in  the  house  that 
a  he-man  can  come  into  and  put  his  feet 
on  the  table  if  he  wants  to.  Nothing  ap- 
peals to  him!  I  tried  to  tell  him  last 
night  what  a  blow  it  had  been  to  both 
of  us  when  those  needlepoint  chairs  ar- 
rived damaged.  'If  they're  broken,  why 
don't  you  send  them  back  to  Needlepoint,' 
he  shouted,  and  stalked  out  of  the  room." 

"This  is  too  much,"  screamed  the  man 
hysterically.  "Please  take  your  order  else- 
where." He  staggered  to  his  feet,  turning 
his  back  on  his  distraught  patron. 

An  hour  later  he  rang  for  his  secre- 
tary. "Write  a  letter  to  that  awful  wo- 
man," he  commanded,  "saying  that  if 
she  thinks  there  is  still  a  chance  to  bring 
real  art  into  her  husband's  humdrum  life, 
I'll  reconsider  the  order." 

Absentmindedly  he  fell  to  computing 
prices  on  the  edge  of  a  hitherto  virginal 
blotter. 

•H— *■ 

Cash  Is  King! 

"Cut  out  the  crying  ,  kid,  what  I  want 
is  cash ! "  The  impresario's  voice  floated 
through  the  transom  between  his  inner 
office  and  the  reception  room. 

Artistic  temperament?  Applesauce! 
Emotional  fervor?  Press  agent  stuff! 
Inspired  ardor?  Nothing  but  nonsense! 

The  two,  apparently,  sat  across  a  table 
thrusting  papers  at  one  another.  Their 
voices  drifted  into  the  outer  room,  angry, 
strident,  bickering.  As  soon  as  word  was 
brought  of  the  presence  of  a  stranger, 
the  dialogue  took  on  a  diiferent  tone,  as 
if  the  speakers  were  subtly  conscious  of 
a  listener.  The  Public,  represented  in 
even  a  single  person. 

After  a  few  minutes'  further  wrang- 
ling, the  gentleman  madam  in  the  house 
of  the  muses  swaggered  forth  to  sec  and 
face  the  world.  But  none  of  wiles  of  the 
seducer  were  evident.  With  legs  swag- 
geringly  spread  apart,  arms  impudently 
akimbo,  tlic  impresario  was  ready  for 
action. 

"You  bet,  that  tenor's  the  boy  for  me. 
He's  the  only  one  of  all  the  lot  of  dagoes 
that  I'll  bring  out  every  year.  He  pulled 
this  season  out  of  the  fire  for  me.  I  don't 


bring  'em  year  after  year.  I  should  say 
not!  First  thing  you  know,  the  damn 
public  says,  'You  see,  he  gives  us  the  old 
stuff.'  And  then  the  beans  are  spilled.  No 
sirree!  I  hold  out  on  'em,  and  then  they 
go  crazy." 

The  greatest  press  agent  of  modern 
times  pokes  his  head  out  of  the  inner 
sanctum.  He  is  tousled,  emotional,  oily, 
but  he  is  a  genius. 

"Do  you  finish  our  talk,  or  do  you 
not?"  he  demands. 

"SiH'e,  I'm  coming,  but  keep  your 
shirt  on,  and  don't  shoot  a  lot  of  art  talk 
at  me.  I  told  you  before,  money  talks  to 
me,  and  nothing  else,  so  keep  your  cry- 
in«:  spells  for  the  dear  public — they  like 
it." 

"So  you  think  the  place  is  a  barn  for 
concerts.  All  right,  but  I've  got  to  get 
the  crowd  in  have'nt  I?  What  do  you 
and  the  rest  of  the  damn  crowd  know 
about  the  business.  It's  just  like  any  other 
business,  isn't  it?  You  bet  it  is!  I've  got 
art  to  sell,  and  if  I  don't  sell  it  big,  who's 
the  loser?  Your  Uncle  Dudley,  you  can 
bet  your  bottom  dollar." 

Once  fairly  launched,  the  monologue 
gives  promise  of  continuing  indefinately. 
He's  a  solo  artist  of  no  mean  ability  and 
endurance  himself,  the  impresario. 

"There's  only  one  advantage  to  the 
whole  game,"  he  comments,  "  and  as  far 
as  I'm  concerned,  it's  a  total  loss,  too.  I 
could  go  to  all  these  ritzy  concerts  free, 
but  damn  it,  I  don't  care  a  whoop  for  the 
whole  outfit!  The  wife  goes  regular. 
The  only  time  I  get  any  fun  out  of  it  is 
when  I  can  drag  one  singer  to  some  other 
guy's  show.  It's  a  picnic  to  watch  'em 
suifer." 

Once  again  the  inner  door  opens  to 
emit  the  further  tousled  and  indignant 
head  of  the  temperamental  press  agent. 

"I  can't  wait  any  longer,  that's  final," 
he  thunders.  "Either  you  come  back  now, 
or  I  tear  up  the  check  to  prevent  another 
crying  spell! " 

The  artificial  shrug  of  indifference 
doesn't  quite  serve  to  camouflage  the 
little,  acquisitive  light  in  the  eyes  of  the 
impresario.  "Alright,  alright,"  he  mut- 
ters, "but  this  is  the  first  time  it  ever  took 
me  more  than  fifteen  minutes  to  get  a 
fellow  to  sign  on  the  dotted  line."  Sigh- 
ingly he  turned  to  the  departing  guest. 
"At  that,  I  don't  know  how  some  of  us 
could  get  along  without  music!" 


Now  Through  to 

Tahoe 

t« convenient  Pullman  service  ^ 
every  evening  via  Overland  L 
Route,  Lake  Tahoe  Line  J 

A  swift,  comfortable  trip,  as- 
suring the  maximum  amount  of 
time  at  the  lake.  Every  vacation 
sport  is  there— Golf,  tennis, 
horse-back  riding,  hikes,  swim- 
ming, fishing,  dancing.  Steamer 
trips  around  the  lake,only$2.40. 

You  leave  San  Francisco  (Ferry) 
at  7  p.  m.,  Sacramento  at  10:55 
p.m.,  arriving  at  the  shore  of  the 
lake  in  time  for  breakfast  next 
morning.  Returning,  leave  Ta- 
hoe Station  9:30  p.  m.,  arriving 
San  Francisco  7:50  a.m. 

Day  service,  offering  an  interesting 
scenic  trip  up  the  Sierra,  leaves  San 
Francisco  at  7:40  a.  m.,  Sacramento 
10:45  a.  m.,  arriving  at  the  lake  for 
dinner,(5:30p.m.) 

Reduced  roundtrip  fares  ate  effec- 
tive throughout  the  summer.  Fot  ex- 
ample, only  $13.25  roundtrip 
from  San  Francisco, good  for  16  days. 
Ask  for  illustrated  booklet  about 
Tahoe  Lake  region ;  also  booklet 
"Low  Fares  for  Summer  Trips" 

Southern 
PaciMc 


F.  S.  McGINNIS 

Tass.  Traffic  Mgr 

San  Francisco 


The    San    Franciscan 
[30] 

Titans 

(Continued  from  Page  26) 

FACTORIES  and  fields  and  yards  are 
rjoverned  by  capital.  The  topnotch 
tliinii  to  do  was  to  become  a  strategist  of 
capital.  This  ambition  was  in  Herbert 
Fleishhacker's  blood  from  the  earliest 
youth.  And,  when  he  was  still  a  very 
^•ounn;  man  he  came  within  reach  of  the 
banking  business  on  a  metropolitan  scale. 
His  father-in-law,  Sigmund  Greene- 
baum,,  was  the  President  of  the  London 
I'aris  &  American  Bank,  and  he  invited 
Herbert  Fleishhacker  to  participate  in  his 
work.  That  was  in  1907. 

With  his  habitual  concentration,  Her- 
bert Fleishhacker  mastered  the  operations 
of  tlie  \arious  departments  in  a  relati\'ely 
sliort  time.  He  became  one  of  the  direct- 
ors of  the  bank,  and  virtually  its  manager. 
He  made  the  bank  a  national  institution. 
He  consolidated  it  with  the  Anglo  Cali- 
fornia Bank,  anil  the  combination  was 
named  the  Anglo  &  London  Paris  Na- 
tional Bank,  with  resources,  at  that  time, 
of  some  twenty-six  million  dollars.  A 
year  afterwards,  in  19 10,  Herbert  Flei- 
shhacker became  the  president  of  this 
giant  banking  corporation. 

The  master  of  innumerable  and  power- 
ful banks,  factories,  lumber  and  sugar 
cane  fields,  in  a  region  that  extends  from 
Utali  to  the  Philippines,  Herbert  Fleish- 
hacker can  yet  keep  his  mind  clear  and 
free  because  he  picks  out  most  able  cap- 
tains to  carry  out  his  general  command. 
He  trusts  his  assistants,  and  they  seldom 
belie  his  faith  in  them. 

Power  has  not  spoiled  him.  It  has  not 
turned  into  acid,  his  natural  and  vigorous 
humaneness.  Somehow,  he  remains  a  bit 
boyish,  and  companionable.  He  plays 
golf  with  expertness.  In  earlier  days,  he 
played  excellent  tennis  and  was  a  good 
horseman,  too.  He  has  traveled  in  Europ:-, 
but  his  nature  is  at  its  best  expression  in 
San  Francisco,  and  it  is  in  this  city  or  its 
charming  suburbs  that  he  seeks  his  re- 
creation. He  likes  Del  Monte,  as  a  para- 
disial spot  for  the  play  of  his  lighter 
moods. 


THE  SAN  FRANCISCO  BANK 

SAVINGS  COMMERCIAL 

INCORPORATED  FEBRUARY  10TH.   1868 

One  of  the  Oldest  Banks  in  California, 
the  Assets  of  which  have  never  been  increased 
by  mergers  or  consolidations  with  other  Banks 

MEMBER  ASSOCIATED  SAVINGS  BANKS  OF  SAN  FRANCISCO 

526  California  Street,  San  Francisco,  Cal. 

JUNE  30th,  1927 

Assets $113,925,831.54 

Capital,  Reserve  and  Contingent  Funds 4,700,000.00 

Employees'    Pension     Fund     over     $575,000.00, 

standing    on    Books    at  1.00 

MISSION  BRANCH Mission  and  21st  Streets 

PARK-PRESIDIO  BRANCH Clement  St.  and  7th  Ave. 

HAIGHT  STREET  BRANCH Haight  and  Belvedere  Streets 

WEST  PORTAL  BRANCH West  Portal  Ave.  and  Ulloa  St. 

Interest  paid  on  Deposits  at  the  rate  of 

FOUR  AND  ONE-QUARTER  (4^)  per  cent  per  annum, 

COMPUTED  MONTHLY  and  COMPOUNDED  QUARTERLY, 

AND  MAY  BE  WITHDRAWN  QUARTERLY 


SAIL  TO 
NEW  YORK 

SISTER  SHIPS 
SS  VENEZUELA 
SS  COLOMBIA 
SS  ECUADOR 

See  MEXICO,  CENTRAL  AMERICA,  PANAMA  CANAL 
and  GAY  HAVANA,  en  route 

Pd/iiiiriti  Mail  Liners  Arc  Spfcially  Built  for  Service  in  the  Tropics 

TWENTY-EIGHT  days  of  pure  del'ght  aboard  a  palatial  Panami  Mail  Liner  with 
seven  never-to-be-forgotten  visits  ashore  at  picturesque  and  historic  ports — Manzm- 
illo,  Mexico;   S:m  Jose  de  Guatemalai    La  Libertad,  Salvador;   Corinto,  Nicaragua. 
Two  days  in  the  Canal  Zone.  See  the  great  P.inama  Canal;   visit  Balboa,  Cristobal  and 
historic  old  Panama. 

Every  cabin  on  a  P-^nama  Mail  Liner  is  an  outside  one;  each  has  an  electric  fan, 
and  there  is  a  comfortable  lower  bed  for  every  passenger.  There  is  an  orche  tra  for 
dancing;  deck  games  and  sports  and  salt  water  swimming  tank.  The  Panama  Mail  is 
world-famous  for  Its  fond  and  service. 

Costs  Less  Than  ^9  a  Day 

The  cost  is  less  than  $g.oo  a  day  for  minimum  first  class  passage,  including  bed 
and  meals  on  steamer.  Go  East  by  Panama  Mail  and  return  by  rail  (or  the  reverse  routing 
for  $180)  for  as  little  as  $V')0-  (This  price  does  not  Include  berth  and  meals  on  trains.) 
Panama  Mail  liners  leave  San  Francisco,  Los  Angeles  and  New  York  approxiniUely  every 
21  days.  Next  sailings  from  San  Franclscr.:  SS  VENEZUELA  July  30;  SS  ECUADOR 
August  20.  From  New  York:  SS  COLOMHIA  August  13;  SS  VENEZUELA  Sept.  5. 
For  illustrated  booklets  and  further  details  ask  any  steatnship  or 
ticket  agent,  or  write  to 

PANAMA  MAIL  S.  S.  CO. 


548  S.  Si'RiNG  Street 
LOS  ANGELES 


2  Pine  Street 
S\N    FRANCISCO 


10  Hanover  Sqi'ARE 
NEW  YORK 


The    San    Franciscan 
[31] 


Edgar  Saltus 


(Continued  from  Page  14) 

narrative  of  the  well  known  initiates  that 
gossip  inflated  with  the  most  preposterous 
immortality. 

With  the  delicate  hand  of  his  artistry, 
Saltus  turns  the  forbidding  gargoyles  of 
esotoric  philosophies  into  exquisite  minia- 
tures of  unbelievable  beauty.  The  learned 
resent  such  magic  that  shames  their  pon- 
derous hands.  For  doom  is  written  by 
this  bright  pen  that  flashes  through  the 
cowls  of  their  conceit.  There  are  re- 
vealed the  shams  and  contradictions  of 
history,  so  jealously  worshipped  as  know- 
ledge by  those  who  are  called  wise  be- 
cause they  have  retentive  memories  or  a 
flair  for  forgotten  languages. 

The  ignorant  peer  with  myopic  eyes, 
and  whimper  of  shattered  idols.  Not  so, 
save  for  those  who  have  gaped  too  long 
at  the  polysyllabic  disguises  of  their  dei- 
ties. This  curious  pagan  tears  away  the 
trappings  of  verbiage,  and  whatever  is 
beautiful  is  gi^■en,  not  taken  away.  Per- 
haps it  would  be  better  if  the  majority 
of  people  could  continue  to  believe  in 
St.  Nicholas.  That  is  no  concern  of  the 
artist.  The  futility  of  sterile  creeds  urged 
him  to  exploration.  Voila — the  strings 
that  manipulate  the  marionettes  lie  ex- 
posed. Saltus  pierces  the  veils  of  false 
illusion  and  speaks  lightly  of  what  he 
finds,  to  hide  heart-break.  The  moron 
sees  only  a  smart-aleck  mouthing  epi- 
grams. The  savant  sees  a  zealous  paladin 
of  beauty  and  cringes.  Saltus  passes  on, 
unaware. 

'TpHE  artist's  personal  life  cannot  be  de- 
-*-  scribed  in  a  short  paper.  His  absent- 
minded  contacts  with  the  world  interest 
only  socialogists  and  enemies.  He  mar- 
ried, on  occasions.  Saltus  was  a  genius  of 
many  personal  idios)'ncrasies.  They  are 
all  taken  care  of  by  gossips.  Van  Vechten 
says  that  Saltus  is  the  only  author  he  ever 
saw  that  looked  like  one.  A  finely  shaped 
head  lit  by  great  slumberous  dark  eyes. 
Well  knit  body  and  something  of  a 
dandy.  Saltus  was  of  distinguished  line- 
age, enjoyed  a  cosmopolitan  education, 
and  inherited  enough  miuiey  to  live  com- 
fortably. 

A  catalogue  of  his  complete  works  is 
lengthy.  Novels,  essays,  liistories,  bio- 
graphies, books  of  philosophy  and  poetry. 
All  illuminated  by  his  peculiar  genius; 
all  strange  tapestries  woven  in  the  loom 
of  his  fantastic,  erotic  muse.  The  work- 
aday world  queerly  inhabited  with  angels, 


izeds,  dryads,  peris,  Roman  emperors, 
Russian  tsars,  and  the  gods  of  mythology. 
Through  them  all  a  whispered  presage 
of  his  tragedy.  Few  men  are  impervious 
to  the  lure  of  eudaemonism.  Gods  have 
fallen,  and  men  grew  wiser.  Man  sur- 
vived. The  artist  knew  that  well.  Age 
came  on.  Weariness  of  love  and  pilgrim- 
age in  the  high,  inaccessible  frontiers  of 
dream  broke  the  strong  spirit.  An  intel- 
lect that  had  played  with  the  godhead 
meekly  accepted  the  proflrered  melodious 
tautology  of  Theosophy.  Poe  died  from 
drugs  .  .  .  Lanier  from  the  white  plague 
.  .  .  Saltus  died  of  a  broken  heart.  It  was 
tlie  price  he  paid  for  revealing  the  secrets 

of  the  gods. 

■* — •'^ 

What  Price  Crowns 

(Continued  from  Page  2O 

ceremoniously  heaped  upon  the  ground. 
Attempts  to  reinstate  herself  failed;  Naz- 
imova  was  obdurate.  A  Princess  might 
be  a  Princess  in  her  native  land,  but  in 
a  studio,  she  should  learn  a  star  was  a 
star. 

Princess  Maria  ran  to  Miss  Davies 
in  a  flood  of  tears,  and  incoherently 
sobbed  out  the  fact  that  someone — she 
did  not  know  the  woman's  name — had 
stolen  her  dressing  room,  dumped  her 
precious  belongings  in  the  mud,  and  in- 
sulted her  when  she  tried  to  remonstrate. 

A  formidable  phalanx  of  studio  ofl^i- 
cials  was  summoned  which  advanced  to 
the  scene  of  battle  to  reconnoitre  and 
arbitrate.  The  situation  was  ticklish;  on 
the  one  side  the  royal  protege  of  a  star, 
on  the  other,  a  temperamental  star  draw- 
ing a  huge  salary. 

The  monetary  consideration  swayed 
the  decision! 

With  all  due  apologies,  the  Princess 
was  informed  by  the  urbane  oflncials, 
that  she  would  be  immediately  installed 
in  another  and  even  more  beautiful  dress- 
ing room. 

"But  I  don't  want  another  one,"  sob- 
bed the  fair  daughter  of  Spain,  "I  want 
that  one ! " 

Howe\er,  Nazimova  was  pugnacious- 
ly framed  in  the  doorway.  The  sight  of 
her  roused  the  ire  of  the  Princess. 

Hysterically  she  assailed  her  opponent 
verbally — the  ofl!icials  intervened  to  pre- 
vent a  physical  encounter,  as  Nazimova 
looked  rather  fit. 

"Just  you  w-wait,"  sobbed  the  Prin- 
cess, "Just  y-you  wait  and  s-see.  I'm  go- 
ing to  t-tell  the  King  of  Spain  on  you, 
you  see  if  I  don't!" 


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^    PALACE  HOTEL  BUILDING 
665  MiUUCET  ST.       DOUGLAS  JOO 
Jan  francisc» 


The    San    Franciscan 
[32} 

Boosters  Apologia 

(CcntinueJ  friim  Page  9) 

talk  to  their  editors  and  publishers  and 
to  rub  elbows  with  their  fellows.  What 
writers  missed  was  leisure  and  space  in 
which  thought  and  feeling  could  in- 
cubate, and  while  their  need  in  this  res- 
pect was  professional,  the  same  need  is 
personal  for  any  individual  of  whatever 
occupation  who  is  not  a  mere  surface- 
skimmer  or  excitement-eater. 

What  it  comes  to  is  that  the  city  organ- 
izes and  distributes,  fabricates  and  re- 
fines, but  it  does  not  produce.  It  does  not 
produce  the  essential  raw  materials.  What 
it  does  do  is  to  take  the  raw  materials 
and  make  something  of  them.  It  is  re- 
sponsible for  almost  everything  that  en- 
riches the  life  of  the  mind  and  the  spirit 
and  makes  existence  tolerable  for  in- 
telligent people.  The  city  is  particularly 
stimulating  and  enriching  for  the  young. 

It  will  always  draw  them. 

•)5— ^-^ 

ADMITTING  so  much  for  cities  in 
general,  another  question  arises:  how 
big  should  one's  city  be?  Here  I  reach 
my  point  at  last:  It  must,  if  we  are  to  get 
anything  of  its  full  value,  be  the  biggest 
city  anywhere  around.  It  must  be  the 
metropolis.  If  it  can  be  the  metropolis 
and  remain  small,  so  much  the  better. 
But  of  course  it  cannot.  We  are  entering 
an  age  of  super-organization,  whether 
we  like  it  or  not.  Our  cities  are  huge 
now  and  they  will  become  huger.  And 
while  we  are  about  it  we  had  much  better 
live  in  the  biggest,  which  is  to  say,  in  the 
metropolis. 

Here  is  a  heresy  that,  stated  baldly, 
will  invite  the  scorn  of  all  who  hate 
boosting,  who  hate  uncritical  worship 
of  bigness  and  numbers  for  their  own 
sake.  In  defending  it,  the  writer  might 
as  well  admit  that  he  is  not  unbiased.  He 
recently  found  himself,  much  to  his  sur- 
prise, on  the  staff  of  the  City's  advertis- 
ing and  promotion  bureau.  Tlie  associa- 
tion was  pleasant  and  the  salary  very 
convenient  indeed.  And  in  his  instinctixe, 
conscious  and  unconscious  process  of  mak- 
ing himself  as  happy  as  possible  in  the  job, 
he  evolved  the  thesis  here  set  forth. 

It  is,  briefly,  that  everything  amusing 
and  enriching  in  city  life  tends  to  desert 
the  smaller  for  the  larger  town.  My 
thinking  has  been  influenced  by  several 
visits  to  Boston  and  Philadelphia.  Large 
enough  to  exhibit  most  of  the  discomforts 
and  drawbacks  of  the  larger  city,  they 
are  decadent  towns,  increasingly  sterile 


as  to  all  the  arts  and  lacking  any  stimu- 
lating mental  milieu.  Boston  is  a  sad 
museum  of  \anished  glories.  It  has  not 
been  able  to  resist  the  tremendous  centri- 
petal pull  of  the  metropolis  on  the  Hud- 
son. Nor  will  San  Francisco  long  resist  if 
another  citv  on  the  Pacific  Coast  should 
surpass  it  in  size  and  economic  importance. 
The  metropolis,  we  can  take  it  f  orgranted 
in  this  day  of  centralization,  will  suck 
in  all  the  brightest  young  people,  all  the 
best  publishers  and  art  dealers,  all  the 
magazines,  all  the  keenest  minds  in  every 
field.  It  will  incubate  the  leaders  of  the 
next  generation,  as  all  the  promising 
youngsters  of  the  West  turn  toward  it 
in  their  search  for  companionship,  for 
stimulation,  for  wider  contacts,  for  en- 
couragement, for  a  market.  If  San  Fran- 
cisco has  something  unique  to  give,  it 
must  continue  to  be  the  metropolis,  and 
we  must  have  faith  that  the  city's  unique- 
ness is  sturdy  enough  and  winning  enough 
to  survive  numerical  growth. 


The  Bookstall 

(Continued  from  Page  24) 

On  Easy  Terms 

Back  of  Beyond.  A  novel  by  Stewart 
Edward  W^hite,  that  in  theme  is  notice- 
ably like  certain  novels  of  Rider  Hag- 
gard. A  story  of  hardships  and  thrills  in 
South  Africa  that,  in  spite  of  frequent 
mediocre  writing  and  a  trivial  plot,  re- 
veals the  spirit  of  Africa  and  relates  a 
fascinating  adventure. 

Back  0}  Beyond,  by  Stewart  Edward 
White;  Doubleday,  Page  &  Co.,  price 
$2.00. 

The  Question  books  still  go  strong. 
Series  Two  of  Ask  Me  Atiother,\s  equal- 
ly popular  (and  equally  unpopular)  with 
the  Wednesday  Sewing  Circles,  and  the 
Ore2;on  Aggies'  football  squad.  Ask  Me 
Too,  the  junior  question  book,  is  now 
more  than  a  success,  since  the  kids  have 
discovered  that  it  causes  more  havoc 
among  the  parents  and  teachers  than 
among  themselves. 

Ask  Me  Another,  Series  Two,  by 
Spafford  and  Esty;  price  $l.6o. 

Vanneck.  A  novel  containing  some 
good  but  tame  entertainment. The  author 
is  too  chatty  to  be  forceful  or  to  give  the 
necessary  punch  to  his  wit.  He  does  ha\e 
a  sense  of  humor,  and  his  novel  will 
likely  be  made  into  a  good  movie. 

Vanneck,  by  Robert  Grant;  E.  P. 
Button,  price  $2.50. 


Tunnicliffe 

Photographic  Portraits 

301    SHREVE   BUILDING 

POST  STREET  at  GRANT  AVENUE 

SAN  FRANCISCO 

DOUGLAS  2607 


OiTON 
kOTARBCLk 


arts 


DOuaLAS.4900 


BOOK  SHOP 

Large  and  Varied  Stock  oj 

NEW  BOOKS 

STANDARD  BOOKS 

CHILDREN'S  BOOKS 

CIRCULATING   LIBRARY 

MAIN  FLOOR 


HIGHEST  PRICE  PAID  for  modern 
first  editions,  art  books,  architecture,  fine 
bindings,  limited  editions.  Entire  libra- 
ries or  single  volumes.  Send  for  catalog. 
Satyr  Book  Shop,  1647  Hudson  Ave., 
Hollywood,  Cal. 


THE  LITER.VRV  CONNOISSEUR  is 

usually  looking  for  some  fine  book  or 

unusual   research    item.   He   is   a  steady 

customer  of  ours. 

Lord's  Bookshop 

755  So.  Olive  St.                      Los  Angeles 

•♦•«(= 


:i5f« 


Cafe 
.SMarquard 

San    F  r  a  >i  ci  s  c  o'' s 
S  7)1  a  r  t  c  s  t    C  a  f  e 


A  cafe  of  Continental  Eu- 
rope in  San  Francisco  .  .  . 
where  savory  food,  defer- 
ential service  and  charming 
decoration  make  of  lunch- 
eon, dinner  and  supper  a 
function 


Da7icing 


Revue 


CAFE 
MARQUARD 

GEARY  a,,,/  MASON 

TELKPHONE  PROSPECT  6  I 


•♦•«l= 


!«+► 


As  Seen  By  Her 

(Continued  from  Page  21 ) 

cialties  that  should  be  of  great  interest 
to  the  seeker  after  gifts.  Good  size  Jap- 
anese lacquer  trays,  bound  in  wicker, 
available  either  in  red  or  green,  with  a 
little  gold  crest  for  decoration,  may  be 
had  for  $3.50  and  $4.50.  They  would 
be  perfect  for  serving  anything  from  the 
late  lamented  cocktail  to  Junior's  ma- 
tutinal mush. 

'T''HE  theory  that  "he  who  would  search 
■^  for  pearls  must  dive  below"  is  im- 
mediately exploded  by  the  most  casual 
glance  at  the  jewelry  counter  at  Liebes'. 
Here  are  strings  upon  strings  of  vari- 
colored beads,  labelled  pearls,  and  spoken 
of  as  such  by  customer  and  salesgirl  alike. 
We  glanced  tlie  profusion  o\er,  and  ob- 
served the  multiple  shadings  of  pink, 
white,  delicate  blues  and  greens.  Verily, 
we  reflected,  these  are  pearls  of  doubt- 
ful parentage — nary  an  oyster  to  sponsor 
such  as  these,  but  nonetheless,  they  are  to 
had  for  a  mere  pittance,  anywhere  from 
•^3-95  '"  ^5-95i  ^^  'he  jewelry  counter! 
A  new  feature,  also  sponsored  by  the 
versatile  management  of  Liebes',  is  a 
special  counter  dedicated  to  the  purvey- 
ing of  Louis  Sherry's  famous  candies, 
put  up  in  the  well  known  lavendar  boxes, 
and  received  fresh  each  week.  These  de- 
lectable sweets  are  procurable  at  $2  the 
p;>und,  and  their  epicurean  qualities  are 
improved  upon  by  the  presiding,  per- 
oxided  attendant,  who  glibly  assures  all 
purchasers  that  they  are  expensive  because 
tiiey  are  imported  from  Paris!  To  her 
mind,  possibly,  New  York  is  too  domestic 
to  account  for  the  $2,  so  for  purposes  of 
sales  talk,  she  assumes  that  the  Paris 
branch  of  Sherry's  sends  candy  to  San 
Francisco,  although  the  New  York  es- 
tablishment supplies  the  rest  of  America. 

Page  Mister  Sargent 

(Cnntinued  ti-nni  I'.igc  2O 

Parrott;  a  portrait  drawing  of  Dennis 
0'Sulli\an,  owned  by  Mrs.  Oscar  Sutro; 
a  portrait  owned  by  William  Randolph 
Hearst;  drawings  owned  by  Mrs.  Tobin 
Clark;  and  a  painting,  owned  by  Mrs. 
W.  B.  Bourne. 

In  all,  some  seven  or  eight  examples 
besides  Mr.  Phelan's  purchases — repre- 
sentation indeed  of  the  work  of  the  artist 
who  has  epitomized  American  energ)' 
and  psychological  penetration  in  work 
accepted  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic. 


The    San    Franciscan 
[33] 

JOHAN 

Hagemeyer 


^ 

J^ 
^ 

^ 
S- 


c^' 


O' 


177  Post  Street 

Su!le404-i 


Telephone  Douglas  4751 


Flowers 


224  Grant  Avenue 

KEARNY  4975 


The    San    Franciscan 

[3+] 


To  ^advertisers 

In  reading  this  notice,  you 
are  one  of  many  —  of  the 
fortunate  many.  The  San 
Francisca7i  is  edited  espe- 
cially for  the  consumption 
of  the  socially  elect  —  the 
Reigning  Dynasty. 

T/icrcforc  .  .  .  these  adver- 
tisements conform  to  an 
aristocratic  point  of  view 
.  .  .  and  in  so  doing,  appeal 
to  good  taste  as  well  as  to 
good  sound  financial  hack- 
ing. 

If  your  product  is  superior, 
as  is  your  desire  in  literature 
— Run  Your  Copy  in 

The 
San  Franciscan 


The  Coast  Line 

(Cupyrighu-J) 

The  subject  of  "women"  is  a  common 
one  that  nexer  gets  common.  In  this  ex- 
ceedingly short  space  I  cannot  begin  to 
deal  fully  with  such  a  changeable  sub- 
ject. And  it  is  foolish  to  say:  "All  women 
are  so  and  so."  But  there  is  interest  in  the 
recent  Portland  mj'stery,  where  a  young 
wife  tried  to  kill  her  husband,  in  her 
jealousy  of  a  woman  that  he  had  never 
seen.  You  think  it  absurd:  .  .  .  Ah,  you 
don't  know  this  type  of  woman! 

I  recall  a  visit  to  a  house  on  Green 
Street.  Two  cats  were  lying  before  the 
large  front  window,  taking  a  sun-bath; 
an  Angora  in  the  North  corner  and  Miss 
Finch  in  the  South.  I  could  easily  dis- 
tinguish the  two  because  the  Angora  had 
a  mustache.  After  a  short  preliminary  in 
which    Miss   Finch   spoke   stealthily   of 
drama,  we  went  to  the  theatre.  Her  new 
dress  was  a  pretty  one,  but  man-like  I 
forgot  myself,   and   never  remarked  it. 
And    when    we    reached    the    theatre    I 
openly  stared  at  a  brunette  in  a  stunning 
costume.  Miss  Finch  ran  her  eye  over  this 
girl's  costume   from   head  to   foot,   and 
then  gave  a  contemptuous  sniff.  ...  It 
was  not  until  three  weeks  later  that  I  saw 
her  again,  after  she  had  phoned  me  and 
suggested  liaving  tea.  And  it  was  then  I 
saw,  that  she  had  finally  been  able  to  get 
a  costume  just  like  the  one  she  had  sniffed 
at.  But  when  I  failed  (again  man-like) 
to  enthuse,  she  immediately  accused  me 
of  knowing  that  brunette !  As  I  was  not 
her  husband,  murder  was  not  attempted. 
I  will  not  tr}'  here  to  isolate  her  specie, 
but  will  only  warn  the  male  readers  that 
she   is  descended   from   that  portion   of 
Eve   which   the  snake  bit.  She  may  be 
recognized  by  the  fact  that,  unlike  other 
cats,  she  is  usually  smooth-sha\x'n;   and 
for  her  tendency  to  carry  her  nose  in  the 
air.  She  is  frequently  seen  at  afternoon 
teas,  though  being  catlike,  she  is  oftener 
out  at  night.  She  has  been  discovered  in 
two  varieties:  the  parlor-cat  type,  which 
always  tells  in  a  loud   voice  about  her 
luimerous    accomplishments,     and     how 
man)-  times  she  has  been  to  Europe.  And 
the  alley-cat  t)-pe,  which  is  exceedingly 
plain,  and  always  talking  of  the  snob- 
bery of  fine  things  and  the  good  taste  of 
simplicity.  Of  the  two,  the  latter  type  is 
the  worse.  ]5ut  because  of  the  ignorance 
of  our  law  makers,  we  dare  not  set  out 
poison  for  either  kind. — William  Ahlr- 
fcld  FLimigan. 


-GERJE* 


Smart 
Hats 

From 

Rue  Royale 

and 

Fifth  Avenue 


540  Sutter  Street 
San  Francisco 


Houston,  Gilmore  &  Co 


SAN   FRANCISCO 

Established  1913 


POST      AND       STOCKTON      STREETS 


.JriSr'^aSi^l'^ 


y. 


THE 


^N  rRANCISEAN 


eptembcr  \^zy 


'^^^       ^jccnt/"* 


GIUORI 


EVEDY  -/KIN  LOOK/  BETTED 

V/ITH   THE    riNE/T   EILM 

OE    POWDED    OVER     IT  . 

AND   EVERY  HAT  1/  MORE 

BECOMING  IE  THAT  POV/ 

DER    HA/  A  RICH  AND 

WARM    COLOR  .  EOR 

THE/E    RE  A/ON/ 

WE  RECOMMEND 

//LA  poudre;/' 

//  C'E^T^' 
//  MOI  '■ 


II 


HOTEL 

MARK 

HOPKINS 

SAN  FRANCISCO 
atop  nob  hill 


Easy  to  reach  * 
A  place  to  meet 
your  friends  <  to 
rest  ^  to  dine  < 
to  dance. 


PENINSULA 

REAL  ESTATE 

Finest  selection  of  homes,  homesites,  acreage,  industrial  sites  and  business 
income  properties  on  the  San  Francisco  Peninsula  at  the  right  prices. 

If  looking  for  a  home  or  homesite  in  a  highly  restricted  and  improved 
section  we  suggest  that  you  call  and  inspect  Atherton  Acres,  a  portion  of  the 
Selby  Tract  at  Atherton.  Improvements  now  being  completed  and  a  number 
of  beautiful  homes  under  construction,  to  be  sold  on  easy  terms. 

If  looking  for  a  highly  restricted  and  improved  homesite  in  the  Wood- 
side  district  we  suggest  that  you  investigate  the  Woodside  Heights  Tract, 
located  on  the  Woodside  Boulevard,  opposite  Menlo  Country  Club,  a  beauti- 
fully rolling  foothill  tract  of  land  subdivided  into  i  and  5  acre  homesites, 
where  you  can  have  a  home  built  to  suit  on  terms  like  rent. 

MARK    A.   McCANN 

26  MONTGOMERY  ST.,  SAN  FRANCISCO 

or  any  of  our  Peninsula  offices 


GRANT  BUILDING 

SEVENTH  and  MARKET  STREETS 

A  Class  "A"  O^c^  Building  with  very  desirable 

Offices  to  rent. 

This  Building  affords  you  a  most  pleasant  office 
at  a  reasonable  rate. 

R.  D.  McELROY  AGENT 
607  PHELAN  BLDG.  —or—  420  GRANT  BLDG. 


TVn 


San  Francisco  Opera  Association 

Season  of  1927 

September  1 5  to  October  i 

Civic  Auditorium 

Thursday  Evening,  September  i  5 
Manon  Lescaut  {Puccini) 

Peralta,  Scotti,  Martinelli,  D'Angelo, 
Bada,  Oliviero. 
Friday  Evening,  September  16 
Tristan  und  Isolde  {Wagner) 

Alsen,    Meisle,    Laubenthal,    Amato, 
Pinza,    Defrere,    Oliviero,    D'Angelo, 
Bada. 
Saturday  Evening,  September  17 
La  Tosca  {Puccini) 

Roselle,    Chamlee,    Scotti,    D'Angelo, 
Bada,  Oliviero. 
Monday  Evening,  September  19 
Turandot  {Puccini) 

Roselle,    Donnelly,    Tokatyan,    Picco, 
Bada,  Oliviero,  Sperry. 
Tuesday  Evening,  September  20 
Romeo  et  Juliette  {Gounod) 

Macbeth,  Chamlee,  Picco,  Bada,  Pinza, 
D'Angelo,  Defrere,  Sperry. 
Thursday  Evening,  September  22 
//  Trovatore  {Verdi) 

Peralta,  Meisle,  Martinelli,   Picco, 
D'Angelo. 
Saturday  Evening,  September  24 
Cavalleria  Ruslicana  {Mascagni)  and 
I  Pagliacci  {Leoncavallo) 

Peralta,  Mario,  Chamlee,  Roselle,  Mar- 
tinelli, Amato,  Bada,  Oliviero,  Picco, 
Defrere. 
Tuesday  Evening,  September  27 
Fal staff  {Verdi) 

Scotti,  Tibbett,  Tokatyan,  Bada,  Oli- 
viero,   D'Angelo,    Peralta,    Donnelly, 
Bourskaya,  Mario. 
Wednesday  Evening,  September  28 
Aida  {Verdi) 

Roselle,  Bourskaya,  Martinello,  Amato, 
Pinza,  D'Angelo. 
Thursday  Evening,  September  29 
La  Cena  Delle  Beffe  {Giordano) 

Tokatyan,    Tibbett,    Bada,    D'Angelo, 


Picco,  Oliviero,  Sperry,  Peralta,  Don- 
nelly, Mario. 

Friday  Evening,  September  30 
La  Boheme  {Puccini) 

Macbeth,    Seymour,    Chamlee,    Picco, 
Defrere,  Pinza,  Oliviero. 

Saturday  Evening,  October  i 
Carinen  {Bizet) 

Bourskaya,  Donnelly,  Martinelli,  De- 
frere, Oliviero,  Bada. 

The  Theatre 

The  Alcazar:  The  Alarm  Clock.  A  typical 

Duffy  production  of  an  amusing  comedy, 

with  Marion  Lord. 
Capitol:  Abie's  Irish  Rose.  Pretty  old,  but 

it's  still  alive  and  kicking. 
The  Curran:  Dark  at  the  moment. 
Columbia:  Dark  too. 
The  Lurie:  /  Love  You.  One  of  the  boys 

putting  on  a  Cupid.  We  recommend  it. 
President:  Tzvo  Girls  Wanted.  Lots  of  fun, 

with  our  own  Peggy  Thomson  responsible 

for  most  of  it. 
Orpheum:  Vaudeville.  Beatrice  Lillie,  the 

headliner. 

Movies 

California:  Camille.  The  healthiest  Ca- 
mille  we've  seen  for  years. 

St.  Francis:  Beau  Geste.  A  marvelous  pic- 
ture about  three  brothers  who  just  dote 
on  each  other. 

Warfield:  First  run  pictures,  changed 
weekly;  Fanchon  and  Marco's  Ideas,  with 
Walt  Roesner. 

Granada:  One  week  runs  of  the  latest  pic- 
tures, served  with  good  musical  enter- 
tainment, before  and  after. 

Art 

BiCAUx  Arts  Galerie:  Group  show  by  all 
artists  members  of  the  Beaux  Art  Club. 

California  Palace  of  the  Legion  of 
Honor:  Textiles,  costumes  and  other  art 
objects  from  the  collections  of  the  late 
Mrs.  Phoebe  .Apperson  Hearst.  Archer  M. 
Huntington  collection  of  period  French 
furniture.  Albert  M.  Bender  collection  of 
Chinese  and  Korean  art  objects. 

California  School  of  Fine  Arts:  Selec- 
tion of  fac-simile  reproductions  of  works 
of  early  and  modern  European  masters. 
Also  reproductions  of  Japanese  prints  and 
textile  designs. 

De  Young  Memorial  Museu.m:  Paintings 
and  statuary  by  American  and  European 
artists. 


East- West  Gallery  of  Fine  Arts:  Wom- 
en's Building.  New  Gallery.  Exhibitions 
of  the  works  of  contemporary  American 
and  European  artists. 

Modern  Gallery:  Informal  exhibition  of 
paintings  and  draw'ings.  Fall  season  opens 
September  5  . 

Telegraph  Hill  Tavern:  Monotypes  by 
Edith  Stellman ;  wood  blocks  and  lino- 
leum blocks  by  Carl  Sawvelle. 

Vicker,  Atkins  &  Torrey:  September  12 
to  24;  Twelfth  annual  exhibition  of  the 
California  Society  of  Etchers. 

Worden  Gallery:  Paintings  by  California 
artists. 

Dinitig  and  Dancing 

The   Saint  Francis:  The  Garden   Room. 

The  Reigning  Dynasty  before  your  very 

eyes. 
The  Mark  Hopkins:  The  smart  place  to  be 

seen    for   dinner   and   supper   and   the 

"last  word  "  in  dance  music. 
Taits-at-the-Beach:  On  Sloat  Boulevard. 

San  Francisco's  restaurant  with  a  per- 
sonality and  a  view  of  the  ocean. 
Cafe  Marquard:  Geary  and  Mason.  Con- 
tinental Europe  knocking  at  the  door! 
La  Casa  Bigin:  441  Stockton.  Where  artists, 

would-be  and  real,  talk  about  themselves. 
The  Aladdin  Studio:  363  Sutter.  At  your 

own  risk. 
Clift  Roof-Lounce:  Geary  at  Taylor.  For 

those  who  crave  refinement. 
Cabiria:  530  Broadway.  Atmosphere  in  the 

Italian  Quarter.  Informal  and  inexpensive. 
New  Shanghai  Cafe:  332  Grant  Avenue. 

Oriental  food  and  Oriental  surroundings. 

Worth  seeing  what  it's  all  about. 
Francis  Tea  Room:  315  Sutter.  Bear  this 

in  mind  if  you  want  good  food.  Sundays 

too!  Just  opened. 
Martha  Jean's:  270  Sutter  and  340  Mason. 

One   is  as  good  as  the  other — and   that 

means  GOOD! 
Temple  Bar  Tea  Room:  No.   i  Tillman 

Place.   The   "grande   dame"   of  the   tea 

rooms. 
La  Casa  Alta:  442  Post.  You'llbesurprised! 

— and  we  won't  tell  what  it  is. 


TIL 


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THE 


SAN.rR4W 


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Joseph  Dver,  EJitor  jnJ  Tublisher 

Contributing  Editors 

Charles  Caldwell  Dobie        Mollie  Merrick 
A\n  A  Dav  Hi-BBARD  Idwal  Jones 

UiLLiAM  A.  Flanagan  George  Dolglas 

RoWENA  M.A50N  ElVA  WlLLlAMS 


lot.    I 


No.  S 


Contents 

Print-r  William  of  SvcfJea,  Photograph  -  -  S 
All  the  S'fiis    That's  Fit  to  Print,  By  Joseph 

llfnjfrson  ---------_.  9 

Sov:  It  Can  Bf  Told .     .  JQ 

Rfverif  In  A  Dungfon,  By  Robert  J.  Taster     -  12 

Gathered  Flight,  By  Mary  Aris  Blayker  -  -  /.' 
From    Telegraph  Hill,  Etching  6y  Blanding 

Sloan      --------..      ../j' 

Vincent  O'Sullivan.  By  Carey  McH'illiams  -  U 
The  Digger  Indian  Comes  Into  His  Ov:n, 

By  Dr.  Phyllis  Acierman     ------  /5 

A   Questionnaire — Strictly  Local     -     -     -     -     -  16 

Ok.  Listen  to  the  Opera,  Dratcings  by 

Sotomayor    -----------  J~ 

Mrs.  Jay  Gould,  Camera  Study  by  .llberl 

Petersen --      .     -     .  JS 

The  Reigning  Dynasty     --------  yp 

As   Seen   By  Her     --------...'() 

San  Francisco  Predicts  .In  .Lrl,  Photograph     -  21 

The  Season's  Opera,  By  Vfington  Valentine     -  22 

Highlights  of  the  Opera  Season,  Photographs  -  23 

Dido  and  .leneas.  By  .Intonia  Pia     -     -     -     -  24 

The  Bookstall,  By  H-illiam  Ahlefeld  Flanagan  25 

Titans— Robert  Dollar.  By  Gobind  Behari  Lai  26 


/' 


7] 


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y, 


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\^4 


The  San  Franciscan  is  published  monthly  by  The  San  Franciscan  Publishing  Company,  Sharon 

Building,  San  Francisco,  California,  telephone  Douglas  j6io.  Subscription  price,  one  year  $1.50. 

Single  Copies  15c.  Copyrighted  1917  by  the  San  Franciscan  Publishing  Company. 


JS-':-.--  _ 


.  t^V>.^# 


Prince  William  of  Sweden 

A  visitor  to  San  Francisco  this  Fall,  Prince  William  of  Sweden,  the  second  son  of  King  Gustaf  the  Fifth,  is  an  in- 
ternationally famous  big  game  hunter,  a  \vriter  of  exploration  books,  novels,  poems  and  plays,  and  a  contributor  to  leading 

Swedish  and  American  magazines. 


J 


THE 


SAN  TRANCISCAN 


All  the  News  That's  Fit  to  Print 

By  Joseph  Henderson 

"PEACHES  LINDBERGH  FIRES  THIRD  TERM  BARRAGE  AS  AIMEE  MUSSOLINI  OBTAINS  DIVORCE  FROM 
NICARAGUAN  MOVIE  STAR  AFTER  MIDNIGHT  BRAWL  IN  QUEEN  MARIE'S  BATHTUB   .  .  .  ," 


DELIRIOUS  nights  in  which  ghost- 
like Tribunes,  Chronicles,  Jour- 
nals, Bulletins  and  Graphics  shout- 
ed strange  mystic  curses  at  me.  I  reached 
a  crisis.  A  tree  badly  shaken  by  an  earth- 
quake either  dies  or  acclimates  itself  to  its 
new  and  unchosen  position.  I  did  not  die. 
One  day  I  read  with  new  understanding 
that  splendid  phrase  which  has  made  the 
New  York  Times  almost  as  famous  as 
Lucky  Strikes  and  which  I  had  hitherto 
regarded  as  the  most  established  fact  in 
the  world  outside  the  Parthenon  and 
right-handed  traffic.  "All  the  News 
that's  Fit  to  Print."  Just  as  certain 
analytical  doctors  are  said  to  discover  the 
causes  for  grave  sexual  abberations  by 
carefully  pondering  such  statements  of 
their  patients  as,  "My  father  likes  string 
beans,"  I  began  to  have  profound  intro- 
spective visions  of  my  malady  by  studying 
the  Times'  shigan.  At  length  I  reached 
the  conclusion  that  it  wasn't  NEWS 
anyway  and  whether  it  was  fit  to  print 
made  no  difference  since  it  will  endlessly 
continue  to  be  printed.  From  then  on  my 
cure  was  easy.  I  read  the  newspapers 
more  than  ever  but  regarded  the  NEWS 
as  the  grossest  unreality — complete  fic- 
tion. I  learned,  as  novelists  are  supposed 
to  do,  that  to  murder  your  husband  with 
a  window  sash  and  not  die  for  it,  to 
marry  an  English  nobleman  i  f  you  were 


born  in  Fort  Wayne,  to  fly  over  the 
Atlantic  Ocean,  and  to  spend  your  vaca- 
tion in  South  Dakota  are,  as  events, 
"invraisemblables."  But  they  may  be 
wonderful  fantasy. 

•* — fr 
A  PRINTED  page  of  articles  on  the 
Soviet  Government,  the  heat  wave 
in  New  England,  a  Rotary  Club  conven- 
tion in  Vladivostok,  and  pictures  of 
Helen  Wills,  Brancusi's  "Bird  in 
Flight,"  and  Rudolph  Valentino's  ghost 
produces  the  same  sense  of  fantastic  un- 
reality one  feels  before  certain  skyscrap- 
ers whose  ground  floors  glistening  with 
cigar  stores,  plate  glass  and  white  tiling 
support  the  Gothic  spires  of  a  medieval 
church  or  the  turrets  of  a  French  Renais- 
sance chateau. 

When  the  Dadaists  began  work  in 
France  everybody  pretended  not  to  un- 
derstand them  whereas  they  were  only 
doing  self-consciously  in,  a  few  isolated 
p  )ems  and  ess;iys,  what  the  American 
press  does  every  day  unconsciously  and 
voluminoush'.  Should  one  say  that  the 
newspapers  arc  natural  Dadaists  or  that 
the  Dadaists  were  only  aesthetic  news- 
paper reporters? 

But  if  the  newspapers  have  anything 
in  common  with  Dadaism  they  are  also 
profoundly  comic.  A  noted  philanthro- 
pist dies  in  a  headline  under  which  Pres- 


ident Coolidge  makes  a  speech,  Yale 
wins  a  football  game  and  Paris  decrees 
shorter  skirts.  Examining  the  items  sep- 
arately I  suppose  they  seem  to  correspond 
soberly  enough  to  the  reality  they  reflect, 
but  let  your  eyes  wander  loosely  from 
one  to  the  other  and  see  if  you  are  not 
inwardly  consumed  with  laughter  at 
their  miraculous  incongruity.  The  comic 
effect  comes  from  a  certain  over- 
abundance of  real  but  unrelated  facts  of 
widely-varying  importance,  on  all  of 
which  is  placed  the  same  impartial  em- 
phasis. It  is  the  secret  of  all  American 
comedy.  Buster  Keaton  receives  a  kiss 
from  his  girl  or  a  blow  from  his  enemy 
with  the  same  impassive  gravity.  Fanny 
Brice  as  Camille  lies  dying  in  her  lover's 
arms.  In  a  voice  quivering  with  emotion 
and  a  Jewish  accent  she  says,  "I've  been 
a  bad  woman,  Armand,  but  awfully 
good  company."  In  John  Howard  Law- 
son's  "Processional"  one  part  of  the  stage 
is  occupied  with  the  action  of  a  murder, 
a  rape,  and  a  man  hunt  while  near  the 
footlights  a  silk-hatted  politician  says, 
"Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  I  have  the  pleas- 
ure to  announce  that  today  is  Mother's 
Day." 

But  fantasy  and  comedy  are  not  the 
real  gifts  of  the  newspaper.  The  Four 
Marx    Brothers,    Chicago   and    Market 

(Continued  to  Page  29) 


The    San    Franciscan 
[10] 


Now  It  Can  Be  Told 


'T~'HE  recent  eruption  of  bathing  beau- 
-*■  ties,  displayed  in  all  its  virulence  re- 
cently in  the  lobby  of  one  of  our  down- 
town hotels,  has  shed  some  vari-colored 
sidelights  which  may  interest  our  hordes 
of  readers  even  more  than  the  snappy 
bathing  suits  and  glossy  ringlets  of  the 
candidates    for    the    accolade    of    Miss 


-.^^^ 


California. 

The  following  simple  enumeration  of 
a  few  tidbits  will  serve: 

1.  The  plaint  on  the  part  of  the  official 
hostess  to  the  visiting  group  anent  the 
reluctance  of  the  candidates  to  conform 
to  urban  standards.  "They  have  to  be 
lassoed  and  tied  to  make  'em  put  on  shoes 
and  stockings  and  take  a  bath  even  every 
other  day,"  she  fondly  reminisces. 

2.  The  official  chaperones  proved  so 
sprightly,  jovial  and  youthful  in  spirit 
that  they  were  often  mistaken  for  the 
infant  beauties,  thereby  causing  embar- 
rassment to  both  groups  and  annoyance 
to  one. 

3.  International  tolerance  and  appre- 
ciation were  fostered  through  a  visit  paid 
to  the  Japanese  war  vessels  in  our  harbor 
by  a  specially  conducted  horde  of  these 
professional  fair  ones.  After  the  first 
shock  of  mutual  surprise  on  the  part  of 
our  samurai  guests  as  well  as  on  the  part 
of  Miss  Walnut  Creek  and  her  girl 
friends,  undying  amity  was  entluisias- 
tically  pledged. 

VITTE  are  well  aware  that  a  man  who 
"^  presses  an  electric  light  button  is 
obeying  a  time-honored  Biblical  injunc- 
tion which  commands,  "Let  there  be 
light."  But  we  do  feel  that  whoever 
turns  on  the  hectic  red  and  yellow  illum- 
ination on  the  facade  of  the  City  Hall 
on  state  and  stated  occasions  is  carrjing 
a  good  thing  too  far. 

Maybe  it's  art,  and  it  is  just  conceiv- 
able that  we  don't  appreciate  it,  but  it 
looks  to  us  like  an  old-fashioned  drug 
store  window  gone  crazy.  The  color 
scheme  might  possibly  be  appropriate  for 
the  decoration  of  some  Fascist  headquar- 
ters. The  effect  is  undoubtedly  late  Ital- 


ian, reminiscent  rather  of  Neopolitan  ice 
cream.  We  venture  to  suggest  that  in  San 
Francisco  is  lacks  appropriateness,  to  say 
nothing  of  beauty. 

YVTE  have  met  Nell,  the  mountaineer's 
'^  daughter!  You  know  her,  the  girl 
who  was  never  done  right  by  in  the  good 
old  sawmill,  thundering  locomotive,  two 
gun  mellerdramer  days. 

Not  long  since,  wearied  in  body  and 
mind,  we  sought  the  higher  levels  of  the 
G;reat  open  spaces  for  a  brief  respite  from 
the  ceaseless  clatter  of  our  installment 
plan  typewriter.  Somewhere  in  God's 
great  garden  we  stopped  our  powerful 
motor  and  stretched  our  plus-fours  in 
front  of  a  little  log  cabin. 

Our  musings  on  the  hardships  of  rig- 
orous pioneer  life  were  interrupted  by 
the  appearance  of  a  girl  who  obviously 
was  a  resident  of  the  above-mentioned 
cabin.  We  turned  our  effetely  pitj'ing 
gaze  on  this  little,  timid  mountain  rose, 
but  we  stayed  to  stare. 

Her  skirts  were  short,  her  stockings 
silk,  her  satin  slippers  high-heeled.  Hair 
bobbed  in  ultra  modern  fashion,  the  em- 
phasis of  rouge  pot  and  eyebrow  pencil 
definite,  our  Nell  took  her  stance  in  no 
uncertain  manner.  She  knew  her  stuff, 
we  were  satisfied  at  a  glance  that  ever\'- 
one  would  do  right  by  her  in  these  so- 
phisticated days. 

The  simple,  streamline  calico,  the  hats 
made  by  loving  hands  at  home  are  all 
things  of  the  past.  Nell  keeps  abreast  of 
the  times,  and  she  knows  she  has  the  right 
information.  And  what  helps  her  get  it? 
Knowledge   comes   imdulating    throusjh 


buffetings  and  surgings  of  the  mountain 
roads,  but  soon  that  obstacle,  too,  will  be 
surmounted.  Surely  Lindbergh  has  not 

braved  the  elements  in  vain! 

-^> — '^ 


the  receiving  set,  cr}'stal  clear,  up-to-date 
amorous  technique  pulls  up  in  a  flivver, 
and  romance  is  cranked  out  nightly,  ten 
reels  at  a  time,  only  twenty  miles  away. 
The  only  thing  that  Nell  and  her  swain 
perchance  sacrifice  is  the  accepted  trade- 
mark of  the  wages  of  gin  —  the  hip 
flask!    No  pocket  could  withstand  the 


TT  has  come  to  our  somewhat  protuber- 

ant  ears  that  a  large  number  of  our 

sturdv   yeomanry   were   startled    out   of 


their  customary  calm  on  several  evenings 
not  long  since  on  observing  a  strange 
phenomenon  taking  place  in  the  square 
in  the  Civic  Center.  True  it  is,  in  fact, 
Scripture  hath  it,  that  a  good  woman  is 
more  precious  than  rubies,  but  then,  that 
was  when  women  were  more  plentiful 
and  gems  cheaper.  On  the  other  hand, 
silence  is  golden,  and  in  face  of  these 
conflicting  axioms  our  citizenry  were  not 
a  little  alarmed  at  the  spectacle  of  ap- 
parently good  women  composing,  of  all 
things,  a  female  drum  corps,  and  rat- 
tatting  their  iniquity  at  ten  o'clock  at 
night  before  the  grim  fronts  of  dignified 
buildings. 

It  was  an  entirely  feminine  fracas, 
and  the  reason  for  it  seems  shrouded  in 
mj'stery.  Why  one  woman,  let  alone 
twenty,  should  get  any  thrill  out  of  per- 
forming elaborate  operations  on  a  drum 
seems  inexplicable. 

The  exhibition  lasted  for  some  time 
— the  lady  virtuoso  always  stern-visaged, 
strictly  military  in  manner,  steadily 
marching  first  hither  and  yon,  and  then, 
turning  on  their  ground-gripper  heels, 
seemingly  just  to  carry  on  pro  and  con. 

It  w.as  impossible  to  discover  what  it 
was  all  about,  but  God  pity  their  poor 
husbands  on  a  night  like  this! 

'T'HE  unutterably  sad  plight  of  a  small 
class  of  men,  who  might  well  be  re- 
ferred to  as  one  of  the  world's  most  piti- 
ful cases,  struck  home  with  special  inten- 
sity, for  absolutely  no  reason  at  all,  the 
other  evening. 

We  number  on  our  ever-growing  list 
of  subscribers  many  music  lovers,  many 
patrons  of  the  arts,  but  what  one  among 


them  has  ever  paused  to  consider  the  pa- 
tient beater  of  the  kettledrum,  the  ath- 
letic striker  of  the  cymbal,  and  the  agile 
wielder  of  tambourine,  castanet,  and  tri- 
angle in  the  complex  organization  of  an 
orchestra  of  any  size  at  all? 

Our  critics  write  of  the  tone  of  the 
stringed  instruments,  the  power  of  the 
brasses,  and  the  sweetness  of  the  wood- 
winds, but  who  thinks  of  the  fellow  who 
stands  for  twenty  minutes  with  upraised 
drumstick,  feverishly  following  the 
score,  so  that  he  may  hit  home  at  just 
the  right  moment? 

It  is  well  for  us  to  pause  and  think  on 
the  importance  of  these  neglected  func- 
tions. Suppose  the  high-priced  flutist  were 
drowned  out  by  the  thunder  of  the  kettle- 
drum, or  the  nervous  violinist  were  dis- 
concerted by  premature  cymbalism !  We 
wish  to  raise  our  deepening  voice  in  pro- 
test, and  champion  the  neglected  rear 
row  in  the  orchestra,  the  men  who  take 
their  stands  and  do  their  duties  fime  after 
time  with  no  recognition,  no  glory,  no 
appreciation,  no  compensation  save  the 
paltry  stipend  demanded  by  the  musi- 
cians' union,  the  most  powerful  and  the 
richest  labor  organization  in  this  cit)'! 

"XTOWADAYS,  no  sooner  is  the  Chief 
-"-^Executive  of  the  land  quiet  in  his 
bier,  than  the  dear  people  create  a  golf 
sooner  is  the  golf  course  created,  the  hot 
dog  and  pink  lemonade  concession  is 
leased  to  some  vendor  with  a  political 
drag,  than  the  same  dear  people  go  forth 
to  disport  themselves. 

There  is  one  other  feature  of  this  de- 
mocratizing of  golf  that  cries  out  for 
mention.  The  public  course  reveals  all 
the  manly  qualities  in  the  hearts  of  the 
hoi  follo'i.  With  a  fine  disregard  for 
aristocratic  conventions  and  deliberations, 
balls  fly  through  the  air  from  every  poss- 


ible direction,  aimed  for  the  greens,  it  is 
true,  but  ofttimes  halted  by  some  exposed 
portion  of  an  unsuspecting  player's  anat- 
omy. This  has  been  interpreted  by  our 
more  serious  thinkers  as  a  post-war  man- 
ifestation, since  in  making  the  world 
safe  for  democracy  we  have  acquired  a 


general  carelessness  and  lack  of  interest 
in  the  preservation  of  human  life.  Each 
man  for  himself,  is  the  new  golf  slogan, 
and  let  him  protect  his  own  hindmost! 

^— !«• 
TyrORE  in  sorrow  than  in  anger,  we 
^  feel  impelled  to  comment  on  a  cer- 
tain   form    of    so-called    entertainment 


which  has  by  now  become  so  prevalent 
in  our  midst  that  it  is  being  rammed 
down  our  repelled,  though  tonsil-free, 
throats  at  every  possible  opportunity. 

We  have  reference  to  what  is  dished 
out  to  us  in  every  movie  theater  under 
the  pseudonym  of  prologue.  More  and 
more  emphasis  is  being  placed  on  this 
form  of  refined  torture,  and  although 
we  know  we  are  knocking  our  cerebrums 
against  impenetrable  stone,  we  just  must 
protest. 

To  particularize  just  a  trifle,  let  us  say 
that  the  so-called  feature  film  is  some- 
where, somehow,  suggestive  of  Spain. 
What  do  we  have  first?  An  orchestral 
medley,  to  be  polite  about  it,  beginning 
with  faintly  recognizable  strains  of  Car- 
men, graduating  to  Valencia,  and  con- 
cluding, oh  so  cleverly,  with  In  a  Little 
Spanish  Town.  After  that  comes  an 
aging,  baldish  gent,  dressed  in  our  local 
costumer's  finest  sash,  and  carrying  the 
familiar  broad  -  brimmed  black  hat, 
which  he  can't  wear  because  it's  three 
sizes  too  small  for  him.  As  often  as  not, 
his  female  counterpart  comes  along  too, 
and  then  both  of  them  try  to  drown  each 
other  out,  until  one  or  the  other  retires 
completely  routed. 

Either  a  so-called  Spanish  dance,  in 
which  the  castanets  camouflage  techni- 
cal errors,  or  a  dingily  clad  chorus  is 
offered.  To  describe  the  chorus  would 
take  pages.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  it  prances 
on,  amply  representing  the  "south  of 
the  slot"  district.  After  violent  shoutings 
and  shakings,  it  is  mercifully  veiled  from 
our  sight  by  the  rapid  descent  of  the  cur- 
tain, which  falls,  alas,  without  decapi- 
tating a  single  member  of  the  chorus. 

Perhaps  the  film  is  Oriental.  What 
happens  then  is  indescribable.  We  are 
regaled  by  local  would-be  ladies  of  the 
harem,  most  of  whom  have  forgotten 
to  remove  their  Waltham  wrist-watches 


The    San    Franciscan 
[ii] 

(the  wages  of  sin),  and  their  Wrigley 
wads  (a  sin  in  itself).  They  gyrate 
abominably  and  abdominally  for  horri- 
ble minutes,  until  the  sheik  appears.  Then 
they  fall  to  the  ground  and  moan,  while 
he  warbles  something  about  the  sands  of 
the  desert,  to  the  accompaniment  of 
Hawaiian  music. 

We  are  thinking  of  forming  an  or- 
ganization to  be  called  The  Society  for 
the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Audiences. 
To  that  man  among  us  possessed  of  the 
temerity  to  rise  from  his  seat  in  a  dark- 
ened theater  and  express  his  disapproval 
by  the  flinging  of  but  a  single  egg,  will 
be   awarded  a  specially   devised   trophy 

appropriate  to  his  courage. 

-jj — {«• 

A  N  anecdote  illustrative  of  the  astute- 
■'■  *■  ness  and  perspicacity  of  our  far- 
famed  police  department  has  recently 
come  to  our  attention,  and  we  feel  that 
it  should  be  made  a  matter  for  public 
record  for  all  time. 

An  automobile  employed  in  business 
by  one  of  our  gentry  was  recently  stolen 
in  the  downtown  district.  The  theft  was 
at  once  reported  to  the  police.  Verily  a 
beau  geste,  we  deem  it.  Several  days  later 
the  owner  of  the  car  was  riding  home 
on  the  humble  street  car,  when  he  ob- 
served his  car  abandoned  at  the  curb  in 
an  outlying  district.  He  immediately  took 
possession  of  his  property  in  great  glee. 

The  next  morning  he  started  to  leave 
home  in  his  own  conveyance,  when  the 
burly,  blue-coated  right  arm  of  the  law 
stepped  up  to  him,  and  grasped  him  firm- 
ly by  the  back  of  his  size  1 6  collar.  The 
following  dialogue  ensued: 

"That's  a  stolen  car,"  quoth  the  oflS- 
cer.  "You  can't  run  it." 

"This  is  my  car  and  I  will  run  it," 
came  the  irate  response. 

"You're  getting  out,  and  I'm  taking 


the   car   to    headquarters,"   carolled   the 
cop,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word. 

The  owner  prepared  to  show  identifi- 
cation cards,. tattoo  marks  and  whatnots, 
all  to  no  avail.  He  stood  ignominiously 
in  the  gutter  and  watched  the  law  drive 
off  towards  tlie  beach  and  way  stations, 

(Continued  on  Page  33) 


The    San    Franciscan 

[.2] 


Reverie  In  A  Dungeon 

But  You— Oh,  When  That  Time  Comes,  You'll  Be  Dirty  Too 

By  Robert  J.  Tasker 


Editor's  Note:  Robert  J.  Tasker.  an  inmate  of  San 
Quentin,  is  but  24  years  old.  and  his  writings,  as  ex- 
cellent as  they  have  been  sparse,  have  appeared  in  the 
"American  Mercury^'  and  other  periodicals.  He  has 
been  acclaimed  for  the  vividness  of  his  perceptions  and 
beiuty  of  style  by  such  divergent  critics  as  H.  L. 
Mencfcen  and  Jim  Tidly. 


YOU  made  such  a  magnificent  pic- 
ture !  There  were  crisp,  blue-green 
spruce  trees  on  the  hillside,  a  lovely 
background  behind  you  as  you  ran  down 
the  steps  to  the  water's  edge.  You  wore 
gay  colors  and,  as  you  passed,  the  ragged 
old  cedar  tree  brushed  you,  caressed  you 
with  senile  chastit)'.  You  too  were  chaste 
— and  so  young! 

Endless  things  I  did — such  augment- 
ing proprieties!  And  all  to  aid  your  re- 
clining on  the  silk  cushions  in  our  little 
boat.  Taps  and  pats,  and  minute  rear- 
ranging until,  at  last,  you  were  like  a 
Nile  Goddess  on  her  barge.  Or  a  Vene- 
tian Princess  in  her  gondola.  .  .  .  But 
our  waters  were  broader  and  more  vir- 
ginal. 

Out  onto  tlie  calm  waters  I  propelled 
us;  toiling  at  the  stern  until  you  became 
solicitous.  You  begged  me  to  rest.  Come 
lay  with  me  on  these  cushions,  you  im- 
plored, there  is  so  much  room.  And  I 
obeyed  you.  So  we  drifted  while  the  sun 
was  sinkino;,  drifted  under  rao-jred  cliffs, 
and  by  jutlands  aflame  with  autumn 
leaves.  Sometimes  the  small  wa\es  lapped 
and  lulled  against  the  hull — an  even, 
solemn,  hypnotic  force  that  erased  the 
past,  erased  the  future,  erased  all  the 
world,  and  left  you  and  me  drifting, 
drifting. 

The  waves  sank  into  calm.  By  some 
ledgerdcmain  my  arm  had  encircled  you. 
Our  faces  were  close,  and  without  effort 
or  movement  it  seemed,  we  turned,  read 
in  each  other's  eyes,  and  our  lips  met, 
trembled,  and  drew  away — the  most  in- 
nocent thing.  We  pressed  together  so 
that  warmth  of  body  knew  answering 
warmth.  There  were  the  first  faint 
curves  of  womanhood,  but  I  would  not 
think  of  those  things — for  I  held  you 
too  sacred. 

The  sun  was  lowering  over  a  crest  of 
mountains.  Ct)lors  were  changing  o\er 
the  world,  soft,  diffused  shades  of  blues, 
and    reds,    and    yellows — then    purples. 


So  beautiful  it  seemed  that  tears  started 
in  your  eyes  and  wept.  And  because  you 
wept,  damned-up  pools  of  felicity  burst 
in  me.  Tears  coursed  down  our  close- 
pressed  cheeks,  mingling  together.  When 
our  lips  met  there  was  the  taste  of  salt, 
and  we  swooned  in  the  swirling  kaleido- 
scopic lights  of  ecstasy. 


(jathered  Flight 

By  Mary  Avis  Bi.avker 

Ferry  at  Night 

Blue  dome 

Of  night,  luminescent; 

White  rush  of  stars, 

Bl.ick  sea,  silent  .  .  . 

Aware! 

1  too  am  still. 

Berkeley  Canyoii 

Black  roots 

Clutching  under,  thrusting  out 

You  make  good  wrestlers! 

Black  trunks 

Slick  and  winding  into  snarls. 

How  you  quarrel ! 

Black  branches 

Curve  and  iveight  of  green 

You  touch  the  light. 


Pacific 

Here  they  paused — 
Gathered  their  flight. 
Filled  the  bright  measure, 
Flung  the  blue  vault 
Westward  far  .  .  . 
Far  westward. 


A  ND  now  I 

I  am  a  thief — a  common  thief  in 
a  dungeon!  While  the  lights  burned  I 
saw  small,  dark,  living  things  creeping 
on  the  walls  and  ceiling.  Now  that  the 
lights  are  out  they  will  drop  to  my 
wretched  coverings,  creep  in  on  me  and 
feast,  as  they  are  wont,  of  the  carrion — 
the  filth  thrown  aside  by  humanity. 


The  mouth  you  once  knew,  has 
drooped  and  sagged;  become  contorted 
by  base  emotions  and  worldly  habits. 
The  face  you  called  ivory  is  scales,  dark 
splotches  and  deep-cut  lines.  The  eyes 
have  lost  their  luster  and  their  color. 
The  body  is  a  rack  for  ill-fitting  rags. 
A  thief  I  A  common  thief  in  a  dungeon 

AND  you?  Ho,  my  dear!  I  have 
heard!  You  married  a  youth  of  pure 
Semetic  blood.  Did  he  marry  you  for 
love?  Or  for  entre  into  your  nice  social 
plane?  And  did  you  marry  for  love,  my 
dear?  Or  did  you  marry  his  papa's  gold? 

I  have  seen  his  papa — do  you  call  him 
that?  I  have  seen  Papa's  blue,  porcine 
jowls,  his  gigantic  paunch — he  is  a  mon- 
ster of  jelly  on  weakly,  wobbly  legs. 
What  a  lovely  papa!  But  then,  dear  lady, 
he  has  the  gold,  has  he  not? 

How  odd  that  it  should  be  so,  but  even 
here  I  have  obtained  your  picture.  It  was 
wrapped  around  a  certain  bowl  they  gave 
me  for  my  dungeon !  You  look  very  nice, 
my  dear.  That  look  of  the  female  roue 
fits  you  nicely.  It  is  better  to  have  some 
character — something  people  can  iden- 
tify. They  can  look  at  you,  or  even  at 
your  picture,  and  say.  Now  this  woman 
is  a  libertine.  See  the  hard  lines  of  dissi- 
pation and  ennui  in  her  face? 

But  you  are  shrewd  now,  eh,  my  dear? 
I  see  how  well  you  love  Papa's  gold.  It 
shows  so  plainly  in  this  picture.  When  is 
Papa  scheduled  to  die?  Let  me  know, 
dear  lady,  and  I  will  come  around  and 
steal  a  bag  of  the  precious  stuff — just 
for  old  time's  sake.  For  I  am  a  thief 
now,  you  know,  quite  a  common  one 
...  In  a  dungeon. 

*-* 

/^LD  times!  What  a  beautiful  couple 
^-^  we  were!  Naivete  Incarnate!  Ho 
me !  .  .  .  But  there  are  ashes  in  our 
mouths,  now,  are  there  not,  my  dear? 


From  Telegraph  Hill,  San  Francisco 

By  Btanding  Sloan 


The    San    Franciscan 


Vincent  O'Sullivan 

A  Celebrated  Critic  Begs  Recognition  For  a  Great  American  Author 

B\'  Carey  McWilliams 


Editor's  Note:  Harold  Mason  of  the  Centaur  Book 
Shop  of  Philadelphia  has  informed  us  that  Mr.  Mc- 
Williams is  the  only  O'Sullivan  collector  in  America, 
According  to  the  best  of  our  knowledge  this  is  the  first 
article  to  be  published  in  an  American  magazine  de- 
voted to  a  consideration  of  O'Sullivan, 


THE  history  of  the  American  novel 
is  the  story  of  disreputable  literary 
legends  gradually  evolving  into  the 
figures  of  highly  respected  and  dearly 
beloved  novelists.  Mr.  Dreiser  was  at 
first  such  a  disreputable  legend,  a  mon- 
ster of  Germanic  origin  who  debauched 
the  fair  name  of  American  ideals  and 
spat  on  the  cherished  sanctums  of  the 
home.  So  it  is  with  Mr.  Cabell,  and  so 
with  Vincent  O'Sullivan.  Mr.  O'Sulli- 
van, however,  still  remains  a  legend,  if, 
in  fact,  he  exists  at  all  in  the  mind  of 
literary  America. 

"In  deploring  the  glycosuria  which 
afflicts  American  fiction,  I  forget  O'Sul- 
livan. He,  too,  I  believe,  is  an  American, 
and  he  stands  outside  the  general  decline. 
Like  Cabell,  he  will  be  heard  from  here- 
after." Thus  wrote  H.  L.  Mencken  in 
the  SMART  SET  for  March,  191 8,  the 
Mencken  who  had  not  then  achieved  all 
the  hideous  consequences  of  success. 
O'Sullivan  is  only  nominally  an  Ameri- 
can. He  was  born  in  New  York  in  1872, 
when  the  mauve  decade  was  a  nascent 
dream  of  gaudiness.  He  fled  from 
America  at  a  fortunately  early  age  and 
attended  Exeter  College,  Oxford.  He 
then  moved  into  France.  In  1918  he  be- 
came associated  with  the  University  of 
Rennes  and  since,  or  so  I  have  been  in- 
formed, has  been  associated  with  the 
University  of  Paris.  When  you  have  said 
all  this,  and  the  fact  that  he  was  one  of 
the  only  American  contributors  to  Ar- 
thur Symons'  "The  Savoy,"  and  you  have 
completed  the  sources  of  information 
about  the  man.  He  made  his  first  appear- 
ance as  an  American  novelist  through  a 
back  door,  for  his  first  and  greatest  novel 
was  suppressed  by  the  cultured  Bos- 
tonians. 

"The  Good  Girl"  is  in  my  opinion  one 
of  the  most  exquisite  and  delightful  of 
our  suppressed  novels.  Faint,  slightly 
purple,  rumors  had  been  circulated  after 
its  publication  in  England,  but  when  it 
was  published  in  tliis  country  the  Bos- 


tonians  attempted  to  suppress  it  and  have 
apparently  succeeded.  The  novel  is  the 
story  of  an  unforgettable  person,  Mrs. 
Drover,  whom  H.  M.  Boynton  has  de- 
scribed as  a  voluptuous,  ageless  pagan. 

■^  -'& 
r\ESPITE  Mr.  V.  F.  Calverton,  and 
^-^  his  school  of  economic-aesthetics, 
there  are  some  people  who  feel  with  J.  F. 
Spingarn  that  the  artist  creates  his  own 
conditions  and  that  conditions  create  the 
artist.  O'Sullivan  creates  in  this  manner. 
His  work  is  detached,  remote,  placidly 
resplendent,  and  full  of  deep  harmonies. 
I  doubt  if  there  has  been  written  by  an 
American  a  better  novel,  technically, 
than  "The  Good  Girl."  It  is  as  sym- 
metrical as  a  pear:  complete  and  satisfy- 
ing and  golden.  It  is  the  product  of  irony, 
sophistication  and  culture.  The  man  who 
wrote  it  was  steeped  in  that  St.  Augus- 
tinian  wisdom  of  which  he  has  written, 
for  it  is  significant  that  the  author  of 
a  vigorously  suppressed  novel  should  be 
the  translator  of  Louis  Bertrand's  fa- 
mous life  of  "St.  Augustine." 

"Sentiment"  was  published  in  19 1 7 
and  came  as  a  distinct  anti-climax  to 
"The  Good  Girl."  You  can  find  copies 
of  "Sentiment"  drowsing  away  on  old 
book  shelves;  no  one  reads  it  or  seems  to 
have  ever  read  it.  It  is  the  story  of  the 
softness  of  human  nature,  of  people 
steeped  in  sentiment.  Nothing  is  more 
illusory  than  sentiment,  nothing  so  sickly 
and  universal,  and  hence  nothing  is  more 
difficult  to  delineate  from  an  objective 
viewpoint.  Aldous  Huxley  has  written  of 
the  "soft  spots"  of  sentiment  that  exist 
in  apparently  the  toughest-minded  indi- 
viduals and  in  this  novel  O'Sullivan 
treats  of  the  amazing  irrationalit)'  and 
anuising  insanity  of  sentiment.  Guileless 
as  it  appears  to  be  on  the  surface,  seem- 
ingly all  pinks  and  smirking  lilies,  yet 
underneath  one  detects  the  hard  laughter 
of  irony. 

A  BOOK  of  Bargains"  was  pub- 
-^  ■*■  lished  in  1896.  It  is  a  collection 
of  O'SuIiivan's  stories  with  a  frontis- 
piece by  Aubrey  Beardsley.  O'Sullivan, 
of  course,  belonged  to  the  Beardsley 
school  of  the  romantic  nineties.  It  was 


during  this  period  when  Ernest  Dowson, 
Lionel  Johnson,  Aubrey  Beardsley,  Rich- 
ard LeGallienne  and  Herbert  Crackan- 
thorpe  were  specializing  in  the  more  ex- 
otic forms  of  "vice"  that  O'Sullivan 
did  most  of  his  work.  This  is,  perhaps, 
regrettable.  The  talent  of  these  men  of 
the  nineties  was  not  without  its  powerful 
effect  on  the  moderns  who  followed, 
but  today,  after  Havelock  Ellis,  such 
writing  seems  a  trifle  girlish.  The  moral 
weakness  of  the  aesthetic  impulse  of  the 
period  is  shown  in  this  collection  of 
O'SuIiivan's  stories. 

"Human  Affairs"  is  another  collec- 
tion of  stories  by  O'Sullivan.  It  is  a  rare 
item  for  collectors  and  was  published 
in  Holland  in  1907.  In  an  article  in 
"The  Savoy"  entitled  "On  a  Kind  of 
Fiction  Called  Morbid,"  O'Sullivan 
once  wrote:  "Let  us  cling  by  all  means 
to  our  George  Meredith,  our  James — 
but  then  let  us  try,  if  we  cannot  be  tow- 
ards others,  unlike  these,  if  not  encour- 
aging, at  least,  not  actively  hostile  and 
harassing,  when  they  go  out  in  the  black 
night  to  follow  their  own  sullen  will-o'- 
the-wisps."  Such,  ironically,  appears  to 
be  O'SuIiivan's  own  difficulty  in  these 
stories.  They  have  a  very  definitely  in- 
dividual qualit)'  about  them  but  it  was 
a  black  night  in  which  they  were  pro- 
jected in  O'SuIiivan's  imagination  and 
nothing  could  be  more  comparable  to  a 
will-o'-the-wisp  than  the  slender  thread 
of  feeling  that  flutteringly  agitates  them 
into  a  semblance  of  life. 

"The  Green  Window"  is  a  collection 
of  sketches,  pencil-pictures,  of  emotion. 
The  book  is  a  very  attractive  publication 
and  was  brought  out  by  Leonard  Smith- 
ers,  London,  1899.  The  central  study  is 
one  called  "Will"  which  appeared  orig- 
inally in  the  "Mercure  de  France"  un- 
der the  title  of  "La  Scarabee  Finnebre." 
Other  titles  in  the  volume  are  "Dear," 
"Good,"  Vaunt,"  "Glide,"  "Faint"  and 
"Sob."  They  are  representative  of  the 
Beardsley  mood  of  affected  abnegation 
and  ostentatious  despair.  Surely  some 
miasmatic  aroma  must  have  poisoned  the 
air  of  the  times  to  have  wilted  so  many 
young  souls!  One  is  reminded  of  Oscar 
(Continued  to  Page  33j 


The    San    Franciscan 
[15] 


An  OviiRMANTLE  b-j  Jeanette  Dyer  Spencer. 

By  arranging  the  central  patterns  from  the  bottoms  of  porno  and  Hupa  baskets  the  artist  has  created  a  composition  of  centrifugal  force  that 
spends  itself  in  broicen  sweeps  of  lighter  lines  and  is  balanced  by  strong  horizontals. 

The  Digger  Indian  Comes  Into  His  Own 

Bx  Dr.  Phyllis  Ackerman 


THE  .Aztecs,  the  men  and  women  of 
the  Pueblos,  all  of  the  original 
Americans  of  the  Southwest  are 
honored  for  the  strength  of  design  and 
skill  of  craftsiTianship  in  their  pottery 
and  rugs  and  the  dignity  and  rhythm  of 
their  ceremonial  dances.  The  Alaskans 
are  respected  for  the  ingenuit)-  of  their 
totem  poles  and  many  of  the  Mexican 
and  Central  American  tribes  are  known 
to  have  produced  artists  of  inerit.  But 
the  Diggers  of  California  have  been  ac- 
corded no  consideration  save  by  the  an- 
thropologists and  occasional  collectors 
of  special  interest. 

The  very  name  Digger  seems  some- 
how ignominious  despite  the  fact  that  it 
signifies  only  the  California  Indians' 
usual  method  of  obtaining  food.  It  seems 
to  indicate  a  mean  creature,  devoid  of 
aesthetic  merits.  Perhaps  this  is  one  rea- 
son for  their  neglect.  But  whatexcr  the 
reason  the  fact  remains  that  the  Cali- 
fornia Indian  has  not  been  generally 
conceded  any  significant  status,  not  been 
credited  with  any  admirable  accomplish- 
ments. 


^'et  on  the  baskets  of  these  ill  consid- 
ered Diggers  there  is  a  series  of  patterns, 
ingenious,  varied,  interesting  and  in 
man)-  instances  strikingly  beautiful,  a 
source  of  a  new  style  of  decoration  ready 
to  the  designer's  hand.  There  are  borders, 
both  horizontal  and  vertical,  ranging  in 
scale  and  complexity  from  simple  tiny 
headings  to  compound  stripes  focussed  on 
strong,  carrying  motives.  There  are  spot 
designs,  both  roiuid  and  square,  fre- 
quently with  borders  to  match.  And, 
most  iiTiportant  of  all,  there  are  the  ele- 
ments of  patterns  of  great  variet}'  but  all 
in  the  same  idiom,  which  constitute  a 
new  alphabet  of  ornament.  In  short,  the 
California  Indians  were  not  only  the 
most  competent  basket  weavers  known, 
htit  were  also  among  the  most  talented 
designers. 

To  be  sure  these  Indians  commandeil 
only  the  one  medium,  basketry.  The  pot- 
tery, textiles,  carving  and  metal  work 
of  other  tribes  were  beyond  their  range. 
But  in  that  mediinn  they  evolved  de- 
signs S(j  sound  in  structure  they  could 


equally  well  be  adapted  to  a  great  many 
other  uses. 

CUCH  an  adaptation  has  just  been  made 
^  tor  the  first  time  in  the  decoration  of 
the  new  Ahwahnee  Hotel  in  the  Yosem- 
ite  Valley.  These  basket  motives  have 
been  transcribed  and  with  little  or  no 
modification  adapted  to  the  essental 
forms  of  architectural  decoraton.  Both 
borders  and  spots  are  painted,  for  ex- 
ample, on  the  beams  in  the  great  main 
lounge,  making  a  rich  and  colorful  ceil- 
ing such  as  the  Florentines  of  the  Renais- 
sance created,  but  in  this  wholly  differ- 
ent, indigenous  st}le.  Again,  narrower 
borders  have  been  used  around  the  tops 
of  the  bedroom  walls  in  place  of  cornices 
and  though  rendered  in  flat  paint  they 
are  strong  enough  to  carry  this  impor- 
tant architectural  role.  A  mosaic  in  the 
floor  of  the  entrance  lobby  is  especially 
interesting  because  it  is  a  new  idea  tech- 
nically as  well  as  artistically.  The  ground 
of  the  floor  is  acid  stained  cement.  The 
design  is  in  a  comp  )sition  tile,  made  of  a 
(Continued  on  Page  34) 


The    San    Franciscan 
[i6] 


A  Questionnaire-Strictly  Local 

How  Well  Do  You  Know  Your  Old  San  Francisco? 


1.  What  recognized  poet  was  Mayor  of 
San  Francisco,  and  when? 

2.  What  artist  was  called  the  "Innes  of 
the  West"r 

3.  Three  blind  pedlers  were  immortal- 
ized by  what  author,  in  what  restau- 
rant? 

4.  With  what  play,  by  what  author,  did 
the  tide  of  success  of  the  Alcazar 
Theatre  commence? 

5.  What  was  the  highest  building  in 
San  Francisco  before  the  Spreckels? 

6.  Who  was  Ooofty  Goofty? 

7.  What  steamer  sank  off  the  Golden 
Gate  with  a  great  cargo  of  gold  and 
was  never  found  ? 

8.  Whowere'TesJeunes"? 

9.  What  Bohemian  restaurant  was  fa- 
mous for  the  throwing  of  catsup  bot- 
tles? 

10.  What  production  opened  the  Colum- 
bia Theatre  on  Van  Ness  Avenue 
after  the  fire  of  '06? 

1 1.  What  great  dancers  were  products  of 
San  Francisco? 

12.  What  public  production  developed 
most  romances  among  the  San  Fran- 
cisco elite? 

13.  What  was  the  first  social  and  resi- 
dential center  of  San  Francisco? 

14.  What  was  the  iiaunt  of  connoisseurs 
of  Terrapin  and  Mumm? 

I  5.  Who  was  the  social  arbiter  foi'  many 
years,  and  why? 

16.  What  was  the  delight  of  the  Wal- 
dorf Bar? 

17.  Who  is  responsible  for  the  expres- 
sion: "San  Francisco — the  city  that 
knows  how?" 

18.  What  well-known  theatrical  pro- 
ducers were  born  in  San  Francisco? 

19  From  whose  home  were  "The  Por- 
tals of  the  Past"  taken? 


20.  What  was  the  sensational  story  of  a 
violinist  who  thrilled  San  Francisco 
in  the  early  seventies? 


2  1.  Who  was  Mammy  Pleasant 


22.  What  bar  closed  an  iiour  before  pro- 
hibition became  effective,  on  the 
wroimd  that  the  place  had  an  exem- 
plary reputation  and  did  not  want  to 
have  it  spoiled  by  last  minute  r(jwdy- 
ism? 


Flower  Girl 

By  Edwin  Duerr 

I  sent  you  orchids  frail  witli  beauty, 
Although  my  purse  was — well,  not 
flush, 

Because  I  thought  it  was  my  tluty 
For  having  seen  you  blush. 

Since  then  I've  plucked  the  floral  garden 
A  thousand  times.  My  purse  is  lame. 

But  still  your  heart  will  not  unharden. 
You  sock  me  just  the  same. 

I'm  through.  Just  now  I'm  taking  my 
word  ' 

You'll  get  no  flowers  for  each  tear 
Until  I'm  pushing  daisies  skyward. 

Then  vou  can  have  them,  dear. 


-*H[><»- 


2  ].  Wliat  Jiappened  to  .Ambrose  IJierce? 

24.  Who  was  the  famed  bcatity  of  the 
Midway  Plaisance? 

25.  Wliat  was  the  San  Francisco  s;)ng 
fainous  during  the  Spanish  American 
War? 

26.  Who  was  Rigo? 

27.  What  political  boss  was  carried  the 
length  of  Market  Street  o  ntlie  shoul- 
ders of  an  enthusiastic  inob  after  a 
successful  campaign? 


28.  What  famous  singer  leaned  out  of 
the  window  of  the  Palace  Hotel  the 
morning  of  the  1906  catastrophe, 
and  screamed :  "Save  me.  I  am  .  .  ." 

29.  What  artist,  playwright,  poet  and 
critic  produced  Ibsen's  "Ghosts"  on 
Russian  Hill  and  burned  the  house 
during  the  production? 

30.  What  San  Francisco  show-girl  di- 
vorced a  Pittsburgh  inillionaire  to 
become  engaged  to  an  Infanta  of 
Spain  ? 

31.  What  San  Francisco  girl  was  the  in- 
spiration of  Massenet's  "Thais"? 

32.  What  former  Belvedere  debutante  is 
now  a  Paris  "hostess"  to  Kings  and 
Queens  and  that  sort  of  thing? 

33.  What  former  San  Francisco  interior 
decorator  is  now  America's  foremost 
fashion  authority  on  "The  Well- 
dressed  Hain"? 

34.  Where  did  Edwin  Booth  live  while 
\isiting  San  Francisco f 

35.  What  two  grand  operas  had  their 
American  premieres  in  San  Fran- 
cisco? 

36.  Who  was  the  San  Francisco  physi- 
cian called  over  to  Belgium  during 
the  World  War  to  show  the  Belgians 
how  "to  chew  their  food"? 

37.  What  famous  prima  donna  sang  in 
the  streets  of  San  Francisco? 

38.  Who  was  sorry  he  wrote  "The  Pur- 
ple Cow"? 

39.  What  puet  was  called  the  California 
Troubador? 

40.  To  whose  name  is  the  ugliest  monu- 
ment in  San  Francisco  erected? 

41.  What  did  Sutter  get  out  of  the  dis- 
covery of  gold? 

42.  Who  was  James  King? 

43.  Who  was  the  San  Franciscan  who 
served  Batavian  Rice  to  the  Prince  of 
Wales? 

{Answers  on  Page  28) 


Oh, 

Listen  to  the  Opera! 


Glocm  and  the  Diamond 
Horseshoe 

Among  the  li  jx-h  ildcrs  at  the  open 
were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  L.  Upton  Priceand 
their  debutant.-  daughter  Francine.  La 
Price  twinkles  brighter  than  thefanuus 
st.ir,  but  neither  the  diva  nor  the  dia- 
monds suffice  to  dispel  the  audible 
slumbers  of  Pere  Price.  Francine,  as 
she  looks  down  coyh-,  wonders  if  her 
legs  will  ever  look  like  Mama's. 


The    San     Franciscan 
[17] 


Opera  Bluff 
Alwavs  among  those  barely  present  is 
Herbert  Putterer,  connoisseur,  crapchang- 
er  and  critic  for  the  Furniture  Dealers' 
Monthly.  The  arduous  duties  of  a  critic 
are  soul-stirring  to  Herbert.  He  never 
hopes  to  live  to  hear  Carmen  well  sung. 
|ust  now  he  wonders  if  he  is  looking  crit- 
ical enough. 


Latin  Love 

There's  no  doubt  that  the  sapran)  will 
bring  down  the  house — she  his  tho  bulk 
to  do  it.  She's  furious,  though,  because  the 
tenor,  somewhat  eclipsed  in  her  shadow, 
drowns  her  out  at  times.  Just  at  the  mo- 
ment, she's  making  audible  love  to  him, 
but  she's  considering  meanwhile  all  the 
more  refined  methods  of  murder. 


"Bella!  Bellissima!" 

Ton^',  fisherman  though  he  be,  knows 
his  onions — and  garlic.  This  is  only  the 
first  act  of  "Carmen,"  but  he  shakes  the 
gallery  with  his  ardor  and  odor.  The  ex- 
tremely Nordic  couple  in  front  are  study- 
ing the  program  feverishly  to  find  out 
just  who  this  Bella  Bellissima  is,  as  they 
cower  in  horror  before  the  screaming  en- 
thusiast. 


Drazvptgs  by 
Solomayor 


AI usual  Re»iinisce)ue 

For  two  hours  Mrs.  \'an  Titter  has 
napped.  She  is  suddenly  awakened  by  the 
familiar  strains  of  The  Wedding  March. 
Beating  time  with  her  finger  which  sports 
a  new  square  emerald,  she  nudges  Henry 
and  with  a  muffled  shriek  of  recognition, 
triumphantly  reminds  him  of  the  fact  that 
it  w.is  the  very  same  tune  that  was  played 
when  "dear  papa"  led  her  down  the  aisle 
thirty  odd  years  ago.  Henry  vaguely  re- 
calls the  incident. 


The    San    Franciscan 
[i8] 


Mrs.  Jay  Gould 

The  visit  of  Mrs.  Gould  of  New  York  City  to  San  Francisco  this  winter, 
is  anticipated  by  the  Reigning  Dynasty. 


Camera  study  by  Albert  Petersen 


The    San    F 


ranciscan 


[19] 


The  Reigning  Dynasty 


WHAT  is  so  dull  as  a  big  city  in  the 
height  of  the  summer  season,  par- 
ticularly when  that  summer  season 
is  in  California?  San  Francisco  for  the 
last  two  months  has  been  the  sort  of  place 
where  people  go  for  a  rest.  The  Reign- 
ing Dynasty  has  been  elsewhere.  Many 
have  confided  to  us  that  the  huge  dark 
fog  clouds  rolling  into  the  city  like  enor- 
mous grey  elephants  looked  pretty  good 
to  them  after  a  scorching  time  of  it  at 
Mrs.  Somebody-or-other's  countr}'  home 
in  the  interior.  None-the-less  no  one  has 
stayed  at  home  unless — well,  there  are 
several  reasons  why  the  few  who  re- 
mained in  town  did. 

•«— * 
TT  doesn't  seem  possible,  but  still  rumor 
persists  that  many  of  your  younger 
rulers  were  seen  at  Tait's-at-the-Beach 
at  the  time  when  all  the  California  bath- 
ing beauties  were  entertained  at  a  dinner 
dance  there.  Why  any  of  the  boys  should 
crave  more  pulchritude  than  that  which 
they  find  within  the  sacred  walls  of  their 
own  sacred  domain  is  hard  to  fathom. 
It  is  also  whispered  that  the  beauties  did 
not  take  kindly  to  some  of  the  intruders 
and  objecting  to  their  style  of  wrestle 
left  them  in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  Life 
is  like  that  and  so  are  women.  Always 
slow  to  appreciate  a  social  advantage. 

'  I  'HE  League  of  Nations  should  give  a 
vote  of  thanks  to  Del  Monte,  for  the 
management  is  now  endeavoring  to  bring 
Europe  to  America  and  doing  it  in  such 
a  way  that  it  need  not  fear  the  immigra- 
tion laws.  "International  nights"  have 
been  the  vogue  at  the  popular  hotel  and 
many  of  the  Reigning  Dynasty  have  en- 
tertained at  dinner  parties  in  the  grill 
where  the  festivities  have  taken  place. 
Among  the  most  hilarious  has  been  Mrs. 
Kenneth  Monteagle  and  of  course, 
Gouveneur  Morris  and  the  everpresent 
Francis  McComases. 

Speaking  of  Del  Monte,  may  we  not 
congratulate  Mr.  Sam  Morse  on  the 
choice  of  a  name  for  his  new  yacht?  In 
this  day  and  age  of  platitudes  and 
mechanisms  and  original  thought,  no 
matter  how  raucous,  is  welcomed  and 
relished.  Most  of  us  enjoy  irony,  too,  a 
great  deal  more  than  we  do  satire.  There 
is  a  difference,  you  know.  But  haven't 
you  heard?  Yes,  indeed,  he  calls  it 
"Waterwagon." 


"VJED  Way  burn  has  spoiled  many  a 
^  Junior  League  member's  summer 
holidays  with  his  extraordinary  and  vi- 
cious announcement  that  any  girl  who 
wishes  to  participate  in  the  League's  show 
this  year  must  not  weigh  more  than 
ninety-five  pounds.  Our  authority  for 
this  is  unsafe  and  we  are  inclined  to  think 
the  whole  thing,  the  evil  imaginings  of 
some  morbid  mind.  What  a  dreadful 
spectacle  the  performance  would  be,  if 
all  the  normal  hundred  and  thirty  pound- 
ers dieted  and  exercised  themselves  down 
to  the  unhealthy  below  par  quota.  What 
an  evening  of  spectres!  How  true,  then 
would  be  the  rag,  bone,  hank  of  hair 
theory,  with  strong  emphasis  on  the  bone. 
Junior  League,  of  course,  has  been 
quiet  during  the  summer  but  much  is 
expected  of  the  shop  which  they  wll  open 
in  Temple  Bar  .Alley  on  September  12. 
At  present  the  work  is  being  supervised 
by  Mrs.  Warren  Clark.  The  fashion 
shows  at  the  Hotel  Mark  Hopkins  which 
were  such  a  great  success  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  year  have  been  delayed  be- 
cause of  the  Boue  Soeurs  shipments  but 
will  be  resumed  early  this  Fall.  The  res- 
ervations for  the  fashion  shows  and  teas 
have  at  all  times  been  great.  For  the 
nominal  sum  of  seventy'-five  cents  the 
spokes  may  gaze  upon  the  hub,  undis- 
turbed. 

A  SUITE  at  the  St.  Francis  and  a 
■'-  ^  house  at  Pebble  Beach  with  jew- 
elled bath  tubs  is  one  way  to  spend  a 
million  dollars.  Oh  lady,  lady,  you  re- 
mind us  of  our  childhood  days  when  we 
mar\elled  at  the  tales  of  kings  who  ate 
from  damond-set  gold  services.  None- 
the-less  we  think  you  are  as  beautiful  as 
those  princesses  in  the  stories  and  if  you 
like  colored  bath  tubs,  it's  your  privilege. 

'TpHIS  month  marks  the  opening  of  the 
-*-  opera  season.  Once  more  San  Fran- 
cisco will  go  through  the  indignity  of 
seeing  superior  opera  presented  in  an  in- 
ferior house.  The  ladies  will  again  don 
their  glorious-  gowns  and  sumptions 
wraps  only  to  sit  on  hard,  wooden  chairs 
and  suffer  through  five  acts  with  a 
draught  sweeping  their  backs.  During 
the  intermissions  they  will  bundle  into 
their  furs,  stagger  into  the  icy  corridor 
and  warm  their  noses  with  a  cigarette. 
We  see  that  Frances  Ames  will  again 


take  care  of  the  properties  and  if  there 
is  a  much  harder  or  more  tedious  job 
under  the  sun  we  want  to  hear  about  it. 
Her  Alaskan  trip  has  no  doubt  refreshed 
her;  it  could  not  enhance  her  beauty. 

'T~'HERE  has  been  a  decided  splash  in 
San  Francisco's  social  puddle  the  past 
month  due  to  the  arrival  of  Dr.  Ali  Kula 
Khan,  our  ex-Persian  Minister,  with  his 
famous  art  collection  (valued  over  a 
million  dollars)  and  his  equally  devastat- 
ing, if  less  costly  son,  Rahim.  It  is  the 
first  time  the  brilliant  and  charming  Mr. 
Khan  has  descended  upon  us  since  the 
Exposition  in  19 15,  when  the  Reigning 
Dynasty  vied  with  each  other  in  enter- 
taining he  and  his  family.  A  Persian 
prince,  always  a  novelty,  was  even  more 
so  at  the  time  when  princes  were  elusive, 
awe-provoking  things.  Since  then  he  has 
held  the  two  important  posts  of  Ambas- 
sador to  Russia  and  Turkey.  At  the  lat- 
ter legation  his  American  wife  complied 
with  the  custom  of  being  veiled,  rather 
enjoying  the  keen  flavor  of  intrigue  that 
permeated  oriented  diplomatic  life.  They 
have  been  wintering  in  New  York  from 
where  the  father  and  son  came  early  this 
summer  to  spend  some  time  in  Santa 
Barbara  and  San  Francisco. 

L'affairs  du  coeurs  seem  always  to 
follow  in  the  path  of  the  handsome  son, 
Rahim,  and  rumors  of  his  escapades  have 
drifted  back  from  Oxford,  so  it  is  quite 
as  it  should  be,  that  in  the  South  romance 
appeared  at  the  door  of  the  studio  in  the 
form  of  Virginia  Harmon,  coolly  Eng- 
lish in  its  blondest  type.  In  a  day  appeared 
a  solitaire  and  in  a  week  a  marriage  li- 
cense. Before  her  lies  a  vista  of  fascinat- 
ing life  in  the  Persian  Court  and  Em- 
bassies of  Europe. 

Santa  Barbara  Letter 

■X/TONTECITO  is  the  meeting  point 
■*-  -^  of  coast  society,  a  melting  pot  for 
southern  and  northern  California  elite. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thomas  Joyce  of  New 
"^'ork  and  Burlingame  visit  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Carl  V.  Armstrong  of  Pasadena  while 
next  door  along  the  beach  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Alfred  Hendrickson  sojourn  with  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Lawrence  W.  Fox,  Jr.  In  a 
house  upon  the  hills  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Coy 

(Cuntinued  to  Page  3;) 


The    San    Franciscan 

[20] 


As  Seen  By  Her 


SOMETHING  comparatively  new 
has  been  designed  to  delight  the  heart 
of  the  lady  who  inclines  towards 
obesity,  craves  a  streamline  figure,  and 
has  a  sweet  tooth.  Kratz,  the  artist  in 
sweets,  has  devised  an  absolutely  non- 
fattening  chocolate.  Yes,  ladies,  it  can 
and  It  has  been  done — scientifically  at 
that. 

This  delectable  confection,  called,  en- 
ticingly, "fruit  of  the  orient,"  has  no 
sweetening  except  natural  fruit  sugar, 
and  the  chocolate  around  the  filling  is 
so  thin  that  the  calories  have  room  to 
jump  around  in  it  without  once  bumping 
into  each  other. 

Just  by  way  of  comment,  Mr.  Kratz 
himself  received  this  magic  recipe  from 
his  father,  who  received  it  from  his  fa- 
ther, and  so  on,  almost  back  to  Adam. 
It's  a  sort  of  seventh  son  of  a  seventh  son 
affair.  Let  us  pray  that  Mr.  Kratz  has 
a  long  line  of  ambitious  male  candy 
kids,  so  that  in  these  days  of  the  lean  and 
hungry  look  we  may  still  continue  to 
satisfy  our  craving  for  sweets. 

A  LTHOUGH  we  ha\'e  a  book,  we 
■'■  ^  lingered  for  but  a  moment  in  Paul 
Elder's  shop  the  other  day.  We  were 
fascinated  by  the  window  display,  which 
consisted  largely  of  pile  upon  pile  of 
Harold  Bell  Wright's  new  book,  God 
and  the  Grocery  man.  We  wondered 
whether  that  represented  Mr.  Elder's 
taste,  the  desire  of  the  reading  public, 
or  a  craving  for  higher  literature.  At 
any  rate,  we  were  reminded  of  the  ad- 
vantage of  the  use  of  a  full  and  musical 
name  by  the  author.  Who  would  pay 
any  attention  at  all  to  books  written  by 
so  undistinguished-sounding  a  person  as 
H.  B.  Wright? 

In  spite  of  the  homelike  atmosphere 
provided  by  a  purring  cat  of  the  species 
alley,  and  many  elaborate  cathedral  doors 
and  windows,  we  found  no  reason  for 
one  of  the  salesgirls  to  justify  the  moral 
attitude  of  the  characters  in  a  certain 
book  which  she  was  endeavoring  to  sell. 
It's  all  right,  in  our  judgment,  to  sell 
books,  but  it  is  not  necessary  to  apologize 
for  them. 

Apparently  bookstores  are  getting  to 
be  like  drug  stores — anything  can  be  pro- 
cured there.  We  found  pottery,  book- 
ends,  greeting  cards,  etchings  and  prints, 


quill  pens,  and  playing  cards  scattered 
hither  and  yon  in  the  establishment  of 
Herr  Elder. 

■^-^ 

TNTRIGUED  by  the  heavy  netting 
screening  the  windows  of  M.aison 
Mendessolle,  we  inquired  the  reason 
for  the  same,  only  to  discover  that  we 
have  there  a  real  bit  of  Paris.  In  the  Rue 
de  la  Paix,  exclusive  windows  are  treated 
just  that  way,  and  our  one  really  French 
shop  aims  to  be  Parisian  in  every  respect. 
While  we  were  there,  we  saw  the 
most  entrancing  blue  leather  raincoat, 
equipped  with  the  trickiest  pockets  closed 
by  means  of  the  popular  zipper  device. 
The  whole  thing  was  lined  in  a  heavy 
crepe  of  the  same  color.  This  coat  may 
also  be  had  in  dark  red,  and  would  be 
ideal  for  any  kind  of  inclement  weather, 
should  we  have  any. 

We  also  found  a  charming  specialite 
de  la  maisnn — delightfully  prepared  per- 
fume, toilet  water,  soap,  and  powder, 
manufactured  in  Paris  directly  for  Mai- 
son  Mendessolle,  and  sold  nowhere  else. 
If  miladv  fancies  something  exclusive, 
she  can  use  no  better  than  these  prepera- 
tions. 

-*-> — i^ 

•T^HERE  are  no  more  attractive  florists' 
-*-  windows  in  town  than  those  of  the 
Wood  Flower  Shop  on  Post  Street. 
The  whole  effect  is  that  of  an  Italian 
garden  against  a  background  of  formal 
cypresses,  and  a  charmingly  painted 
scene.  The  floor  is  of  black  tile,  and  there 
are  exotically  colored  birds  at  libert)'  in 
the  window,  including  a  pair  of  imper- 
tinent baby  parrots  and  a  flashing  red 
cardinal. 

The  interior  of  the  shop  is  arched,  and 
tinted  in  a  warm  henna  shade,  giving 
the  effect  of  a  vista  through  a  covered 
pergola.  The  flowers  are  not  displayed 
en  masse,  but  tastefully  arranged  along 
the  walls  and  on  occasional  stands.  One 
has  the  feeling  of  entering  the  loggia  of 
a  tastefully  run,  luxurious  villa,  rather 
than  that  of  a  shop. 

A  LTHOUGH  this  is  not  Christmas 
•^  •*■  time,  and  although  many  of  the  in- 
telligentsia deny  the  existence  of  a  Santa 
Claus,  the  occasions  upon  which  one 
wants  to  send  an  attractive  and  unusual 
gift   do   arise   even   in   these   somewhat 


torpid  summer  days.  Almost  every  taste 
and  purse  can  be  satisfied  at  Harold 
Wallace's  interior  decorating  shop. 
There  are  colorful  Spanish  and  Italian 
plates  richly  glowing  pieces  of  brocade, 
ingeniously  devised  cigarette  -  boxes  in 
both  leather  and  pottery,  charming  stools, 
and  small  occasional  tables.  The  shop  it- 
self is  well  worth  a  trip  of  inspection, 
because  its  arrangement  is  so  artistic  and 
so  free  from  the  effeminacy  usually  as- 
sociated with  such  places  that  it  is  a  real 
joy. 

\V7' E  (the  typewriter  and  I),  spent  a 
'''  week-end  down  the  peninsula  not 
long  ago,  and  while  there  visited  a  few 
places  that  we  would  like  to  urge  all  of 
our  readers  to  see. 

There  was  Noah's  Ark  in  San  Mateo, 
cooking  as  a  specialty,  baked  ham — and 
how!  Of  course,  almost  anything  else 
is  obtainable,  too,  but  we  liked  the  ham 
and  Noaii's  flashing  smil'j  as  he  carved  it. 
If  the  original  ark  had  a  quartermaster 
department  like  that,  we  see  no  reason 
tor  the  passengers  ever  wanting  to  dis- 
embark. 

There  are  two  charming  tea  shops  in 
San  Mateo  and  Burlingame  respectively, 
the  Oak  Tree  Inn  and  the  Studio 
Inn.  Both  are  to  be  highly  recommended 
for  either  lunch,  tea,  or  dinner,  and  it 
has  come  to  our  ea\'esdropping  ears  that 
many  of  the  smart  peninsulans  are  giv- 
ing parties,  announcing  engagements  and 
what  not,  at  these  attract! \e  establish- 
ments. 

Just  to  prove  that  we  did  other  things 
besides  eat  during  the  week-end,  we  wish 
to  mention  a  brand  new  bookshop  in  Palo 
Alto,  The  Alcove.  Besides  books  and 
atmosphere,  a  circulating  library,  exhi- 
bitions of  etching  and  prints  will  be 
available  there. 

"DUT  We  are  appalled  at  the  prevalance 
and  growing  number  of  little,  self- 
styled  "exclusive"  shops,  usually  called 
Maisons  These  and  Those,  or  Peggy 
May,  or  What  Have  You,  brazenly 
showing  high-waisted  taffeta  dresses,  ag- 
gressively pink  hats,  and  not  very  near 
leather  handbags.  It's  fine  to  sell  those 
things,  but  a  French  name  on  a  shop 
front  is  too  thin  and  too  o'^vious  a  dis- 
guise for  mail  oi  dri  gcnds 


Photograph  by  Imogene  Cunninghaii: 


San  Francisco  Predicts  an  Art 

in  this  decorative  arrangement  The  present  search  for 


A  new  art  source  is  sensed 
by  Rudolph  Schaeffcr,  the  San  Francisco  artist,  who  cham 
pions  the  growing  attraction  between  esthetics  and  science. 
In  his  analysis  of  the  modern  uses  of  ry  thm  and  color  he  places 
California  as  foremost  in  rivalry  of  European  art  centers. 


movement"  in  art  forms  is  well 
realized  in  the  background  of  this  motif,  where  the  "Radia- 
tion of  Planes"  is  in  a  sequence  of  blues  and  greens,  cool  as 
foliage.  Througli  its  "abstraction"  poetic  completion  is  given 
to  the  "Still-life"  of  the  porcelain  pigeon. 


The    San    Franciscan 
[22] 


The  Season's  Opera 

An  Unusually  Unhardy  Plant  Is  Fostered  to  Luxuriant  Bloom 

B\  Uffington  Valentine 


THE  receptiveness of  California's  soil 
is  far  famed.  Seed  falling  whether 
flower  or  ideal  finds  an  extraordi- 
nary support.  One  could  hardly  name  a 
world  spot  where  there  is  less  of  that 
stoniness  mentioned  in  the  scriptural  par- 
able. It  is  a  region  that  rejoices  in  a  su- 
perior capacit)',  to  draw  to  herself  and 
translate  into  terms  of  her  own,  all  that 
makes  up  the  diverse  beauties  of  life. 

The  latest  of  her  experimentations  has 
been  grand  opera,  not  as  an  exotic  offer- 
ing to  our  aesthetic  need  but  as  an  im- 
planted native  thing.  San  Francisco  and 
Los  Angeles,  California's  two  main  cen- 
ters of  culture,  undertook,  a  few  year; 
ago,  to  add  this  usually  unhardy  plant  to 
other  near  related  flora  that  have  found 
these  cities  so  fostering  to  luxuriant 
bloom.  Grand  opera's  reputation  for  hot- 
house fragility,  the  fact  that  in  many  oth- 
er like  sized  cities  of  the  country,  blight 
attended  its  attempted  rootings,  did  not 
discourage  the  promoters  here.  They  met 
the  difficult  practical  problems  that 
grand  opera  involves  with  a  characteris- 
tic California  spirit,  and  the  result  of 
that  confidence,  so  contagious  in  its  in- 
fluence, is  that  after  five  years  we  have 
in  our  midst,  as  Los  Angeles  in  hers,  a 
self-maintained  opera  organization  com- 
parable, if  not  in  seasonal  span  of  ac- 
tivity, at  all  e\ents,  in  artistic  wortii  with 
those  of  Chicago  and  New  York. 

A  S  heretofor  the  season  this  year  is 
brief,  covering  only  a  fortnight. 
But  in  that  alone  can  our  local  Associa- 
tion be  called  static.  It  has  not  extended 
its  season  but  it  has  advanced  its  stan- 
dards. In  artist  roster  and  reportoire  of 
pieces  the  superiorit)'  to  prior  years  is 
well  shown.  It  is  an  eminent  arrav  of 
singers  that  has  been  assembled,  prac- 
tically all  being  the  pick  of  the  Metro- 
politan staff,  and  in  the  longer  list  of 
operas  one  has  an  admirable  balance  of 
novelty,  revival  and  so-called  standard 
productions. 

The  sopranos  as  first  announced  are 
Elsa  Alsen,  Lucrezia  Bori,  Anne  Ro- 
selle,  Francesca  Peralta,  Myrtle  Claire 
Donnelly  and  Katharine  Meisle,  a 
change  in  the  case  of  Bori  may  perhaps 


have  to  be  made  owing  to  a  present  ill- 
ness. The  mezzos  and  contraltos  com- 
prise Ina  Bourskaya,  Elinor  Mario  and 
Kathryn  Meisle;  the  tenors,  Angelo 
Bada,  Chamlee,  Martinelli,  Rudolf 
Laubenthal,  Oliviero  and  Tokatyan; 
and  the  baritones  and  bassos,  Pasquale 
Amato,  D'Angelo,  Pinza,  Scotti,  De- 
frere,  Tibbett,  Millo  Picco  and  Austin 
\V.  Sperry;  making  in  all  a  cast  of 
twenty-three  singers. 

Elsa  Alsen,  a  guest  artist  of  the  Chi- 
cago Civic  Opera  Company,  made  her 
debut  in  Germany,  where  she  is  now 
held  to  be  the  leading  soprano  interpreter 
of  Wagnerian  roles,  and  particularly  ex- 
cels as  Isolde.  Anne  Roselle,  who,  like 
Alsen,  is  new  to  San  Francisco  audiences, 
is  Hungarian  born  and  has  during  the 
last  two  years  greatly  added  to  her  Euro- 
pean triumphs  by  her  rendering  of  the 
Princess  part  in  Puccini's  posthumous 
Tiinnidot.  Peralta,  whose  private  name 
is  Miss  Phyllis  Partington,  is  a  native 
Californian  and  has  had  much  success 
with  the  Metropolitan  in  the  roles  she 
will  sing  here  this  season. 

The  Russian  mezzo  -  soprano,  Ina 
Bourskaya,  is  already  favorably  known 
to  San  Franciscans  through  her  vivid  por- 
trayal of  Carmen  during  the  open  air 
production  of  Bizet's  opera  at  Palo  Alto 
fi\e  years  ago.  Elinor  Mario  is  another 
of  San  Francisco's  widely  known  singers 
and  has  recently  become  a  member  of 
the  Chicago  Civic  Opera  Company; 
while  Kathiyn  Meisle,  who  appeared  last 
year  with  the  San  Francisco  Opera  Com- 
pany, will  be  heartily  remembered  for 
her  dramatic  personation  of  Azucena  in 
//  Trovatore. 

/^F  the  tenors  Rudolph  Laubenthal  is 
^-^  the  only  one  who  will  make  his 
first  appearance  in  San  Francisco  and 
enjoys  in  this  country  and  abroad  the 
highest  reputation  for  Wagnerian  inter- 
pretations. Like  Alsen  he  has  been  this 
year  a  guest  artist  in  this  country  where 
his  Tristan  has  been  generally  lauded. 
Most  of  the  baritones  are  already  favor- 
ites with  us,  and  among  the  others  to 
make  their  local  debut  is  Lawrence  Tib- 
bett, the  Los  Angeles  singer,  who  cre- 


ated so  marked  a  sensation  as  Ford  in 
Verdi's  Fnlstaff. 

The  thirteen  operas  to  be  heard  cover 
the  composition  of  Italian,  German  and 
French  genius  either  past  or  living. 
Those  who  have  a  particular  fondness 
for  the  melodic  side  of  opera  will  find 
it  in  the  works  of  Verdi  figuring  in  the 
reportoire.  These  include  his  always  wel- 
come Alda  and  //  Trovatore,  with  his 
last  and  most  modern-mooded  Falstaff. 
For  Wagnerians  there  will  be  Tristan 
tind  Isolde  rendered  here  for  the  first 
time,  in  German,  and  another  novelty  in 
the  spectacular  opera  of  Turandot  left 
unfinished  by  Puccini  and  completed,  ac- 
cording to  his  directions,  by  his  brother 
composer,  Franco  Alfano,  and  so  far 
heard  in  this  country  only  through  the 
Metropolitan  Opera  Country,  that,  last 
winter,  presented  it  a  number  of  times 
to  delighted  and  crowded  houses  of  New 
York.  The  other  Puccini  pieces  of  the 
reportoire  will  be  Mohoh  Lescaiit,  to  be 
presented  on  the  opening  night  of  the 
season,  La  Tosea  and  La  Boheme. 

r^  lORDANO'S  La  Ccna  delle  Beffe 
^"^  (The  Jester's  Supper)  is  also  in- 
cluded among  the  novelties  and  as  happy 
appeal  is  strengthened  by  the  colorful  epi- 
a  choice  in  new  school  productions.  Its 
sode  of  Italian  renaissance  life  it  so  dra- 
matically interprets.  /  Pagliacci  and 
Cavalleria  Rustlcana  round  out  the  di- 
verse offerings  of  the  season  that  cap 
their  completeness  in  variety  with  Gou- 
nod's Romeo  et  Juliette,  the  universal 
favorite  of  aria  lovers,  and  that  white 
flame  of  Bizet's  inspiration.  Carmen, 
which  age  cannot  wither  nor  custom  stale 
for  any  ear. 

Theodore  Kosloff  the  popular  Russian 
dancer  and  head  of  the  Kosloff  Dancing 
Studio  of  San  Francisco  and  Los  An- 
geles, will  again  have  personal  charge  of 
the  ballet  features  of  the  season,  present- 
ing Madame  Fredowa  as  premiere  dan- 
seuse,  supported  by  sixteen  selected  mem- 
bers of  the  San  Francisco  branch  of  the 
Kosloff  studio.  Half  of  these,  together 
with  IVedowa  herself,  appeared  last  year 
in  Faust,  Aida  and  Samson  et  Delilah. 


The    San    Franciscan 
[23} 


Highlights  of  The  Opera  Season 


Lawrence  Tirrett,  baritone,  and  a  Cali- 
fornian,  whose  meteoric  career  as  a  grand 
opera  star  began  with  his  portrayal  of  Ford 
in  Verdi's  "Falstaff"  with  the  "Met." 
We  are,  indeed,  fortunate  in  having  the 
opportunity  of  hearing  him  in  the  role. 


Mario  Chami.ee,  tenor,  is  already  a  prime 
favorite  with  our  audiences  and  has  again 
come  from  the  Metropolitan  Opera  House 
to  portrav  such  important  roles  as  Mario 
in  Puccini's  "La  Tosca,"  Romeo  in  Gou- 
nod's "Romeo  et  Juliette"  and  Rodolfo 
in  Puccini's  "La  Boheme." 


Ina  Bourskaya,  mezzo-soprano,  whose  por- 
trayal oi  Bizet's  "Carmen"  is  said  to  be  one 
of  the  greatest.  Incidentally,  Mme.  Bour- 
skaya's  American  debut  took  place  in  San 
Francisco  with  the  Russian  Opera  Com- 
pany several  years  ago;  since  that  time,  she 
has  been  one  of  the  Metropolitan's  lead- 
ing sopranos. 


Ei.SA  Alsen,  soprano,  a  guest  artist  of  the 
Chicago  Civic  Opera  Company,  will  be 
heard  here  for  the  first  time  as  the  Wag- 
nerian heroine  Isolda  of  'Tristan  und 
Isolde,"  the  San  Francisco  Opera  Asso- 
ciation's first  production  of  German 
Opera,  with  Alfred  Hertz  wielding  the 
baton. 


/ 


t 


Anne  Roski.i.e,  soprano,  is  new  to  San  Fran- 
cisco audiences,  and  will  be  heard  as  Prin- 
cess Turandot  in  Puccini's  posthumous 
opera  "Turandot."  Anne  Roselle  has  won 
wide  acclaim  for  her  interpretation  of  the 
part  while  with  the  Dresden  Opera  House 
and  the  Berlin  Staatsoper. 


The    San    Franciscan 


Dido  and  Aeneas 


of  the  Two  That  Loved— or  Did  Not  Love 

By  Antonia  Pia 


SHE  was  Queen  and  could  give  men 
glory  or  death.  With  her  little  brown 
hands  she  had  buildcd  an  Empire  and 
behind  her  low  broad  brow  was  the  men- 
tality of  a  conqueror.  Dido  was  Queen, 
Dido  was  powerful  but  Dido  was  forty. 
She  controlled  armies,  fleets,  fortresses, 
wealth,  but  she  could  not  control  her  lust. 
Dido  was  in  love. 

It  was  summer  on  the  African  shores. 
A  breeze  scented  with  distance  cooled  the 
faces  of  the  Queen  and  her  attendants. 
The  blackness  of  her  Nubians  glittered 
in  the  last  light  of  a  summer  day.  The 
.setting  sun  was  Christian.  It  shone  benev- 
olently on  everyone,  slave,  handmaiden, 
the  gardener  digging  about  the  palms, 
ever)'one,  fugitive,  criminal,  philosopher 
and  Queen.  The  setting  sun  was  demo- 
cratic. Saint,  sinner  and  queen,  each  par- 
took of  its  glory,  felt  its  soft  warmth 
on  his  cheek  and  enjoyed  a  lazy,  melan- 
choly moment.  The  world  was  young, 
the  breeze  was  a  youth,  and  the  sun  did 
not  see  mold,  somehow.  On  the  Queen's 
balcony  flowers  were  scattered  in  a  basket, 
vermilion  flowers,  brought  from  the 
mountains,  untamed  and  indelicate, 
earthly,  vigorous,  and  the  perfume  of 
them  was  primitive  and  passionate. 
Dido's  two  bronzed  feet  gripped  their 
intricate  sandals  in  anguish.  The  breeze 
was  telling  her  in  honeyed  words  a  very 
bitter  story.  The  sea  was  whispering  un- 
happy things,  and  in  the  coolness  of  the 
breeze,  there  was  treachery.  The  vermil- 
ion flowers  were  cruelly  red,  stubbornly 
young  and  untroubled.  The  handmaidens 
with  exquisite  stuffs  about  their  slender 
thighs,  the  violent  designs  of  the  mosaic 
floor,  her  own  golden  skin,  her  little 
brown  feet,  all  was  beautiful.  She  scru- 
tinized the  flesh  of  her  upper  arm.  She 
was  afraid  she  was  not  beautiful,  her 
skin  too  dark,  her  years  too  many.  Dido 
was  a  courageous  Queen  but  she  was 
forty  and  in  love.  She  was  afraid. 

The  petals  of  the  flowers  stirred  in  the 
breeze,  the  balcony  was  riotous  with  col- 
or in  the  brilliance  of  an  African  sunset; 
within,  a  lute-player  chanted  a  lonely 
far-off  song.  Aeneas,  all  gold  and  white 
appeared,  dragging  his  heels  across  the 
fancy  floor.  As  he  aproached  the  Queen 


he  wished  that  they  were  friends  rather 
than  lo\ers  so  that  he  might  be  honest 
with  her.  He  sat  at  her  feet,  lazily,  cov- 
ering one  of  them  with  a  strong  Trojan 
hand.  His  yellow  hair  seemed  to  Dido 
brighter  than  the  sun. 

The  Queen  wished  to  say  something. 
She  pointed  to  the  horizon,  then  waved 
her  arm  about  her.  "Nice."  She  was 
sorry  she  said  it.  The  remark  sounded 
like  a  merchant  peddling  his  wares. 
"What  have  you  been  doing  all  the  day  ? " 
she  questioned,  assuming  an  air  of  indif- 
ference. He  did  not  hear  her.  She  looked 
down  at  him  and  saw  that  his  eyes  were 
fastened  on  the  figure  of  one  of  her  girl 
attendants.  "Ravishing,  isn't  she?" 

"I  have  heard  of  a  country  called 
Latium.  The  King  has  a  daughter,  La- 
\inia.  Men  say  she  is  like  an  almond 
blossom."  Aeneas  dreamed. 

"Ach ! "  Dido  wriggled.  "What  have 
y<ni  been  doing  all  the  day.?"  No  answer. 
"You  ha\'e  been  with  your  ships?  " 

"Yes." 

"Your  eyes  look  seaward."  A  pause. 
"Your  followers  are  strangely  busy." 

"Yes." 

"You  are  going  away?" 

"I  must.  I  shall  grow  fat  and  com- 
fortable here." 

"Is  comfort  contemptible.  People  la- 
bor for  comfort,  then,  when  they  acquire 
it,  they  seem  ashamed." 

"I  must  accomplish  something," 
Aeneas  said. 

"I  shall  miss  you."  She  rolled  her  eyes 
then  after  a  moment  continued.  "Shall 
we  sup  here  on  the  balcony?  It  is  sum- 
mer. Odd,  how  difficult  men  make  things 
when  it  is  summer  and  the  world  is 
warm.  We  have  everything  made  easy. 
We  are  not  satisfied.  We  must  have 
things  diflBcult."  She  nodded  to  her  slaves 
to  arrange  the  repast. 

Aeneas  sat  dumbh',  his  eyes  fixed  in 
distance. 

"Carthage  is  not  dull.  Still  your  eyes 
look  to  Latium  and,"  she  hesitated, 
"Lavinia." 

"Like  an  almond  blossom."  Aeneas 
shook  himself,  rose  and  sat  beside  her. 
"It  it  not  that.  I  must  do  somethinu;.  I 
must  build  an  empire." 


A  lock  of  his  yellow  hair  fell  over  his 
face.  Dido  looked  at  it.  Her  eyes  were 
a  flame.  "It  is  an  infirmit}',"  she  said, 
"to  love  so  much." 

"The  name  of  a  disease  is  not  its 
remedy." 

"-■\s  for  my  beauty,  I  have  seen — " 
he  went  on. 

"It  is  not  only  your  beauty.  It  is  also 
your  little  uglinesses.  The  scar  on  your 
breast,  the  glint  of  brown  in  one  blue 
eye.  Yes.  It  it  the  special  glint  that  I  had 
never  imagined  that  has  come  to  be  the 
symbol  of  all  masculine  pulchritude. 

"Men  are  polygamous.  Women's 
should  learn  that,"  he  said  brutally. 

"Men  are  simultaneous.  They  have 
bigger  hearts  than  women.  There  is 
room  in  a  man's  heart  for  a  dozen  wom- 
en, all  at  the  same  time.  Yes  they  have 
bigger  hearts  than  women,"  she  sighed. 

"Girls  should  be  taught  that  men's 
passions  are  likesummerrain.  Onecannot 
always  eat  dates,  or  figs,  or  olives,  one 
tires.  I  must  build  an  empire  to  make  up 
for  Troy.  I  must  be  great  for  the  name 
of  my  ancestors." 

"How  unsophisticated  you  Trojans 
are.  I  like  it.  It  is  refreshing.  I'm  tired 
of  philosophers  who  prove  that  nothing 
matters,  and  if  you  find  in  your  ashy 
ancestors  an  ideal,  I  like  it.  It  is  refresh- 
ing. 

The  sun  had  set  and  the  darkness  on 
the  balcony  was  splotched  here  and  there 
with  the  faint  light  from  the  tapers. 
Dido  experienced  a  sense  of  defeat.  "I 
am  sad,  tonight,"  she  said.  "Let  us 
drink." 

Aeneas  was  bored.  "Sadness  is  unbe- 
coming in  a  woman." 

"And  ambition  is  vulgar  in  a  man. 
You  must  have  sprung  from  the  common 
people,"  Dido  retorted.  Slie  lifted  her 
goblet.  "Let  us  drink,"  she  said  gaily. 
"If  one  is  sad  because  joy  is  fleeting,  one 
should  rejoice  because  sadness  also  passes. 
Let  us  drink.  To  Lavinia!" 

Aeneas  sulked  like  an  overgrown  adol- 
escent and  Dido,  at  fort}',  made  antics 
about  the  boy.  The  balcony  was  redolent 
of  perfume  and  laden  with  flowers,  the 
handmaidens  were  beautful  and  swift,  it 
(Continued  to  Page  3(t) 


The    San    Franciscan 


The  Bookstall 


The  Season's  Offerings  in  Review 

By  William  Ahlefeld  Flanagan 


GEORGE    Dorsey's  newest   work, 
The  Evolution  of  Charles  Dar- 
win, has  already  stirred  up  some 
controversy,  not  only  among  the  religious 
fundamentalists     but     also 
among  the  scientists.  For  the 
Darwin   which    Mr.   Dorsey 
has   painted    is   not   the   one 
which    the     fundamentalists 
had  learned  of  and  despised. 
It  is  a  memorable  portrait  of 
a  kindly  man  who  adored  his 
family  and  loved  his  neigh- 
bors.  And   just  as   this  per- 
plexes the  religious  bigots,  so 
the  scientific  bigots  are  cha- 
grined when  Dorsey  insinu- 
ates   that    circumstance    and 
environment  made  it  possible 
for   Darwin  to   be    what   he 
was,  and  not  any  inheritance 
of    a    scientific    brain.    The 
consternation  of  the  funda- 
mentalists at  finding  Darwin 
portrayed  as  such  a  splendid 
moral  example,  illustrates  the 
point    that   our    opinions   of 
great   men   and   women   are 
too  often  founded  on  a  mere 
association  of  appearance  and 
tradition,  without  any  actual 
knowledge  of  circumstances. 
Our  ideas  of  Jesus,   Napol- 
eon, Lincoln,  and  even  mod- 
ern notables,  are  based  large- 
ly upon  pictures  of  them  and 
the     rumors    that    circulate 
about    them.    We    disregard 
the  facts  of  honest  research 
about  them  unless  the    facts 
suit  the  tradition  that  has  al- 
ready  been   built   up   concerning  them. 
What   will   this   mean    when    the    ever 
evolving  civilization  reaches  a  point  of 
radical  departure  from  what  it  has  been 
in  the  past?   Our  pictures  of  Jesus,  Lin- 
coln,  Darwin,   and   others,   will    not  be 
quite   the   same   tomorrow  as  they   have 
been  in  the  past.  One  New  York  review- 
er, whose  wool  is  rubbed  the  wrong  way 
by  Dorsey's  application  of  a  Behaviorist 
theory,  writes  that  Dorsey  credits  Dar- 
win's scientific  greatness  to  his  mother. 


This  is  false  criticism,  for  Mr.  Dorsey 
says  nothing  of  the  sort.  He  only  points 
out  that  the  thing  which  so  greatly  inter- 
must   read   this   book  to   get  the   details 


by  Aiiiold  Uti^a.t,  N.  V 

CHARLl'.S  G.  NORRiS 

'ZtlJa  Marsh"  is  the  name  of  the  distinguished  San  Francisco 

author's  new  novel. 

cause  of  that  happy  circumstance.  You 
with  which  Dorsey  builds  up  his  logical 
theory  of  Darwin's  own  evolution,  and 
the  manner  in- which  he  restored  human 
destiny  to  human  hands.  The  book  not 
only  gives  the  behaviorism  of  Darwin, 
but  in  doing  so  it  points  out  the  vast  im- 
portance of  that  element  in  the  life  of 
ested  her,  happened  to  be  the  same  thing 
which  interested  him,  and  Darwin  found 
encouragement  instead  of  opposition  be- 


man.  And  in  being  the  first  reliable  at- 
tempt to  represent  Darwin  in  this  light, 
it  is  bound  to  be  of  importance  whatever 
the  genuine  opposition  may  be. 

The  Evolution  of  Charles 
Dariuin,  by  George  Dor- 
sey; Doublcday,  Page  & 
Co.,  price  $2.00. 

«  -;■«• 

npHE     latest     offering     by 
-•■  Jeddu     Krishnamurti     is 
The  Kingdom  of  Happiness. 
Prophet  Jeddu  hails  from  the 
center  of  Theosophy  in  In- 
dia, and  it  is  claimed  for  him 
that  he  is  gaining  thousands 
of  followers  over  the  earth. 
This  alone  should   make  us 
suspicious.    The    venders   of 
fake    medicines  also   gained 
thousands  of  followers  over 
all  the  earth,  and  so  have  the 
leaders  of  most  of  the  quack 
cults  that  ever  existed.  Krish- 
namurti advises  us  to  be  very 
serious  and    very   joyous    (a 
combination  next  to  impossi- 
ble), and  says  that  anyone  is 
in   the    Kingdom   of    Happi- 
ness    who     has     purity     of 
thought    and    emoton.    This 
would   include   most   of   the 
imbiciles,     p  )llyannas     a  n  d 
cult  followers,  and  would  be 
a  kingdom  that  few  intelli- 
gent   folks    would    want   if 
they   could   have   it.   At   one 
place  Jeddu  says  he  got  out- 
side his  own  body  and  then 
walked  around  and  contem- 
plated it.  With  a  good  Amer- 
ican   manager,    this    fellow    could    al- 
ready be  getting  rich  by  giving  round 
trip  rides  to  the  spiritual  world.  His  book 
is  (  possibly)  worth  reading  for  its  mystic 
and  delicate  beauty;  just  as  it  is(possibly) 
worth  while  to  stand  and  view  an  exqui- 
site .spider-web  glistening  in  the  weird 
light  of  the  moon.  But  like  the  fragile 
spider-web,  all  but  the  softest  opposition 
would  shatter  its  foundation   from  ex- 
istence. 

(Continued  on  Page  z8) 


The    San    Franciscan 
[26] 


Titans 


The  Powers  That  Direct  the  Destiny  of  San  Francisco 
Robert  Dollar 


tcT'M  not  a  Captain.  Everybody  just 

I  calls  me  that,  I  suppose,  because  I 
run  ships — "  Robert  Dollar  said 
to  me. 

From  the  million  -  dollar  "Dollar 
Building,"  311  California  Street,  Cap- 
tain Dollar  strided  forth  briskly.  I  had 
to  double  up  my  speed  to  keep  pace  with 
this  patriarch  whose  youth  is  perennial. 

Soon,  I  had  to  key  up  my  appetite  als ) 
to  catch  up  with  his;  he  was  taking  m? 
out  to  lunch.  Where  we  went  was  neither 
a  showy  place,  nor  a  rummy  waterfront 
coffee  house.  It  is  a  neat,  efficient  lunch 
to  catch  with  his;  he  was  taking  me  out 
room,  simple,  almost  Spartan,  in  fur- 
nishings. A  logical  place  for  Mr.  Dollar 
to  eat  in.  When  the  girl  waiters  saw  him 
coming,  they  recognized  him  instantly, 
but  showed  no  special  flurry.  In  a  good 
humored  and  perfectly  friendly  manner, 
a  girl  came  to  the  brown  mahogany  table 
where  the  Captain  and  I  had  seated  our- 
selves. 

Sandwiches,  pies  and  coffee:  we  gave 
the  orders.  Captain  Dollar  ate  with  more 
gusto  and  relish  than  I  did.  His  keen  blue 
points  of  the  eyes,  under  the  white  fringe 
of  brows,  lit  up  with  merriment,  as 
he  remarked,  "I  expect  you  as  a  younger 
man  to  do  your  duty  at  the  meal."  But 
I  conceded  superiority  to  him,  even  in 
the  consuming  of  a  hearty  lunch — he  is 
an  everlasting  youth,   Robert  Dollar  is. 

This  morning,  I  caught  him  at  the 
office,  just  as  he  was  dashing  out  for 
the  lunch.  He  had  in  his  pocket  a  sheaf 
of  letters  and  cablegrams.  He  showed  me 
two  of  these.  One  was  a  letter  from  a 
certain  personage  in  Washington,  D.  C, 
the  seal  on  the  top  read  "The  White 
House";  the  neat  signature  was  "Calvin 
Coolidge." 

The  other  communication  was,  I  be- 
lieve, from  the  former  or  present  Presi- 
dent of  China.  It  was  teeming  with  the 
most  confidential  gossip  about  the  Chi- 
nese situation.  And,  I  need  not  say  that 
President  Coolidge's  letter  also  related 
to  the  Chinese  affairs. 

"More  coffee,  Mr.  Dollar.?"  the  wait- 
ress asked. 


By  GoBiND  Behari  Lal 

"Another  piece  of  pie,  Mr.  Dollar?" 
she  repeated. 

Did  she  know  that  we  were  settling 
world  problems  at  this  small  lunch 
table? 

"I  believe,  as  I've  often  said  before," 
Captain  Dollar  was  saying  to  me,  "that 
this  is  the  age  of  the  Pacific.  The  Paci- 
fic Coast  is  soins:  to  be  the  busiest  trade 
center  of  the  world.  And,  San  Francisco 
ought  to  become  the  greatest  port  in  the 
United  States.  As  our  commerce  and 
other  kind  of  intercourse  with  the  Far 
East  develops,  this  city  will  rise  in  im- 
portance— " 

Was  it  the  voice  of  "a  native  son," 
ardently  dreaming  of  San  Francisco's 
greater  future  on  account  of  the  ties  of 
nativity?  Yes,  and  no:  Mr.  Dollar  is  one 
of  the  oldest  citizens  of  San  Francisco. 
But  he  is  a  Scotchman  by  birth.  He  was 
born  in  a  small  seaside  town  in  Scotland. 
I  had  to  drink  some  more  coffee,  before 
the  imagination  expanded  enough  to 
comprehend  the  geographic  dimensions 
over  which  Mr.  Dollar  lives  and  oper- 
ates. Scotland-to-London :  from  London 
to  New  York-San  Francisco:  from  San 
Francisco  to  China  —  and  beyond! 
SCOTCH -AMERICAN-CHINESE 
— Patriarch  of  a  Merchant  Prince  and 
Trade  Ambassador.  An  epic  figure,  I 
said. 

A/fR.  Dollar  is  not  at  all  afraid  of  be- 
ing  called  "a  capitalist."  Nor  does 
he  think  it  anything  to  worry  about,  that 
a  certain  great  diplomacy  is  named  after 
him — the  dollar  diplomacy,  espoused  by 
Uncle  Sam. 

Is  there  something  too  candid  about 
the  "$"  sign?  Is  it  a  mark  of  frank  ma- 
terialism? Perhaps.  The  question,  how- 
ever, never  troubles  Captain  Robert  Dol- 
lar. To  him  the  attitude  is  expressive  of 
a  distinct  kind  of  truthfulness,  of  hon- 
esty, of  a  non-Machiavallianism.  In  a 
world  full  of  greedy  diplomats,  conceal- 
ing their  signs  under  high-faluting  talk 
of  "saving  the  world"  and  "uplifting 
the  backward  peoples"  and  "carrying  the 
white  man's  burden" — it  is  refreshing  to 


face  a  man  of  realities,  like  Mr.  Dollar. 
It  is  the  petty  and  half-hearted  trader, 
engaged  in  foreign  trade,  say  in  China, 
who  creates  all  sorts  of  frictiiin  with  the 
foreign  peoples  to  whom  he  wants  to 
sell  his  wares  at  a  sizely  profit.  He  doesn't 
treat  the  prospective  foreign  buyers  in  a 
sincere  manner.  And  so  he  fails,  and 
then  turns  around  and  abuses  his  custom- 
ers and  his  government  at  home,  for  lack 
of  firm  support  and  what  not.  That  is 
not  the  Dollar  way.  Captain  Dollar  en- 
joys the  friendship  of  the  Chinese  as 
scarcely  another  white  man  in  the  world 

does. 

■>;■ — '^ 

"NTO  soft  life  was  his,  in  the  beginning. 

^  You  must  know  that  Robert  Dollar 
is  a  most  abstemious  man,  in  regard  to 
alcohol,  for  instance.  He  has  been  a  tem- 
perance man  since  childhood.  Perhaps, 
there  was  the  male  head  of  the  Dollar 
family,  in  Falkirk,  Scotland,  who  was 
altogether  too  intimate  with  the  cup. 
That  brought  much  tragedy  in  the  home, 
and  Robert  Dollar's  mother  pointed  out 
the  moral  of  the  situation.  At  any  rate, 
the  lesson  was  never  forgotten  by  Robert. 
In  those  hardworking  childhood  days, 
another  trouble  was  incorporated  in  the 
person  of  the  Presbyterian  -  hearted 
schoolmaster  who  administered  occasion- 
al caning  upon  young  Dollar's  tender 
back,  on  general  principles,  following 
the  scriptural  saying,  "Spare  the  rod  and 
spoil  the  child."  Hard  luck! 

Still  under  12,  Robert  Dollar  went 
to  work  for  his  living.  He  worked  in  a 
carpenter  shop,  and  a  sort  of  lumber 
mill.  All  those  seaside  and  lumber  mill 
experiences  of  early  boyhood  must  have 
left  a  mark  upon  his  spirit,  and  deter- 
mined his  future  career  in  strange  ways. 

At  the  time  of  this  writing,  Robert 
Dollar  is  83  years  of  age;  so,  it  was 
nearly  seventy  years  ago  when  he  emi- 
grated to  Canada,  to  find  a  more  hos- 
pitable land.  He  had  heard  of  the  great 
opportunities  that  Canada  and  the  United 
States  afforded  ambitious  youngsters. 

Perhaps  in  a  few  months  after  land- 
ing on  Canadian  soil,  young  Dollar  then 

(Continued  to  Page  31) 


The    San    Franciscan 

[27] 


Robert  Dollar 


The    San    Franciscan 

[28] 


Answers  To  Questionnaire  on  Page  16 


1.  Edward  Robson Taylor.  1 908- 1 909. 

2.  William  Keith. 

3.  Story  in  "The  Inner  Circle"  set  in 
"Tour  Eiffel,"  by  Frank  Norris. 

4.  "The  First  Born"  by  Powers,  in  the 
late  nineties. 

5.  The  Shot  Tower  on  Howard  Street. 

6.  A  Montgomery  Street  saloon-bum 
who  made  a  living  by  letting  cus- 
tomers kick  him  in  the  seat  of  the 
pants  as  hard  as  they  could  for  ten 
cents. 

7.  Rio  Janeiro. 

8.  Gelett  Burgess,  Porter  Garnett,  Ed- 
gar Peixotto,  Yone  Noguchi,  Bruce 
Porter    and    others    who    published 
"The  Lark"  in  1896. 

9.  Steve  Sanguinetti's. 

10.  Henry  Savage's  "Madam  Butterfly." 

1 1 .  Isadora  Duncan  and  Maud  Allen. 

12.  The  Kirmess  at  the  Valencia  The- 
atre. 

13.  South  Park. 

14.  Marchand's. 

15.  Ned    Greenway 

16.  New  Orleans  Fizz  and  Baked  Ham 


18. 
19. 

20. 


21 


22. 

23- 

24. 
25- 

26. 


on  a  biscuit. 

Ex-President  William  Howard  27. 

Taft.  28. 

David  Belasco  and  William  Brady.  29. 
The  Towne  Home  on  California  St.  2,0. 
Camilla  Urso  gave  a  promenade  con-  3  '• 
cert  in  the  old  Mechanics'  Pavilion.  32. 
She  played  the  Anvil  Chorus,  and  to  33. 
tlie  beating  of  the  anvils,  canntms  34. 
were  fired  on  the  Presidio  Hill.  Dur-  35. 
ing  the  loading  of  a  cannon,  it  dis- 
charged, sending  the  ramrod  through  36. 
the  body  of  the  attendant.  37. 

Negress  Housekeeper  of  the  Million- 
aire Bell,  who  owned  the  "Haunted         38. 
House"  on  Gough  Street  near  Sutter.         39. 
The    Bank   Exchange    famous    for        40. 
Pisco  Punches.  41. 

He  disappeared  in   Mexico  and  all        42. 
trace  of  him  was  lost. 
Little  Egypt. 

"There'll  Be  a  Hot  Time  in  the  Old         43. 
Town  Tonight." 

Bohemian  violinist,  conductor  of  or- 
chestra at  Techau  Tavern.  He  mar- 
ried an  ex-French  Princess  and  lived 


a  sensational   life. 
Ruef. 
Caruso. 

Sadakichi  Hartmann. 
Mabel  Gilman  Corey. 
Sybil  Sanderson. 
Elsa  Maxwell. 
John  McMullen. 
Telegraph  Hill,  on  Alta  Street. 
Puccini's  "La  Boheme"  in  1898,  and 
Leoncavallo's  "Zaza"  in  1903. 
Dr.  Horace  Fletcher. 
Luisa    Tetrazzini,    Christmas    Eve, 
19 10,  at  Lotta's  Fountain. 
Gelette  Burgess. 
Clarence  Urmy| 
Lotta  Crabtree. 
(Fame.)  He  died  a  pauper. 
First  publislier  of  the  Bulletin.  Mur- 
dered,   and    avenged    by   the   Vigil- 
antes. 

As  the  Prince  of  Wales  was  unable 
to  recall  the  occasion  we  are  com- 
pelled in  the  interests  of  accuracy  to 
withhold  the  name  of  the  gentleman. 
. .  .  Sorry. 


The  Kingdom  of  Happiness,  by  Jeddu 
Krishnamurti ;  Boni  &  Liveright, 
price  $1.50. 

SINCE  the  publication  of  Ring  Lard- 
ner's  The  Story  of  a  Wonier  Man, 
the  inhabitants  of  the  West  Coast  have 
had  something  to  laugh  at  besides  their 
newspapers.  But  there  is  something  odd 
that  rings  in  the  laughter  over  this  book. 
Of  course  it  is  nonsense,  but  then — ? 
Is  Ring  makins;  an  ass  of  himself  or  of 
the  reader?  Neither  of  these  courses  are 
expected  in  Autobiographies.  The  reader 
picks  up  tlie  book  expecting  to  learn  all 
about  Lardner,  and  finds  out  everything 
and  nothing  at  the  same  time.  He  is  puz- 
zled to  see  how  a  man  can  write  so  much 
about  himself  and  yet  give  away  nothing. 
But  here  is  where  the  new  and  true  style 
of  biography  is  given  to  us  for  the  first 
time.  The  most  intimate  side  of  a  person 
is  the  side  which  the  biographers  never 
touch.  They  all  record  the  details  of 
things  done,  but  who  before  Lardner  has 
recorded  the  things  he  refrained  from 
doing?   the  secret  paths  down  which  he 


The  Bookstall 

(Continued  from  P-Tge  25) 

Stole  to  look  but  never  dared  to  venture; 
the  little  ways  in  which  he  liked  to  live 
and  never  could?  When  Lardner  has  the 
Yale  football  coach  bawl  out  the  star  for 
appearing  on  the  field  for  dirty  finger- 
nails, is  he  ridiculing  his  wife  for  nag- 
ging him  to  keep  his  own  nails  clean? 
and  if  so,  does  he  not  then  divulge  the 
little  intimate  secret  that  he  loves  to  sit 
around  the  house  dirty?  You  see,  whether 
you  take  his  wife's  side  or  his  own,  he 
has  got  one  on  you.  And  he  tells  the  most 
hellish  things  on  himself,  in  that  funny 
way  that  makes  you  forget  to  think  what 
you're  reading. 

•^5 — ;<- 

The  Stury  of  a  Wotider  Man,  by  Ring 
Lardner;  Charles  Scribner's  Sons, 
price  $1.75. 

-H-  -;^ 

/^NE  of  the  unfortunate  conditions 
^-^  which  exists  within  the  field  of 
mystery  is  that  its  most  highly  developed 
form  is  the  least  popular.  I  mean  the 
ghost  story.  Stories  of  this  type  offer  the 
widest  range  to  the  writer's  imagination, 
and  some  of  the  greatest  tales  in  any  lan- 


guage are  its  ghost  stories.  The  most  re- 
cent selection  of  these,  The  Ghost  Book, 
compiled  by  Cynthia  Asquith,  is  rather 
disappointing.  A  collection  of  short 
stories,  when  by  different  authors,  is 
presumed  to  ha\'e  an  especial  value;  this 
is  doubly  true  with  a  specialized  selection, 
such  as  Adventure  Tales,  Humorous 
Tales,  Ghost  Stories,  etc.  They  should 
be  outstanding  in  the  field  to  which  they 
belong,  for  otherwise  there  is  small  ex- 
cuse for  a  collection  by  separate  authors. 
Two  or  three  of  these  stories,  notably 
one  by  Oliver  Onions,  are  worthy,  but 
on  the  whole  the  selection  is  quite  ordi- 
nary, falling  far  short  of  the  selections 
by  French  and  Scarborough. 

'  I  'HOSE  who  like  detective  stories  will 
•*■  find  a  well  written  yarn  in  The 
House  of  Sin,  by  Allen  Upward.  The 
story  is  in  no  way  e.xceptional,  but  is  one 
of  the  few  of  its  kind  told  with  intellec- 
tual honesty.  The  characters  do  just  as 
intelligent  humans  would  do  under  the 
strange  circumstances.  There  are  no 
super-human  men  and  no  miracles. 


The    San    Franciscan 

[29] 


All  the  News  That's  Fit  to  Print 

(Cuiitimied  Iroin  Page  9) 

Street  are  just  as  amusing  and  even  more 
fantastic. 

'T"'HE  necessity  for  concision  and  em- 
phasis  in  the  writing  of  headlines  has 
given  birth  to  a  new  and  astounding 
simplicity  of  expression.  Just  as  the  ty- 
ranny of  a  set  rhyme  scheme  often  forces 
the  poet  into  his  greatest  lines,  so  the  ne- 
cessity of  squeezing  the  most  news  into 
the  fewest  words  exacts  a  precision  and 
expressiveness  of  language  absolutely 
peculiar  to  the  American  newspaper.  An 
English  Poet  Laureate  visiting  America 
for  the  first  time  refused  to  grant  an 
importunate  reporter  an  interview.  The 
following  day  appeared  the  headline: 
KING'S  CANARY  WON'T 
C  H  I  R  P." 

Perhaps  the  greatest  secret  of  the  press 
to  hold  us  lies  in  its  sheer  quantity.  It  is 
not  one  headline  but  many,  not  one  di- 
vorce, murder,  revolution  or  comic  strip 
but  thousands  of  them  repeated  day  after 
day  which  finally  comes  to  upset  all  our 
ideas  of  truth  and  beauty.  Certain  belated 
aesthetes  have  tried  to  discover  who  are 
the  great  American  novelists  and  play- 
wrights. What  futility! 

The  fatal  mistake  a  newspaper  can 
make  is  to  try  to  maintain  a  certain  good 
taste  and  intelligent  observation.  Look 
what  such  a  policy  has  done  for  the  New 
York  Times,  the  Herald-Tribune  and 
the  Philadelphia  Ledger.  One  might  as 
well  read  the  New  Republic.  The  best 
American  papers  are  the  New  York  tab- 
loids. The  Graphic  is  particularly  good 
for  significant  detail.  Peaches'  honking 
gander,  Mrs.  Coolidge's  collie  dog  and 
the  Spirit  of  St.  Louis  have  occupied  col- 
umns which  Jack  Dempsey  and  the 
Countess  Cathcart  must  have  envied. 
The  Mirror  is  equally  good  for  gran- 
diose generalities  as  when  one  day  two 
imaginative  sketches  of  Mrs.  Snyder  and 
Mr.  Gray  each  dead  in  his  own  electric 
chair  maintained  a  decorative  balance  on 
the  front  sheet  worthy  of  Michelangelo's 
prophets  in  the  Sistine  Chapel. 

TRAILING  a  tabloid  any  Hearst  paper 
is  always  a  good  buy.  The  mere  scope 
of  the  Hearst  press  is  enough  to  recom- 
mend it.  From  Sandy  Hook  to  the  Seal 
Rocks  this  august  institution  casts  its  long 
shadow,  and  the  influence  it  exerts  makes 
the  Catholic  Church  of  the  Middle  Ages 
look  like  our  local  Chamber  of  Com- 


merce. So  far  perhaps  its  influence  has 
been  relati\'ely  superficial.  One  can  hard- 
ly say  that  advice  to  the  lovelorn,  cross- 
word puzzles,  Annie  Laurie,  Houdini's 
Magic  Section,  and  Bringing  Up  Father 
have  wrought  any  transcendental  changes 
on  humanit}'.  But  cannot  one  visualize 
the  use  future  Agamemnons  will  make 
of  such  an  organ  to  spread  the  news  of 
fallen  Troys?  Think  of  the  unborn 
Savonarolas  who  will  preach  their  doc- 
trines in  syndicated  columns  called  "The 
Psycho-elliptical  God  of  One  Hundred 
Percent  Uplift." 

It  has  become  the  custom  to  laugh  at 
the  Hearst  press  and  call  it  naughty 
names.  Nobody  understands  the  value  of 
laughter  and  abuse  better  than  the  Hearst 
press  itself — nobody  since  Voltaire  and 
Machiavelli. 

'T~'HIS  great  newspaper  does  not  con- 
tribute  to  the  great  American  drama 
I  visualised.  It  plays  in  a  theatre  of  its 
own  and  is  a  gorgeous  minstrel  show, 
whose  interlocutor  is  William  Randolph 
Hearst  and  whose  end  man  is  Arthur 
Brisbane. 


"Ten 

Commandments 

for 

Investors" 


Sent  on  Request 
No  Obligation 


Sdmabadier 

Investment    fiJ)  i^f\ 
Securities    |^  \JU 

PALACE  HOTEt  BUILDING 

065  MARKET  ST.       DOUGLAS  $00 

San  frantitto 


AV»v»vav»va»«i»i»»«v«vii»i»»IHttvAVAVAVAVAVA»A»*»AVAVA»AVA«AV*VAVAVAVaVA»AVAVAVAVAVAVAVA»AVAVaV*VAV*Vd»*VAVA\'MAyAVAVJiVAVy^ 


Anderson  &  Fox 

announce  the  opening  of 


nevL  ofnces 


at 


3'7 


San  Francisco 


'«Tt7aT»T»VaT<TaT<TflTATaWa¥ATaV*TAT;,TA»A>/,»»»A»«»«»A»«».»>W.W.W»WiTiTiiWi»»i» 


The    San    Franciscan 
[30] 


Dido  and  Aeneas 

(Continued  from  Page  24) 

was  summer,  it  was  warm,  but  the  Queen 
and  her  lover  were  unhappy  for  both  of 
them  suffered  a  hunger,  one  of  the  body 
and  one  of  the  brain.  The  warmth,  the 
night  and  the  wine  nursed  their  inglori- 
ous misery. 

In  the  dimness.  Dido  spoke  on  and  on 
about  her  love  and  the  Trojan  spoke  on 
and  on  about  his  ability.  He  was  feverish 
with  ambition  and  she  was  feverish  with 
lust. 

Aeneas  sighed.  She  was  a  woman  given 
to  intricate  emotions  and  he  too  much  of 
a  male  to  divine  her  anguish.  She  moved 
against  him.  The  night  was  warm  and 
African  and  her  breatli  against  his  throat 
was  a  flame.  He  felt  her  body  quiver  in 
an  extremity  of  exquisite  grief.  He  took 
her  in  disgust,  savagely,  and  Dido 
learned  that  love  and  hate  are  half- 
brothers. 

■^>—^ 

YVVITH  the  dawn  Carthage  lost 
' '^  Aeneas,  in  the  bright,  logical,  dis- 
passionate dawn. 

Again  that  evening  tlie  Queen  lay  on 
her  balcony.  Her  city  seeined  a  desolate 
spot  in  the  wilderness  and  her  floors  and 
flowers  incongruities.  The  sea  strummed 
an  incessant  threnody.  The  blackness  of 
her  Nubians  did  not  gleam.  A  youthful 
handmaiden  hovered  near  the  Queen  in 
perplexity. 

"I  am  filled  with  ennui,"  Dido  said 
to  the  girl.  "I  shall  kill  myself,  but  not 
for  love  of  him.  I  shall  kill  myself  for 
a  more  universal  reason.  The  fleetness 
of  things.  Why  undergo  another  sunset, 
look  forward  to  another  dawn?  I  am 
a  woman  with  an  historical  sense.  I  real- 
ize there  is  no  important  difference  be- 
tween one  dawn  and  four  thousand. 
Dawns  do  not  interest  me.  I  have  seen 
many.  They  plagiarize  one  another.  I 
shall  kill  myself  to  escape  fleetness  and 
futility.  He  was  not  brilliant,  my  lover. 
He  had  no  mental  capacit}',  only  a  sub- 
limated ego.  He  had  a  glint  in  his  eye, 
a  well-turned  leg  and  there  is  no  clause 
in  any  philosophy  that  could  defeat  the 
yellow  of  lu's  liair.  I  shall  kill  myself  to 
escape  futile  dawns."  She  played  with  her 
goblet  of  wine.  "Ah !  but  his  hair  was 
golden." 

The  Mediterranean  crashes  and  crum- 
ples on  the  sands  of  the  African  shore 
and  once,  there,  a  scented  pyre,  more 
orgiastic  than  funereal,  bore  some  queen- 
ly ashes. 


Sail  to  New  York 


>< 


d 


SISTER  SHIPS 


SS  VENEZUELA 
SS  COLOMBIA 
SS  ECUADOR 


See  MEXICO,  CENTRAL  AMERICA,  PANAMA  CANAL 
and  GAY  HAVANA,  en  route 

Patiti}>:a  Mail  Liners  Arc  Specially  Built  for  Serz'ice  in  the  Tropics 

TWENTV-EIGHT  days  of  pure  delight  aboard  a  palatial  Panams  Mall  Liner  with 
seven  nevcr-tu-bc-forgotten  visits  ashore  at  picturesque  and  historic  ports — Manzan- 
iilo,  Mexico;   San  Jose  de  Guatemala;   La  Libertad,  Salvador;   Corinto,  Nicaragua. 
Two  days  in  the  Canal  Zone.  See  the  great  Panama  Canal;   visit  B.ilboa,  Cristobal  and 
historic  old  Panama. 

Every  cabin  on  a  Panama  Mail  Liner  Is  an  outside  one;  each  lias  an  electric  fan, 
and  there  is  a  comfortable  lower  bed  for  every  passenger.  There  is  an  orchestra  for 
dancing;    deck  games  and  sports  and  salt  water  swimming  tank. 

Costs  Less  Than  ^9  a  Day 

The  cost  Is  less  than  $9.00  a  day  for  minimum  tirst  class  passage,  including  bed 
and  meals  on  steamer.  Go  East  by  Panama  Mail  and  return  by  rail  {ov  the  reverse  routing 
for  $380)  for  as  little  as  $150-  (This  price  does  not  include  berth  and  meals  on  trains.) 
Panama  Mall  liners  leave  San  Francsco,  LosAngcle:^  and  New  York  approximitely  every 
21  days.  Next  sailings  from  San  Francisco;  SS  COLOMBIA,  Sept.  17;  SS  VENE- 
ZUELA, Oct.  8.  From  New  York:  SS  ECUADOR,  Sept.  2+;  SS  COLOMBIA,  Oct.  22. 

For  illustrated  hooklets  and  further  details  ask  any  steanish'p  or 
ticket  agent,  or  zcrite  to 

PANAMA  MAIL  S.  S.  CO. 


548  S.  Spring  Strkei' 
LOS  ANGELES 


2  Pine  Strelt 
SAN  FRANCISCO 


10  Hano\lr  Square 
NEW  YORK 


The    San    Franciscan 
[31] 


Titans 

(Continued  from  Page  26) 

thought,  he  would  become  so  rich  as  to 
spend  the  rest  of  his  life  in  luxur)'.  But 
the  only  job  he  could  secure  from  the 
empknment  agencies  in  Ottawa  was  of 
a  cook's  assistant  in  a  lumber  camp,  out 
in  the  heavy  woods,  some  200  miles  fr.im 
the  cit}'.  The  lordly  pay  was  $10  a 
month,  or  less.  Robert  Dollar  accepted  it. 
Awful  work  it  was  to  cook  for  sev- 
eral hundred  of  these  rough  lumberjacks' 
There  were  no  rules  then  regulating  the 
hours  of  work  of  a  youngster.  Robert 
had  to  toil  from  dawn  to  dusk,  and  until 
the  unruly  lumbermen  had  slept  off. 
Then,  in  the  kitchen  light,  young  Dollar 
would  try  to  do  some  reading.  He  had 
remembered  the  thrashing  that  the 
schoolmaster  in  old  Scotland  ga\e  him, 
to  make  a  scholar  of  him.  He  did  some 
arithmetical  problems,  some  writing  and 
reading. 

"LJ  IS  personality  has  been  carved  out. 
-*■-'■  He  had  faced  hells.  He  feared 
nothing.  He  wanted  to  get  into  business 
for  himself.  He  had  saved  something 
from  his  frugal  living 

Late  in  life  then,  as  ordinary  life 
goes,  Robert  Dollar  turned  to  the  lumber 
mill  business.  He  moved  down  from 
Canada  to  California,  and  got  into  the 
lumber  mill  industry  here.  Tall  lumber 
was  shipped  out  from  San  Francisco  to 
foreign  countries.  Mr.  Dollar  wanted  to 
capture  most  of  this  trade. 

About  the  time  of  the  Spanish-Ameri- 
can war,  Mr.  Dollar  perceived  the  ad- 
vantage of  owning  a  freight  ship  to  send 
his  lumber  in.  He  purchased,  somehow, 
a  boat  that  had  been  to  the  Philippines, 
I  believe.  Thus  began  the  Dollar  Ships 
Service.  How  it  grew  into  an  immense 
fleet — circumnavigating  the  globe! 

Captain  Dollar's  first  ship,  "The 
Newsboy,"  was  barely  300  tons.  And 
look  at  the  Dollar  ships  of  the  around- 
the-world  service,  that  followed!  The 
Dollar  globe  service  was  started  in  Sep- 
tember, 1913,  with  seven  ships  that  Mr. 
Dollar  had  purchased  for  passenger  and 
freight  ser\ice,  from  the  United  States 
Government. 

The  multimillionaire  Robert  Dollar, 
past  83 — is  finishing  his  last  bit  of  the 
crisp  apple  pie:  the  coffee  is  strong,  and 
stirs  my  imagination  and  I  see  before 
me —  "Grandpa  Neptune,  big  boss  of 
the  sea — eating  apple  pie  with  his  fork- 
like Trident! '"^ 


THE  SAN  FRANCISCO  BANK 

SAVINGS                                                                                                                                    COMMERCIAL 
INCORPORATED  FEBRUARY  lOTH.  1858 

One  of  the  Oldest  Banks  in  California, 
the  Assets  of  which  have  never  been  increased 
by  mergers  or  consolidations  with  other  Banks 

MEMBER  ASSOCIATED  SAVINGS  BANKS  OF  SAN  FRANCISCO 

526  California  Street,  San  Francisco,  Cal. 

JUNE  30th,  1927 

Assets $113,925,831.54 

Capital,  Reserve  and  Contingent  Funds 4,700,000.00 

Employees'    Pension     Fund     over    $575,000.00, 

standing    on    Books    at                        1.00 

MISSION  BRANCH Mission  and  21st  Streets 

PARK-PRESIDIO  BRANCH Clement  St.  and  7th  Ave. 

HAIGHT  STREET  BRANCH Haight  and  Belvedere  Streets 

WEST  PORTAL  BRANCH West  Portal  Ave.  and  Ulloa  St. 

Interest  paid  on  Deposits  at  the  rate  of 

FOUR  AND  ONE-QUARTER  (41^)  per  cent  per  annum, 

COMPUTED  MONTHLY  and  COMPOUNDED  QUARTERLY, 

AND  MAY  BE  WITHDRAWN  QUARTERLY 

SUTRO  &  COMPANY 

ARE  PLE.ASED  TO 
ANNOUNCE  THE  OPENING  OF 
THEIR  NEW  OFFICES 

AT 

407  Montgomery  Street 

T/ie  Fiiiamial  Center  Building 

TELEPHONL  NLMIJER  REM.AINS  LNCH.ANGED 

DAXENPORT  2130 


The    San    Franciscan 
[32]  /■ 


The  PLAYERS'  GUILD 

of  San  Francisco 

SEASON  1927-28 

opens  ill  the 

Community  Playhouse 

Cor.  Sutter  &  Mason  {Woman's  Bldg;. ) 

Thursday  Evening,  Sept.  8th 

INITIAL  ATTRACTION: 

HAY  FEVER 

A  Successful  Comedy  by  Noet  Coward 

With  Emelie  Melville,  Curtis  Arnall 

and  Barrie  O'Daniels. 

Performances    Sept.     8th,    9th,    loth, 

15th,   1 6th,  17th. 

Sat.  Mats.  Sept.   loth  and   17th. 

SECOND  ATTRACTION: 

ERNST  VAJDA'S 

FATA  MORGANA 

Sensational  Theatre  Guild  (N.Y.)  success. 
E.xceptional    Cast    includes    Virginia 
Pearson,   Curtis  Arnall,   Emelie   Mel- 
ville and  Barry  O'Daniels. 
Performances  Sept.  22nd,  2jrd,  24th, 
29th,  30th  and  Oct.  i. 
Sat.  Mats.  Sept.  24th  and  Oct.  i. 


Prices:  Evgs.,  75c  ro  S1.50.  Mats.  50c  and  75c. 
Subscription    Bks.     ($10)     Save    You    33H% 


flrc^^    ^^,- 

1 

1 

1 

Itili'i  mi- 

1 

Ibml     '^^'^S^^H^^E 

1 

Hollywood  Plaza  Hotel 

Hollywood's  Fimff 

Vine  Street  and  Hollywood  Blvd. 

CHAS.  DANZIGER.  .JUanagitig  IHrecior 

The  Reigning  Dynasty 

(Continued  from  Page  19) 

Filmer  have  as  their  house  guests,  Mr. 
and  Mrs|  Bliss  Rucker  and  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Russell  Wilson. 

The  beach  is  alive  with  attractive 
young  men.  Mr.  Nickolas  Luddington 
of  Philadelphia,  whose  father  recently 
purch.ised  the  home  of  Peter  Cooper 
Bryce,  having  with  him  three  of  his 
friends  recently  graduated  from  Yale, 
and  Mr.  William  Miner,  nephew  of  Max 
Fleischman,  having  as  his  guest  for  the 
summer  Mr.  Brooks  Begp-s.  Leon  Walker 
flies  the  owner's  flag  aboard  the  Alma 
each  week-end  and  the  debonair  Mr.  Orel 
Goldaracena  added  his  deft  and  light 
touch  to  many  functions.  It  remained, 
however,  for  the  ubiquitous  Mr.  Cov- 
ington Janin  to  make  an  almost  perfect 
vacation  record.  A  pillar  of  strength 
upon  the  volley  ball  court,  a  mighty  man 
before  the  Lord  upon  the  baseball  dia- 
mond, invincible  at  tennis,  he  also  had 
the  knack  of  gracing  an  almost  unbe- 
lievable number  of  luncheons,  teas,  cock- 
tail parties,  dinners  and  dances.  He  was 
a  host  in  himself. 

Edgecliff,  by  the  bye,  has  put  out  of 
joint  the  more  elderly  nose  of  Miramar 
by  stealing  premier  place  in  the  social 
sun.  The  parasols  of  Miramar  cluster  by 
the  pier  and  a  scant  half-mile  along  a 
No  Man's  land  of  golden  sand,  those  of 
Edgecliif  dot  the  beach,  like  two  rival 
camps.  An  armistice  is  on,  for  Edgecliff 
rests  happily  in  its  knowledge  of  its 
exclusiveness,  while  Miramar  carries 
proudly  its  tradition  of  age,  and  so  visi- 
tors stroll  from  one  to  the  other,  pro- 
vided, of  course,  that  they  bear  guest 
cards,  for  Edgecliff  insists  upon  that  for- 
mality. 

At  both  places  one  finds  a  restaurant. 


Frank  Carroll  Giffen 

Teacher  of  Siiigi/ig 

976  CHESTNUT  STREET 
SAN  FR.ANCISCO 

Tth-phune  Graystone  3320 
By  Appointment  Only 


Seckek^flefcher 
leclures 

Popular  Lecture  Series 

Popular  Prices 

7  Lectures  $5.00 

All  Seats  Reserved 
Students  Tickets,  7  Lectures,  $3.00 

Lowell  Thomas 

October  ^  i 
With  Lawrence  in  Arabia.  Illustrated. 

Capt.  John  Noel 

Mt.  Everest  Expedition. 
Motion  Pictures. 

VilhjalmurStefansson 

The  Friendly  Arctic.  Illustrated. 

Maurice  Hindus 
Richard  Halliburton 

Author  of  "Royal  Road  to  Romance" 
and  "Glorious  Adventure." 

Walter  Prichard  Eaton 

American  Dram.a — Past  and  Present. 

John  Erskine 

Author  of  "Helen  of  Troy," 
Scottish  Rite  Auditorium 


Special  Lectures 

Prince  William 
of  Sweden 

"Big  Game  Hunting  in  Pigmy  Land." 

Motion  Pictures. 

Auspices  Swedish -American 

Patriotic  League 

Civic  A  uditorium 

Noz'ember  7,  8:20  f.m. 

Reserved  Se.its  $1.00,  $2.00,  $3.00. 

(Plus  tax) 

Debate 
Judge  Ben  Lindsay 

and 

Rabbi  Louis  I.  Newman 

Subject:  "Should  Compassionate  Mar- 
riage as  Advocated  by  Judge  Lindsay 
be  Legalized? " 
Scottish  Rite  Auditoriu))! 
October  26th 
Reserved  Seats  $1.00,  $1.50,  $2.00. 
(Plus  tax) 

Aline  Barrett  Greenwood 

Current  Rez'iews 

Monthly,  Opening  Oct.  7th 
Tickets  for  all  Lectures 
.'vt  Sherman,  Clay  and  Co. 


The    San    Franci 
[33] 


Jh9  latiLced  eniranee 
— kuo-zi'}i  round  the  vcorld 

Incomparable  Chocolates 

for  those  who  seek  the  Highways 
and  Bjvvays  for  the  unusual 

KRATZ  GIFT  BOXES 

Priced  from  $^ 

DcLuxe  Assortments — $5,  $6,  $7, 

$8  and  ^10  the  pound 

KATZ — -ESTABLISHED  AMERICA  1879 

NOW  at  IT 6  POST  STREET 
SAN  FRANCISCO 


FC?\neis 

T€AB001D 

Luncfl€gn 


<3     1      S 

suTTea  ST 


8-  1     T     T 


a  cafeteria  de  luxe,  in  which  one  makes 
a  selection  of  hot  and  cold  dishes,  succu- 
lent salads,  arrays  of  iced  fruits,  and  tall 
glasses  of  cooling  beverages.  One  takes 
one's  tray  to  an  umbrella  and  there,  upon 
the  sand,  in  bathing  suit  eats  upon  a  small 
table  just  high  enough  to  be  comfortable. 

Off  shore  lie  the  low  and  graceful 
ships  of  Mr.  Bixby  of  Los  Angeles  and 
Mr.  Leon  Walker  of  San  Francisco, 
while  towards  Santa  Barbara  on  the  wat- 
er white  sails  cluster  like  spotless  gulls. 

The  old  champagne  set  which  is  ever 
perturbed  by  the  drinking  proclivities  of 
the  young  gin  and  Scotch  set  is  agog  over 
the  latest  fad  in  alcoholics.  It  is  reported 
that  a  contingent  of  young  men  alighted 
from  the  morning  train  from  San  Fran- 
cisco and  sped  to  one  of  the  group's 
home  for  breakfast.  Sitting  at  each  place 
was  a  tall  glass  of  morning  orange  juice. 
From  various  hips  came  flasks  and  the 
glasses  were  filled  to  the  brim  with  gin 
and  downed  before  the  advent  of  the 
eggs. 

A  breakfast  dansant  next,  eh? 

Vincent  O'SulIivan 

(Continued  from  P-ige  14.) 

Wilde's  habit  of  holding  white  carna- 
tions over  a  sulphur  flame  so  that  he 
might  sport  green  carnations.  The 
Beardsley  coterie  inhaled  sulphuric 
fumes:  they  are  all  green  carnations. 

Some  dark  and  rainy  evening,  when 
the  shadows  of  lost  ladies  and  romantic 
gentlemen  perplex  you,  if  indeed  they 
do,  when  Dr.  Coolidge  has  just  deliv- 
ered another  excruciatingly  banal  ad- 
dress, when  Michael  Arlen's  latest  novels 
are  cluttering  the  book-shops,  and  the 
very  skies  themselves  seem  to  cry  with 
American  madness,  pull  down  the  blinds, 
pour  out  a  stiff  dram  of  the  best  your 
cellar  affords,  and  read  "The  Good 
Girl."  Then  may  your  pastor  pray  for 
your  immortal  soul! 

Now  It  Can  Be  Told 

(Continued  from  Page  11) 
Just  by  way  of  comment  we  wish  to 
add  that  five  days  have  elapsed  between 
the  stealing  of  the  car  and  its  recovery, 
and  during  that  time  the  thief  had  been 
entirely  unmolested  by  a  single  member 
of  tile  p:)lice  force.  But  when  the  right- 
ful owner  wanted  to  go  about  his  legal 
business,  he  was  at  once  exposed  to  the 
rigorous  treatment  of  our  watchful, 
though  obese,  constabulary.  It  took  him 
four  days  more  to  recover  his  own  prop- 
erty  from  the  guardians  of  our  safety. 


PLDOLPU  5CUA[|:t[P 

AnnounctJ 

FALL       CLA55E3      IH 

DUYTUnO-CUDOHATIC 

DLJIGPI 

Dupinc 

i[PT[nE)[^ 
ocTOD[[^-nov[n5[[^ 

127  GEAHT  AVEMUE  -  JAn  PRAnCIJCO 


ALC bvE 


BOOKS 

Old  and  New 

PALO    ALTO 
542  Ramona  Street 

Phone  P.  A.  1960 
KENNETH  CARNAHAN  Mgr. 


The    San    Franciscan 
[34] 


ALBERT  DETER/EN 


EXPONENT 
OF  MODERN 
PHOTOGRAPHIC 
PORTKAITURE 


22  THIRD    AVE 

JAN   MATEO  CALIF 

PHONE    634 


"Betty  'Noble 

^Jvlodiste 


-»CK- 


96  TOLEDO  WAY 

Near  Pierce 

Fillmore  lys' 

SAN  FRANCISCO 


The  Digger  Indian 

(Continued  from  Page  15) 

rubber  compound  under  high  pressure 
with  the  color  in  the  mix,  cut  in  mosaic 
and  set  with  the  aid  of  brass  strips  like 
cloisonne  enamel.  The  area  is  di\ided 
by  columns  in  such  a  way  it  falls  natur- 
ally into  six  equal  panels.  In  each  of  these 
is  a  large  Indian  motive,  all  different, 
and  multiple  small  borders  define  each 
unit.  The  floor  was  designed  by  Mr. 
Henry  Howard. 

All  of  these  patterns  were  accurately 
transcribed  from  the  baskets,  practically 
all  from  northern  California  work,  prin- 
cipally that  of  the  Pomos  and  Hupas  and, 
to  a  certain  extent,  the  Yuruks.  But  in 
the  baskets  the  color  range  is  necessarily 
\ery  restricted,  usually  only  three  or  four 
shades  of  brown  and  black.  Some  inkling 
of  the  Indians'  love  of  color,  however, 
when  they  could  contrive  it,  is  revealed 
in  the  weavings  with  bird  feathers.  Here 
are  clear  bright  yellow,  red  and  blue, 
always  with  a  black  accent. 


JEANETTE  Dyer  Spencer  has  been 
the  first  artist  to  compose  in  this  re- 
discovered pattern  language.  She  has 
taken  the  units  of  the  Indian  patterns, 
felt  herself  into  the  spirit  of  their  forms 
and  so  created  subtle  and  brilliant  varia- 
tions on  typical  California  themes.  She 
is  a  graduate  of  the  University  of  Cali- 
fornia School  of  Architecture  and  then 
worked  for  five  years  on  stained  glass 
in  the  Ecole  du  Louvre  in  Paris,  studying 
especially  the  great  windows  of  the 
Sainte  Chapelle. 

She  has  designed  for  the  Ahwahnee, 
ten  stained  glass  panels  forming  the  top 
transoms  of  the  high  windows  in  the 
great  lounge.  Each  is  different  but  they 
create  a  rhythmic  sequence  which  carries 
a  mo\'ement  of  jewelled  color  around 
the  boom,  t}'ing  together  the  decorative 
scheme.  An  overmantle  from  her  design, 
summarizing  the  ensemble,  will  he  ren- 
dered later.  Equally  effective  and  quite 
different  in  spirit,  is  an  overmantle  in 
the  lobby,  a  composition  of  the  strong 
forces  of  movement  inherent  in  Hupa 
and  Pomo  patterns. 

Thus  the  Digger  comes  into  his  own, 
in\entor  of  a  range  of  design,  virile, 
original,  rhythmic,  which  can  fittingly 
be  rendered  in  the  highest  of  the  archi- 
tectural decorative  arts  and  which  pro- 
\ide  a  new  set  of  forms  for  the  designer 
of  insight. 


Such  delightfully 
Sophisticated  clothes 

LEVY  BROS. 

Burlingame  and  San  Mateo 


[^CHAUL 

IIN    MECMAM  IC/^L     TEHMy,    A     BRlL_l_lx^hT 
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ATWmTIE.ThCmTURY  EXPkE//IOnor  Th^rRmCh  CIVILlZATIOn 

FULLY   EQUIPPED  REPIAULT/   PRICLD  FROH 
*l,950  TO   $12,000   inCLUDinQ    THE  TAX.' 


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After  the 

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Dinner 

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HOTEL 
MARK 

hopkin: 

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SAN  FRANCISCO 


November  19  th. 


Music  By 

Anson  Week's 
Orchestra 

¥a  vors — Fea  tures — Revelry 

'Make  your  reservations  noir 


D  r  n  AU  LT 

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After  the 

Big  Qame--- 

Dinner 

at 

HOTEL 
MARK 

HOPKINS 

atop  nob  hill 
SAN  FRANCISCO 

November  19th. 

Music  By 

Anson  Week's 
Orchestra 

Favors — Features — Revelry 
Make  your  reservations  now 


I 


r^ 


Music 

October  i6,  Sunday  Afternoon,  at  the  Co- 
lumbia Theatre,  Jascha  Heifetz,  Russian 
Violinist.  (Oppenheimer  attraction.) 

October  l  8,  Tuesday  Evening,  at  the  Civic 
Auditorium,  Claudia  Muzio,  Dramatic 
Soprano.   (Oppenheimer  attraction.) 

October  ig,  Wednesday  Ever.ii.g,  at  the 
Playhouse  of  the  Women's  Building,  T//e 
Persinger  String  Quartet. 

October  21,  Friday  Afternoon,  at  the  Cur- 
ran  Theatre,  San  Francisco  Symphony, 
first  concert  of  the  season. 

October  23,  Sunday  Afternoon,  at  the  Cur- 
ran  Theatre,  San  Francisco  SymfAony. 

October  31,  Monday  Afternoon,  Gold 
Ballroom,  Fairmont  Hotel,  Snial/man 
Costuvied  A  Cafella  Choir.  (Alice  Seck- 
els  Matinee  Musicales.) 

November  i,  Tuesday  Evening,  Civic 
Auditorium,  Municipal  "Pop"  Concert, 
San  Francisco  Symphony,  with  Alex. 
Brailozcsky,  pianist,  as  guest  artist. 

Lectures 

October  i7,Monday  Evening,  Scottish  Rite 
Auditorium,  Current  Reviezvs  bv  Aline 
Barrett  Greenzcood.  (Seckels-Fletcher  at- 
traction.) 

October  3  i,Mond.iy  Evening, Scottish  Rite 
Auditorium,  Lozvell  Thomas,  "With 
Thomas  in  Arabia."  (Seckels-Fletcher  at- 
traction.) 

The  Theatre 

The  Alcazar:  Pigs.  Which  all  goes  to 
prove  that  sick  pigs  should  be  cared  for. 

The  Columbia:  The  Pelican.  Marjorie 
Rambeau  as  the  mother  who'd  just  about 
do  anything  for  "her  boy."  To  be  fol- 
lowed by  The  Vortex  by  Noel  Coward. 

The  Curran:  Gay  Paree.  A  Shubert  show, 
to  open  October  2.  Thev  sav  it's  good, 
but  you  never  can  tell  until  you  get  there! 


The  Capitol:   Padlocked  as  we  go  to  press. 

The  Lurie:  ''Oh,  Kay."  This  is  a  "gilt- 
edge"  proposition!  Gershwin  music  and 
Elsie  Janis  in  the  Gertrude  Lawrence 
role. 

President:  What  Anne  Brought  Home. 
Opens  October  2.  We're  going  because 
we're  curious. 

Community  Playhouse:  Fata  Morgana, 
October  6,  7,  8.  A  Hungarian  boy  being 
seduced  by  a  Hungarian  lady.  Splendid. 
Fanny's  First  Play,  October  13,  14,  15 
and  20,  21,  22.    Shavian. 

Orpheum:   The  best  in  vaudeville. 

Movies 

Calu'ornia:  The  Magic  Flame.  The  flame 
being  \'ilma  Banky. 

St.  Francis:  Annie  Laurie.  Lillian  Gish, 
the  Bernhardt  of  the  screen,  being  Scot- 
tish.   A  perfect  picture. 

The  Imperial:  Rises  majestically — it's  a 
first-run  house  again. 

Warfield:  For  better  or  for  worse,  it 
changes  weekly.    Usually  for  better. 

Granada:   And  the  same  applies  here. 

RiALTo:  It  promises  to  be  the  new  home  for 
foreign-made  pictures. 

Dining  and  T)a7icing 

The  Mark  Hopkins:  The  Peacock  Room. 
The  "nobbiest"  place  on  Nob  Hill  for 
dining  and  dancing. 

Tait's-at-the-Beach:  On  Sloat  Boulevard. 
It's  unusual,  it's  diff'erent,  and  it's  distinc- 
tive. 

The  Saint  Francis:  The  Garden  Room. 
De  luxe  entertainment  with  de  luxe  sur- 
roundings. 

Cafe  Marquard:  Geary  and  Mason.  Con- 
tinental and  convenient. 

La  Casa  Bigin:  441  Stockton.  Where  so- 
called  artists  relax  a  bit. 

Clift  Roof-Lounge:  Geary  at  Taylor. 
Genteel  is  the  word  for  it. 

The  Aladdin  Studio:  363  Sutter.  Some- 
times a  bit  rowdy — but  always  amusing. 

Cabiria:  530  Broadway.  Inexpensive  in- 
formality and  a  good  revue  to  boot. 

The  Jungle  Inn:  Next  to  Cabiria.  Cocoa- 
nuts,  bamboo,  monkeys  and  palms.  Every- 
thing that's  tropical,  except  the  heat. 

New  Shanghai  Cafe:  332  Grant  Avenue. 
The  best  we  have  in  the  Oriental  line. 

Francis  Tea  Room:  3  1  5  Sutter.  If  you  trv 
it  once,  it'll  become  a  habit. 


Temple  Bar  Tea  Room:  No.  i  Tillman 
Place.   The  tea  room  with  references. 

Martha  Jean's:  270  Sutter  and  340  Mason. 
They're  sisters — and  they're  both  GOOD 
girls! 

La  Casa  Alta:  442  Post  Street.  This  place 
is  a  real  treat. 

Coppa's:  120  Spring.  Cuisine  prepared  espe- 
cially for  artists. 

The  Loggia:  127  Grant.  A  delightful  re- 
treat for  the  Grant  Avenue  shopper. 

Art 

Courtesy  of  "The  Argus" 

Beaux  Arts  Galerie:  October  I  to  15, 
one-man  show  bv  Rinaldo  Cuneo;  Oc- 
tober 17  to  31,  one-man  show  by  E. 
Charlton  Fortune. 

California  Little  Gallery:  Mosaic  p.in- 
els  by  Ernest  R.  Hanson. 

California  Palace  of  the  Legion  of 
Honor:  Carl  Hamilton  collection  of 
Italian  renaissance  art  objects.  Special  ex- 
hibit of  paintings  and  sculpture  by  mod- 
ern artists  of  Europe  and  America. 

California  School  of  Fine  Arts:  Repro- 
ductions of  drawings  by  old  masters. 

De  Young  Memorial  Museum:  Paintings 
and  statuary  by  American  and  European 
artists. 

East-West  Gallery  of  Fine  Arts:  Paint- 
ings by  Diego  Rivera,  of  Mexico. 

Paul  Elder  Gallery:  Etchings  and  litho- 
graphs b}-  Alfred  Hulty. 

S.  &  G.  Gump  Co.:  Water  colors  by  Heath 
Anderson. 

Modern  Gallery:  Paintings  and  litho- 
graphs by  Conway  Davies. 

Nineteen  -  Ninety  California  Street: 
Paintings  of  Italian,  Spanish,  Moorish  and 
other  figures  and  landscape  subjects  by 
Trevor  Haddon,  R.  B.  A. 

Worden  Gallery:  Paintings  by  California 
artists.    Etchings  and  mezzo-tints. 


Robinson  Jeffers 

A  photographic  likeness  of  the  California  poet,  Robins'jn  lexers,  executed  by  Johan 
Hagemeyer.  Mr.  Jeffers'  dramatic  poems,  "Tamar,"  "Roan  Stallion"  and  "The  Woman 
at  Point  Sur"  have  been  given  extremely  high  commendation  by  important  American  and 
English  critics.    George  Sterling  said  of  him:    "He  speaks  not  in  years,  but  in  ages." 


TtTC 

SAN  fliANCISCAN 


No  More  Parades 

A  Lament  for  the  Hey-Day  of  the  Calliope  and  the  Brass  Rail 


YOUTH  is  most  capable  of  mak- 
ing swift,  irrevocable  decisions. 
Doubt,  tolerance,  wisdom;  these 
have  not  arrived  to  perturb  and  shackle. 
Youth  is  always  right!  Youth  is  the 
great  propulsity  to  action ! 

At  seventeen  the  boy  decided  upon  an 
hegira — out  of  the  effete  East  into  the 
young  world:  the  West:  California,  San 
Francisco.  There  was  parental  acquies- 
cence if  not  approval;  and  some  money 
for  the  long  journey.  And  when,  at  in- 
tervals, money  went  low,  there  were 
ways  of  earning  a  little  here  and  there. 
At  worst,  there  were  sheltering  hay- 
stacks and  food  from  friendly  houses. 
So,  without  any  of  those  experiences  of 
which  the  vast  hobo  literature  of  today 
is  predicated,  the  boy  arrived  in  San 
Francisco. 

A  hot  bath,  a  night  between  crisp, 
white  sheets,  new  clothes  fresh  from  the 
stock  of  a  Kearny  Street  clothier;  and 
the  boy,  his  eyes  open  wide  in  glad  won- 
der, was  in  the  midst  of  a  pag^-ant 
gorgeous  and  glorious,  led  by  none  other 
than  the  great  Don  Caspar  de  Portola 
emerged  from  the  shadows  to  mount 
again  the  crests  of  sloping  hills  and  ac- 
claim anew  the  glory  of  forgotten  years. 

At  the  corner  of  Market  and  O'Far- 
rell  streets  where  in  rubric  gaudiness  a 
United  Cigar  store  stands,  the  boy  was 
caught  up  in  the  confluent  tides  of  a 
gigantic  night  parade  and  hurled  into  a 
vortex  of  humanity.    His  breath  could 


By  David  Warren  Ryder 

come  only  in  gasps,  cigars  which  he  car- 
ried in  his  vest  pocket  a  la  Babbitt  were 
flattened  to  uselessness,  and  from  its 
mutilated  carcass  the  blue  life-blood  of 
a  prized  fountain  pen  filtered  through 
under-garments,  forming  on  his  flesh 
rude,  grotesque  designs  not  unlike  those 
tattooed  upon  the  limbs  of  his  barb.-iric 
forebears. 

But  the  boy's  enthusiasm  remained; 
was  heightened,  even.  On  and  on  and 
on  swirled  the  parade — tens  of  thou- 
sands of  people  gay  and  carefree;  march- 
ing, singing,  dancing,  shouting — and 
the  boy  with  it.  It  was  then  he  first 
tasted  ecstasy.  It  was  then,  too,  that  he 
first  tasted  that  invigorating  and  now 
outlawed  brew,  and  it  was  then  he  dis- 
covered its  relation  to  parades.  At  every 
other  corner  up  and  down  Market  Street 
great  eddies  of  exuberant  humanity 
surged  from  the  main  current  into  the 
beer  saloons  where  bar-tenders,  white- 
clad  and  perspiring,  worked  like  light- 
ning and  with  the  precision  of  machines 
to  meet  the  demand  for  this  foaming, 
friendly  beverage,  and  then  surged  out 
and  into  the  parade  again.  Memories  of 
that  parade  still  linger.  Its  colorfulness 
and  mighty  splendor,  its  sparkle  and  its 
ecstasy  the  intervening  j'ears  have  not 
erased  from  recollection. 
*** 

NOT  before  and  never  again  did 
the  boy  see  such  a  parade ;  not  the 
stately      inaugurals      of      Washington 


clothed  with  too  much  dignity;  not  the 
long  khaki  lines  marching  songfully  to 
war  to  shed  their  own  and  others'  blood. 
Not  even  those  unserried,  frenzied 
thousands  of  Armistice  Day;  with  them 
it  was  not  sheer  joy,  but  swift,  terrible 
release  of  emotions  long  fettered. 

No,  never  again  did  the  boy  see  such 
a  parade.  Never  again  does  he  expect  to. 
There  are  no  more  parades.  For  the 
nation  which  went  songfully  to  war  to 
overthrow  far-off"  autocracy,  returned  to 
peace  and  found  autocracy  enthroned  as 
righteousness.  The  world  had  been 
made  safe  for  democracy;  and  unsafe 
tor  almost  everything  else;  the  world 
had  become  a  veritable  mad-house  of 
equality,  wherein  Beauty  lay  in  ugly 
mutilation,  Joy  was  proscribed,  and  lib- 
erty in  thought  or  action  penalized. 
Down,  down,  down  to  the  one  dead 
level  of  mediocrity  came  everything 
superior;  and  evervwhere  there  stood  or 
were  being  built,  hastiles  of  opinion — 
huge,  ugh'  structures  with  )'awning 
doors,  purposed  to  incarcerate  and  suffo- 
cate to  death  or  into  submission  all  who 
would  not  worship  the  new  god — Stand- 
ardization. 

*** 

OLD  gods  now  are  dead;  a  new  one 
reigns  instead,  and  reigns  alone. 
All  things  once  beautiful,  all  now  are 
standardized.  The  bold  free  spirit  with 
which  men  imbued  shouldered  guns  and 

(Continued  to  Page  ig) 


The    San    Franciscan 
[8] 


Now  It  Can  Be  Told 


THE  scene,  my  masters,  is  laid  in 
the  brilliantly  lighted  lobby  of  the 
San  Francisco  Civic  Auditorium.  It  is 
a  Thursday  evening.  La  Cena  Delle 
Bejfe  is  presented  for  the  first  time  to 
San  Franciscans.  Ripples  of  reserved  ex- 
citement flutter  hither  and  yon.  A  stun- 
ning array  of  fashionable  matrons  scat- 


ter blinding  jewel-beams  over  the  set. 
And  before  each  entrance  to  the  theatre 
stand  hefty  Lads  of  Erin,  freshly  shaved, 
immaculately  uniformed,  straight  as 
their  corsets  will  line  them.  Cogno- 
scentes  of  the  hallowed  elect,  gentlemen 
whose  duty  it  is  to  direct  the  helpless 
and  ward  off  the  bold,  tactful  in  the 
teeth  of  battle  and  grave  in  the  center 
of  wit,  they  are  the  imsung  heroes  of 
the  Opera  season.  And  to  the  kingpin 
of  them  all,  to  the  extraordinary  tall 
one  whose  uniform  was  a  dazzle  itself, 
on  this  pleasant  Thursday  evening  came 
one  of  our  most  important  dowagers, 
whose  lineage  extended  back  to  Cain 
and  whose  jewels  weighed  ten  pounds. 

"Will  you  tell  me,"  she  asked, 
"where  I  may  find  the  librettos?"  Our 
gendarme  des  opera  bowed  froin  the 
waist.  "In  the  basement,  madam,"  he 
answered.    "Ladies  to  the  left." 

THE  Sur-realisnie  of  modern  aes- 
thetic journalism  has  for  some  time 
been  a  matter  of  glowing  interest  to  the 
Lords  and  Ladies  whose  scheme  in  life 
is  to  assure  the  monthly  birth  of  The 
San  Franciscan.  While  our  embel- 
lished motto,  ora  et  lahora,  remains  po- 
tent over  our  portals,  we  have  often 
meditated  on  eliminating  the  "labora" 
and  simply  praying.  And  our  decision 
ripened  into  lusty  blossom  last  week  on 
the  advent  of  three  blue-coated  o-entle- 
men  paying  us  a  visit.  We  ducked  be- 
hind a  twelve-pound  pronouncing  gaz- 
zetteer  and  frantically  locked  every 
drawer  in  sight.  Our  force  immediately 
commenced  the  burial  of  manuscript  and 
subscription  paltrics  in  the  nearest  paste 
pots.    The  office  girl  vanished;  window 


shades  shut  up;  clocks  stopped;  erasers 
crumbled  to  dust  and  our  closet-skele- 
tons did  a  sixty-second  clog  to  the  tune 
of  "Sheriff,  Spare  the  Name  Upon  the 
Door."  When  the  dust  cleared  and  the 
field  of  battle  stilled,  we  were  asked  to 
purchase  a  ticket  to  the  Annual-Some- 
thing-or-Other  these  splendid,  upstand- 
ing, intelligent  and  gracious  gentlemen 
were  sponsoring.  (  We  desire  toannounce 
we  will  give  one  of  these  prettily  en- 
graved tickets  with  each  subscription  to 
The  San  Franciscan  for  the  next  ten 
years. ) 

BELIEVING  nothing  is  beautiful 
but  the  truth  and  that  to  understand 
all  is  to  pardon  all,  we  must  recite  the 
Tale  of  the  Petaluma  Adventurer.  Ar- 
riving from  an  Eastern  city,  the  earnest 
traveler  desired  only  to  settle  on  a  wee 
chicken  ranch  and  let  the  rest  of  the 
world  go  butter  itself.  All  went  well 
luitil,  with  the  completed  purchase  of 
eleven  hens,  he  was  informed  by  the 
dealer  that  cocks  at  the  time  were  ex- 
ceedingly rare  and,  of  a  fact,  could  not 
be  bought.  But  he  would  toss  in  with 
the  hens  one  quite  youthful  and  ener- 
getic parrot.  The  sale  was  completed 
and  caged.  The  poultry  was  delivered 
to  a  coop  and  placed  in  the  gentleman's 
Detroit  Didymous  and  the  return  to  San 
Francisco  commenced.  Lo!  on  reaching 
the  highway  the  little  brown  hens  were 
seen  filing  back  down  the  road.  There 
was  a  decided  dignity  in  their  stride  and 
a  resolute  bob  to  their  heads.  One  be- 
hind the  other,  looking  neither  to  the 
right  nor  left,  they  were  solemnly  quit- 
ting the  Ford.   Perched  with  some  exas- 


peration on  the  tail  lamp,  the  parrot  was 
calling  after  them:  "If  you  girls  care 
to  reconsider  you  may  resume  your  seats 
AND  RIDE." 

A  MORSEL  is  brought  to  our  door 
by  a  deacon  of  the  Fourteenth 
Evangelistic  Temple.  It  has  to  do  with 
the  recent  visit  of  one  of  England's  emi- 
nent novelists,  a  gentleman  of  no  small 


attainments,  a  person  of  culture  and 
bearing.  A  sumptuous  luncheon  at  a  ven- 
erable club  was  spread  before  the  digni- 
tary with  no  less  than  fifty  intensely 
respectable  and  slightly  awed  members. 
The  Honorable  Visitor  dropped  an  oc- 
casional fork  in  an  occasional  dish  and 
struggled  inwardly  with  the  vast  amount 


of  American  book  lore  at  his  command. 
The  luncheon  ended — alas! — as  lunch- 
eons will,  and  England's  pride  struggled 
to  his  feet,  screwed  in  his  monocle  and 
delivered  up  the  following  pithy  par- 
cel of  panegyrical  pleonasm:  "Jove,  m' 
friends,  it's  marvelous  to  be  here  with 
you.  To  be  here  in  the  very  hall  your 
famous  Poet-Novelist,  George  Sterling, 
once  walked.  His  lines  flood  my  mem- 
ory. Magnificent  lines!  Stern  and  un- 
bending, rock-ribbed,  I  dare  say.  One 
of  his  poems  I  have  read  and  re-read. 
A  marvelous  hymn.  It  is  all  summed  up 
and  boiled  down  when  your  poet  sings: 

"  '/«  the  world's  broad  field  of  battle, 
Where  the  graz<e's  the  final  goal. 
Though  we're  dense  as  driven  cattle — 
Each  man's  general  of  his  soul!'" 

And  the  attending  applause,  to  quote 
a  droll  tid-bit  of  American  vernacular, 
"splintered  the  rafters  and  put  out  the 

lights." 

*** 

ELECTION  days  are  upon  us  and 
with  them,  alas,  the  horribly  as- 
cending scale  of  prices  for  eait  de  vie. 
True,  the  political  brethren  have  en- 
gineered easy  entrance  to  the  Pearl  City 
on  the  part  of  rum  runners  and  liquor 
merchants.  Case  upon  case  has  been  de- 
posited in  ancient  dwellings  throughout 
the  Sunset  and  Richmond  districts.  A 
glorious  selection  of  Canadian  and  Scot- 
tish labels  are  on  hand — for  the  price. 
The  cowl,  of  course,  does  not  make  the 
monk  nor  does  the  bark  decide  the  sap; 
but  who  among  the  beau  monde  in  these 
days  looks  beneath  the  cowl  or  tears 
aside  the  bark.'  We  have  received  an 
authentic  quotation,  printed  exquisitely 
on  hand  rolled  stock,  and  for  the  discre- 
tion of  our  valued  subscribers  a  few  se- 


f 


The    San    Franciscan 
[9] 


Icct  items  are  listed  herewith.  (You  are 
advised  these  prices  are  in  order  until 
Novemher  fifteenth,  and  all  other  quo- 
tations spurious):  Canadian — cham- 
pagne, pearl  #2,  12  qts.  @  $10.  sngl., 
$100.  per  cse.  Champagne,  12  year 
province  of  Champagne,  Fr.,  #  6,  12 
qts.  @  $17.  sngl.,  $175.  per  cse.  Whis- 
kies— Cndian  Clb.,  MacDougal.,  Green 
River.,  Thompson's  exta.  dry,  Hennesy 
#'s  I,  2,  3,  4,  Pontoon's  Golden  Vel- 
vet, Walker,  etc.,  etc.,  5  qts  per  sack; 
$8.50  sngl.,  $35.  per  sack.  Gins — 
Booth's  Hind.,  Dutch  Silver.,  Gordon 
exta.  dry.,  McPherson's  exta-exta  dry 
#'s  467,  354,  Juno's  Hind.,  etc.,  etc., 
10  fifths  per  case;  $6.  sngl.,  $50.  per 
cse.  Scotland:  Whiskies — MacDougal 
in  wood;  Homer's  clb.  size  10  smrs; 
River  of  Clyde,  qts.  only;  Bonaparte 
Special,  King's  Own  Brand,  15  smrs.  in 
oak;  Gold  o'  Doon,  all  in  pts.  Pts, 
$5.,  Qts:  singly:  $9.50.  It  will  be  noted 
the  Scottish  product  does  not  run  higher 
than  the  Canadian.  You  may  advise 
your  representative  in  these  matters  to 
order  the  Scotch  brands  early  if  desired 
over  the  Canadian. 

WE  happened  to  trickle  in  on  an 
important  rehearsal  last  week. 
Players,  electricians,  carpenters,  manag- 
ers, secretaries,  costumers,  backers  and 
owners  were  scattered  over  three-quar- 
ters of  the  dimly  lighted  stage.  Off  in 
one  corner,  widowed  and  hobble-kneed, 
shell-backed  and  gray,  lonely  as  the 
flower  on  a  midnight  tomb  and  dis- 
dained by  mechanic  and  star  alike,  a 
gentleman  was  busily  engaged  in  assort- 
ing and  marking  upon  what  seemed  to 
us  cigar  coupons.  Now  and  then  a  player 


would  sink  to  the  floor  gasping,  twitch- 
ing, dying.  (Part  of  the  play,  children.) 
At  other  times,  in  a  voice  smacking  of 
unborn  mushrooms,  someone  would  cry: 
"Ah,  no!  No!  No!  I  shouldn't!"  Then 
huskily:  "Ah,  let  me  go.  I  should  never 
have  come  here!"  The  director  would 
girgle,  the  lead  would  sob.  And  through 
it  all,  abject  as  an  empty  glass,  the  gen- 
tleman  all   by   his  lonely   continued  to 


pore  over  his  coupons  and  keep  out  of 
the  way.  We  felt  sorry  for  him.  We 
felt  he  might  be  the  star's  half-witted 
brother.  We  tapped  the  gentleman  in 
front  of  us  on  the  shoulder,  unable  to 
cork  our  curiosity.  "Oh,  Him?"  the 
man  answered.  "He  wrote  the  play." 
«** 

ALONG  with  the  frosted  cakes,  the 
lapel  pins,  the  maudlin  ballads  and 
press  molasses  comprising  this  city's  mag- 
nificent tribute  to  Lindbergh,  must  be 
added  the  droll  Market  Street  Peddler 
and  his  one-thousand-dollar  plunge   in 


the  pasteboard  exchange.  Dashing  diz- 
zily about  God's  Free  Asphalt  from 
Third  to  Fifth  on  Market,  this  earnest 
disciple  sold  to  a  thirsting  public  little 
bits  of  neatly  printed  board  which  en- 
titled the  holder  to  a  handshake  with 
Colonel  Charles  Augustus  Lindbergh. 
For  ten  nickels,  five  dimes,  two  quar- 
ters, or  half  a  dollar,  the  sober  citizen 
might  purchase  from  this  Jug-of-Water- 
on-a-Desert-of-Dust  not  only  a  face  to 
face  view  of  the  Mighty  Eagle,  but — • 
lo! — a  touch  of  his  hand.  We  have  it 
from  no  less  an  authority  than  Aloysius 
Garfunkle  that  the  gentleman  disposed 
of  two  thousand  tickets  between  ten  and 
eleven  of  the  morning  the  Aviator  vis- 
ited the  Golden  City.    O  tempora! 

«** 
YV7HEN  Charlie  Chaplin  wished  to 
""  commence  upon  the  story  of  "THE 
CIRCUS"  he  desired  to  leave  Holly- 
wood behind  and  seek  a  restful  environ- 
ment conducive  to  thought,  so  took  a 
suite  at  the  Pebble  Beach  Lodge.  Shortly 
after  arrival  he  bethought  himself  of 
Gouveneur  Morris,  the  writer,  and  de- 
cided to  get  in  touch  with  him  and  ask 
him  over  for  dinner  some  evening. 

The  person  who  answered  the  phone 
was  Chinese,  and  the  following  conver- 
sation ensued: 

"Is  Mr.  Gouveneur  Morris  at  home.? " 

"No;  he  out  now!" 

"Well,  when  he  comes  in  will  you 
ask  him  to  call  Mr.  Charles  Chaplin  at 
the  Pebble  Beach  Lodge?" 

That  night  he  dined  with  Francis  Mc- 
Comas,  the  landscape  artist,  and  his  wife 


and  in  the  course  of  the  evening's  talk 
repeated  his  conversation  with  the  China- 
man and  stated  that  he  expected  to  hear 
from  Gouveneur  when  he  came  in. 

Frank  and  his  wife  laughed. 

"What's  the  joke.?"  inquired  the 
rather  surprised  comedian. 

"You  can't  beat  a  Chinaman!"  said 
Frank  between  laughs.  "You'll  have 
quite  a  wait;  Govy  and  his  wife  are  in 
China!!!!" 

When  a  few  days  ago  the  writer  saw 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morris  at  a  party  in  Holly- 
wood, he  could  not  refrain  from  relat- 
ing the  story  to  them.  They  smiled  and 
Mr.  Morris  said,  "But  you  don't  know 
the  funniest  half  of  the  story.  When 
we  arrived  home  from  Spain  after  a  trip 
round  the  world  he  greeted  us  at  the  door 
and,  as  our  luggage  was  being  carried  in, 
informed  us  that  we  were  to  call  Mr. 
Chaplin  at  the  Pebble  Beach  Lodge — " 

"And  before  I  took  off  my  wraps — " 
interrupted  his  wife,  " — I  dashed  to  the 
phone  telling  Gouveneur  that  we  must 
call  back  at  once. 

"Mr.  Charles  Chaplin?"  came  an 
astounded  question,  then  a  stammer, 
"Why — er — why   he   hasn't  been  here 

for  a  year! !  !  " 

*** 

FAINT'LY  redolent  of  parfum 
Caron,  daintily  nibbling  Wrigley's 
Stupendous  American  Gesture,  she 
reigns  undisputed  over  the  chapeaus 
parked  during  the  luncheon  hour  in  a 
great  downtown  hotel.  Four  score  hats 
and  ten,  let  it  be  known,  are  hitched  to 
the  shelves  sans  check.  Yet  with  im- 
maculate precision  the  rightful  bonnet  is 
delivered  unto  the  rightful  head,  and 
never  in  the  history  of  this  cherub's  duty 
has  there  been  an  error  perpetrated.  We 
approached  her  during  one  of  those  dull 
moments   when   but   five   or  six  portly 


persons  were  pandering  her.  "How  do 
you  know,"  we  asked,  putting  a  dollar 
bill  through  the  aesthetic  slit  in  an  aes- 
thetic cigar  box,  "so  exactly  who  the 
hats  belong  to?"  She  slid  the  box  a  trifle 
away  from  our  aesthetic  fingers,  "I 
don't,"  she  said,  "I  only  remember  who 
belongs  to  the  hats." 

The  San  Franciscan. 


The    San    Franciscan 

[10] 


Etude  in  Ugliness 

Is  a  Present  Misery  Always  Preferable  to  a  New  One? 


Avast  unpleasantness,  an  indif- 
ferent universe,  a  universe 
seriously  indifferent  and  sol- 
emnly ugly,  greeted  Stephen.  He  came 
with  a  burden  of  weariness  into  a  world 
dedicated  to  drudgery.  So  it  seemed  to 
him.  Children  played.  People  laughed. 
But  this  was  not  the  usual  thing.  Chil- 
dren cried  and  people  scowled  because 
they  were  not  permitted  to  cry.  This 
was  the  first  vague  presentiment  of  life, 
a  presentiment  that  gradually  became  a 
certainty  in  Stephen's  undeveloped  con- 
sciousness. And  with  Sibylline  sagacity 
he  was  aware  that  with  each  added  day 
these  burdens  might  grow  heavier.  One 
had  to  lie  awake  at  night  in  order  to 
think  of  pleasant  things.  It  was  easy 
to  think  of  pleasant  things  in  the  dark. 
At  night,  one  had  to  pinch  oneself  in 
order  to  stay  awake  and  imagine  men 
who  were  not  dull  and  women  who 
were  not  dreary.  Sleep  brought  name- 
less horrors,  pallid  monsters  tottering 
about  in  a  sea  of  snakes. 

School.  Blots  of  ink  on  dirty  fingers. 
Wash  the  hands  ever  so  carefulh'  still 
the  fingers  made  dark  smudges  on  a 
clean,  white  page.  Penny  pencils  in- 
variably chewed  at  the  ends.  Ugly 
rough  paper  with  faint,  sickly  blue 
lines.  A  headache  was  the  result  of 
trying  to  make  marks  with  the  funny 
pencils  on  the  rough  paper.  There  was 
a  green  eraser  tucked  away  in  the  con- 
fusion of  the  desk.  The  green  eraser 
helped  a  headache.  The  rubber  was 
cool.  The  fingers  passed  over  its 
rounded  curves  caressingly  and  with 
great  pleasure.  Sometimes  it  would  have 
seemed  good  to  break  the  eraser,  tear  it 
apart,  destroy  it,  chew  it.  The  green 
eraser  was  delectable.  There  were  red 
erasers  in  the  store  which  were  equally 
tempting  but  the  green  one  took  away 
a  headache.  At  last  a  blot  of  ink  ap- 
peared on  the  green  treasure.  Stephen 
did  not  hide  it  any  more.  Itching  eyes, 
a  bulky  coat,  shoes  that  scraped  and 
creaked  in  the  silence  of  the  schoolroom, 
greenish  black  stockings  and  hands  al- 
ways dirty.  These  were  everyday  an- 
noyances.   The  open  book  on  the  desk 


By  Elva  Williams 

made  the  eyes  throb  and  the  shoes  made 
the  stomach  dizzy.  One  had  to  look 
out  of  the  window. 

Out  there  the  sun  shone  upon  a  dusty 
playground,  a  weatherbeaten  fence,  or- 
ange peels  and  a  scattered  bouquet  of 
withered  buttercups.  The  sun  was  too 
bright.  It  was  coolor  in  the  schoolroom. 
The  blackboards  were  covered  with 
chalk  marks.  The  teacher  looked  very 
cool.  She  had  clean  hands.  The  skin 
on  her  hands  was  white  and  dry,  white 
and  gritty  and  covered  with  chalk  dust. 
Big  green  eyes  rolling  about  suspi- 
ciously. Her  green  eyes  had  red  rims 
about  them.  She  had  a  white  neck  with 
little  blue  veins  running  through  it. 
The  nape  of  her  neck  was  white  and  a 
curl  fell  down  over  it.  But  she  was 
ugly  and  seemed  very  sad.  She  loved 
someone  who  loved  someone  else.  Ste- 
phen liked  to  imagine  that. 

*«* 

SUNDAY  school.  Everyone  was 
clean.  Girls  in  white  with  funny 
hats.  Women  with  big  hats  and  gloves 
on  their  hands.  The  people  looked  ug- 
lier than  ever  when  dressed  up.  The 
minister  talked  for  a  long  time.  One 
wanted  to  giggle  and  giggle.  There 
was  a  lot  of  talk  about  sheep  and  there 
were  pictures  of  a  shepherd  in  a  long 
white  robe  holding  a  lamb  in  his  arms. 
The  people  seemed  to  like  this.  There 
was  a  painful  moment  when  the  col- 
lection box  was  passed.  Whether  one 
gave  money  or  not  it  was  painful.  The 
clink  of  the  money  dropping  in  the  box 
made  one  ashamed.  There  was  a  tol- 
erable moment,  the  moment  when  the 
minister  said  in  a  deep  voice:  "Have 
mercy  upon  us  miserable  sinners."  The 
word  "miserable"  was  sad  and  full  of 
meaning.  Stephen  wanted  always  to 
cry  when  he  heard  the  word  "miser- 
able". He  felt  sorry  for  the  people, 
suddenly,  and  as  suddenly  his  altruistic 
sorrow  passed  away.  For  soon  after 
they  began  to  sing.  The  songs  were 
ugly  and  they  sang  them  solemnly. 
Everyone  was  solemn  in  church.  He 
liked  that.    But  as  soon  as  the  services 


were  over  they  laughed  and  talked  in 
loud  voices  outside  of  the  church.  How 
could  they  forget  their  solemnity  so 
soon?  If  they  had  been  gay  after  the 
service  that  would  have  been  support- 
able. But  they  were  not  gay.  They 
talked  of  things  that  made  one's  ears 
tired;  a  horse  that  died,  the  price  of 
butter,  a  baby  that  was  sick  with  the 
whooping-cough. 

With  each  day  the  world  grew  big- 
ger and  put  on  a  more  implacable  face. 
Stephen  sensed  that  the  world  did  not 
like  him.  The  world  did  not  want  him, 
had  no  use  for  him  and  in  order  to  be 
tolerated  he  must  keep  quiet,  carry  kin- 
dling and  go  to  school.  In  this  little 
tight  valley  he  was  nothing.  There  was 
a  great  world  beyond  the  purple  hills,  a 
world  of  excitement  and  noise.  How 
would  that  world  greet  him  when  he  was 
as  nothing  in  this  desolate  narrowness? 
If  at  the  end  of  a  hot  Sunday  afternoon 
he  heard  a  cock  crow  or  a  train  whistle 
from  afar  life  became  intolerable  and 
he  would  creep  to  a  dark  and  lonely 
corner  of  the  cellar  to  suffer  alone. 
*** 

THE  doctor  came  once  a  day.  The 
doctor  came  twice  a  day.  Stephen 
liked  the  doctor.  Everyone  liked  the 
doctor  and  spoke  kindly  to  him.  They 
liked  him  because  they  were  afraid  of 
him,  Stephen  thought.  Stephen  liked 
him  because  he  laughed  a  lot.  Stephen's 
mother  took  to  her  bed.  Another  wo- 
man cooked  Stephen's  food.  He  had 
to  eat  at  the  table  with  this  strange 
woman.  He  did  not  get  enough  to  eat. 
She  watched  him  so  closely  he  was 
afraid  to  eat.  His  mother's  face  grew 
yellow  and  her  hands  grew  bony.  Her 
hands  were  horrible.  It  was  torture  to 
sit  at  her  bedside.  She  wanted  him  to 
kiss  her.  He  loved  her  but  it  was  not 
pleasant  to  kiss  her.  He  sat  for  hours 
with  her.  When  she  told  him  to  leave 
her  and  go  for  a  walk  he  would  refuse 
stubbornly.  This  made  her  smile.  He 
sat  by  her  bedside,  unwillingly.  His 
whole  being  cried  out  against  it.  The 
room  smelled  foully.    It  was  hot.    The 

(Continued  to  Page  33) 


The  City 
Camera  Study  by  William  Horace  Smith 


Thic    San    Franciscan 

[12] 


A  Plea  For  Justice 


which  Shows  Conclusively  Those  In  Should  Be  Out  and  Those  Out  Should  Be  In 

B\  S.  Bert  Cookslev 


THE  little  man  assumed  a  pose. 
He  eyed  the  tall  man  coolly.  He 
eyed  him  severely.  There  was 
something  brave  about  that  eyeing. 

"My  ijreat-ereat-great  grandfather," 
he  said,  "was  a  spearsmith!" 

The  tall  man  seemed  unmoved. 
Spearsmiths,  it  appeared,  were  a  lot  of 
uninteresting  fellows.  He  gave  the 
short  man's  statement  a  blank  face.  But 
of  a  sudden,  and  it  was  very  quickly  ac- 
complished, his  eyes  brightened. 

"That  may  be,"  he  answered  gravely, 

"indeed,  that  may  well  be.    But " 

and  here  he  tapped  an  extraordinarily 
long  forefinger  against  the  small  man's 
collar — "spearsmiths  were  a  common 
bunch  of  men.  Now  my  family,  clear 
back  to  the  Finnegers  of  Old  England, 
included  among  their  number  a  skil- 
fully exact  maker  of  thumb-rings  for 
archers,  a  weaver  of  leach  bags,  an  ap- 
pointed maker  of  Point  d'Alengon  lace, 
and  a  designer  of  bells  for  flexible  silver 
anklets!"  The  last  of  his  speech  was 
hurried.  It  drained  him  emotionally  and 
he  paused  for  breath,  shooting  the  word 
"anklets"  out  and  up  into  a  small 
scream. 

Half  the  company  in  the  room  had 
gathered  about  them  by  this  time.  And 
how  thoroughly  interested  they  were! 
One  of  them,  a  little  old  lady  easily 
beyond  the  eighty  post,  became  so  enrapt 
in  the  tall  man's  speech  that  she  dropped 
her  spectacles  and  said  quite  loudly, 
"Oh,  mercy!  Oh,  mercy!"  and  just 
opposite  her,  on  the  other  side  of  the  two 
debators,  an  elderly  gentleman  tried  to 
rescue  them  and  found  he  couldn't 
straighten  up  once  he  was  down.  So  he 
followed  her  with  "Oh,  Lordy!  Oh, 
Lordy!"  and  tried  all  the  time  with 
loud  sighs  to  get  himself  up.  But  the 
small  man  was  speaking  in  a  high  little 
voice  that  seemed  ready  any  minute  to 
break  and  go  on  up  into  nothing: 

"A  ring-maker!"  he  was  saving 
sneeringly.  "A  ring-maker!  Why,  who 
couldn't  make  rings!  Besides,  only  the 
weak-minded  were  given  jobs  of  lace- 
making  and  ring-turning!"  He  paused 
and  fished  about  his  coat  pocket  for  a 


handkerchief.  And  for  such  a  small 
man  the  size  of  his  handkerchief  was 
appalling.  It  was  fully  large  enough  to 
do  for  a  small  tent. 

"Now  I  want  to  tell  you,"  he  re- 
sumed when  he  had  blown  his  nose,  "I 
want  to  tell  you  that  my  family,  clear 
back  to  the  first  of  the  Tibbitts,  were 
makers  of  saddle  covers,  forehead  orna- 
ments studded  with  turquoises  and  am- 
ber and  lapis-lazuli,  gold  nose-rings  and 
Kabistan  rugs ! " 


<s>- 


The  Stranger 

B\   [an  Fi.ynn 

Oh  stranger,  pale  and  tragical, 
Who  walks  by  ways  unfrequented, 
Where  the  moon's  pale  rays  are  shed, 
With  mien  so  fierce  and  fanciful; 
Within  your  eyes  are  mysteries 
That  I  would  f.ithom,  hut  you  seem 
Vague  and  distant  as  a  dream; 
And  within  your  dreadful  eyes 
That  gaze  a  thousand  miles  away, 
There  is  a  barrier;  so  I  stand. 
Afraid  to  come  into  your  land, 
I  know  not  what  to  do  or  say. 
Oh  stranger,  pale  and  tragical, 
1  watch  you  from  an  earthy  place 
With  the  moonlight  on  your  face. 
In  the  moonlight,  magical. 


"Oh,  mercy,  mercy!"  murmured  the 
little  old  lady,  clinging  desperately  to 
her  spectacles. 

"Lord,  oh  Lord!"  said  the  old  gentle- 
man opposite  her,  who  by  this  time  had 
been  helped  until  he  was  straight  again. 

"Oh,  Lord!" 

-Ss  ®  s 

AND  meanwhile,  others  had  joined 
the  group  and  were  pressing  in  so 
anxiously  that  the  tall  one's  greenish- 
black  hat,  which  bobbed  up  and  down 
like  a  bat  on  a  clothes  line,  could  hardly 
be  seen. 

So  there,  in  the  middle  of  the  circle 
of  silence,  stood  both  of  them,  glaring 
at  each  other  with  insulted  eyes.  It  was 
the  little  man's  end  of  it  so  far,  and  it 
seemed  as  though  the  tall  one  could  do 


nothing  but  stand  there  glaring  in  the 
little  fellow's  face  with  sizzling  eyes. 
And  his  face  was  very  red  again,  so  red 
it  seemed  he  were  going  to  explode.  It 
seemed,  in  fact,  as  though  an  explosion 
were  necessary ;  for  the  tall  one  was  so 
puffed  up  one  or  two  of  the  spectators 
began  edging  back.  His  tight  lips  moved 
once  or  twice,  but  not  so  much  as  a 
squeak  came  forth.  Then,  like  the 
burst  of  a  dam-gate  the  words  poured 
out  of  his  mouth. 

"Nose-rings!  I  never  did  hear  of  a 
white  person  wearing  nose-rings!  That 
just  goes  to  show  that  your  ancestors 
were  cannibals!"  And  out  came  the 
"cannibals"  like  a  spung  from  a  too- 
filled  bottle. 

The  little  man  blanched  very  pale, 
and  the  old  lady  whispered  "Mercy,  oh 
mercy!"  and  opposite  her  the  old  gen- 
tleman, without  seeming  to  be  able  to 
collect  his  thoughts  at  all,  murmured 
"Lord  !  "  an  an  awesome  whisper. 
*** 

THEN,  just  at  that  moinent,  an  un- 
usually deep  voice  startled  them: 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,  dinner  is  be- 
ing served." 

So  they  turned  quickly  about,  as  if 
they  were  instantly  through  with  the 
entire  matter,  and  proceeded  to  the  din- 
ing room. 

But  through  the  dinner  Finneger  and 
Tibbitt,  the  one  extremely  tall  and  the 
other  exceptionally  short,  were  glaring 
sourly  at  each  other.  And  naughty  glares 
they  were,  in  between  bites,  and  they 
spoke  volumes  of  ridicule.  (For  every- 
one knows  a  Kabistan  rug  maker  is  bet- 
ter than  a  spearsmith,  just  as  it's  com- 
mon knowledge  a  spearsmith  is  much 
better  than  a  Kabistan  rug  maker.)  And 
they  were  so  intent  in  this  glaring  busi- 
ness that  they  forgot  all  about  the  man 
who  considered  himself  a  saw  and 
rubbed  his  body  continually  against  the 
table,  and  the  lady  who  imagined  she 
was  a  rooster  (which  seems  so  idiotic!  ), 
and  kept  crowing,  and  Cassar  down  near 
the  end  of  the  table  who  was  incessantly 
banging  about  with  his  spoon  and  de- 
manding bigger  armies. 


The    San    Franciscan 
[13] 


Claudia  Muzio 

Greatest  of  Dramatic  Soframs,  of  era  and  recital  star  of  the  first  magnitude.  A  prime  faz'orite 
with  San  Franrisro  audiences.  Deprived  of  hearing  her  in  opera  this  season,  u'e  -.ctll  he  com- 
pensated by  her  first  appearance  on  the  concert  stage  here  this  month. 


The    San    Frakciscak 


Cinema  on  the  Desert 


A  Famous  Critic  Discovers  A  Wild  and  Woolly  W«gt 


THE  robe  of  night,  affixed  to  the 
sky  with  big  stars  and  on  the 
earth  with  the  gleaming  lights  of 
cabins  scattered  over  the  desert  as  far  as 
dead  Montezuma  and  Goldfield,  had 
fallen  on  Tonopah.  Citizens  on  the 
veranda  of  the  main  hotel  had  been 
glancing  at  their  watches. 

"It  will  be  right  time  when  we  get 
there,"  announced  the  Engineer.  So 
we  marched  up  the  street,  past  the  post- 
office  and  the  stock  exchange,  and  on  to 
the  ramshackle  edifice  opposite  the  Elks' 
Hall.  A  leisurely,  post-prandial  march 
it  was,  because  it  had  been  for  years  a 
tri-weekly  ceremony.  In  most  mining 
camps  the  films  are  changed  three  times 
a  week. 

We  were  still  early.  A  hundred  pa- 
trons had  gathered  on  the  sidewalk  about 
the  bill-boards.  They  were  miners,  in 
from  the  Weepah  diggings,  prospectors, 
Indian  wagon-drivers,  assayers,  a  Jewish 
merchant,  a  banker,  the  station  agent, 
the  citv  clerk  and  other  dignitaries,  all 
darkened  bv  the  sun  and  wind,  all 
dressed  alike:  soft  hats,  loose  shirts,  cor- 
duroys. Cigarette  ends  glowed  like  fire- 
flies. All  were  quiet,  like  toads  that  had 
supped  well  in  the  dusk.  Three  small 
boys  elbowed  through  and  sate  them  on 
the  top  of  the  wooden  steps  and  gave 
vent  to  catcalls  and  the  High  School 
yell. 

A  panel  shot  back  in  the  wall,  and  a 
face  appeared  behind  bars.  The  box- 
office  was  open.  We  laid  down  our  quar- 
ters, and  ticket  in  hand  struggled  in  line 
through  the  mob  that  jammed  the  stair- 
way. The  Engineer  propelled  me  from 
behind.  "It'll  be  a  Western  tonight," 
he  whispered,  "full  of  hard  riding  and 
bad  guys." 

I  found  mvself  in  a  wooden  hall  with 
high  ceiling  draped  with  cobwebs,  and  a 
floor  of  precipitous  slope.  We  slid  along 
benches  that  were  like  church  pews. 
The  sole  light  was  down  in  a  front  cor- 
ner, near  the  red  "Exit"  sign,  where  a 
Professor  banged  valorously  on  a  piano 
with  snarled  internals.  Now  and  then 
he  paused  to  repair  a  badly  rolled  cigar- 
ette.   At  the  other  corner  was  a  barrel 


B\  Idwal  Jones 


stove  being  stoked  to  incandescence  by 
an  elderly  Chinaman. 

The  station  agent  struck  a  match  to 
consult  the  amusement  column  of  the 
Tonopah  Times.  "What's  the  picture?" 
asked  the  Engineer.  "  'The  Apache's 
Revenge,'  eh?  Saw  it  over  to  Winne- 
mucca  last  week,  and  it  was  a  good  one, 
if  you  ask  me,  even  if  I  am  strong  for 
Yakima  Canute.    That  boy  can  ride." 

The  authorit\-  on  the  drama  and  my- 
self moved  down  to  make  room  for 
three  newcomers.  They  were  a  little 
withered  miner,  sixti,-  if  he  was  a  day, 
escorting  a  pair  of  dance-hall  Amazons, 
for  whom  he  had  bought  tickets  and 
boxes  of  chocolates.  Perhaps  he  was  in 
their  thrall,  for  he  sat  with  a  squelched 
air,  tugging  at  his  milk-white  mous- 
taches and  staring  at  the  blank  curtain. 

THE  Professor  created  prolonged 
thunders  on  the  keyboard.  In  the 
welter  of  sound  an  acute  ear  discerned 
a  thread  of  mclodv  that  faintlv  recalled 
"Arrah  Wanna,  I'll  be  True."  To 
speed  the  show  we  all  applauded.  A 
slide  wiggled  on  the  screen,  and  settled 
upside  down.  It  was  greeted  with  howls 
and  jeers.  The  vounger  generation 
slapped  hands  on  lips,  and  rent  the  air 
with  the  Indian  woo-loo-loo  cry.  The 
slide  was  reversed,  and  five  hundred 
voices  intoned  the  words  of  the  Elite 
Clothing  Emporium's  "ad."  It  cele- 
brated a  brand  of  collars,  and  proved 
how  handsome  one  would  look  with 
such  a  neck-band  by  revealing  a  youth 
in  top  hat,  cloak,  punctilious  evening 
vestments  and  a  superb  wing-collar.  Yet 
nobodv  in  the  audience  wore  a  collar, 
save  the  Jewish  merchant  who  owned 
that  store,  and  his  was  celluloid. 

Then  followed  the  reclame  of  Mme. 
Gertie's  Chic  Milliner)-,  the  O-So-Good 
Bakeri',  the  Waldorf  Lunch,  a  liver- 
and-onions  den  but  fallaciously  termed 
"The  Haunt  of  Epicures,"  and  a  color 
slide  of  a  new  model  limousine  manned 
by  a  chauffeur  and  footman  in  full  re- 
galia. 

All  this  was  a  prelude  to  the  piece  de 
resistance,  a  gem  from  "Quicky  Row" 


in  Hollywood.  It  followed  the  recipe 
most  favored  in  nickelodeons  in  1909. 
The  offering  concerned  a  new  ranch 
foreman  come  out  from  New  "\'ork, 
and  the  "he"  turned  out  to  be  a  "she," 
much  to  the  dismay  of  the  simple  cow- 
boys, and  the  chagrin  of  the  owner  of 
the  Lazy  Y.  No  one  dared  get  "fresh" 
with  the  lady  boss,  after  she  had  laid 
one  prairie  amorist  cold  with  a  swift  clip 
to  the  jaw.  This  dramatic  climax 
brought  the  audience  cheering  to  its  feet, 
and  at  this  point  the  dance-hall  Ama- 
zons smote  their  hands  the  most  vigor- 
ously. Then  the  heroine  was  kidnapped 
by  a  roving  cattle-thief.  With  an  eye- 
patch,  a  scrubby  beard,  earrings  and  a 
bandana  over  his  brow,  he  was  mani- 
festly a  bad  hombre. 

It  is  noteworthy  that  the  apparition 
was  received  not  in  silence  but  with 
roars  of  laughter.  The  West  takes  not 
such  villains  with  seriousness.  It  does 
not  recognize  them  as  valid.  But  the 
audience  was  happy  to  play  make-be- 
lieve. Now  that  we  were  half  way  into 
the  ston,  the  Professor  and  the  film 
grinder  vied  in  a  contest  of  speed.  The 
film  racked  noisily  two  bars  ahead  of 
the  music.  It  leaped  jerkily  over  blank 
spaces,  patched  spots,  with  a  melange  of 
too-dark  and  too-light  shots,  Brobdig- 
nagian  close-ups  and  distance  views  that 
might  have  been  taken  through  the  small 
end  of  a  telescope.  The  general  effect 
was  of  an  Arctic  blizzard.  How  it 
ended  I  don't  recall. 

The  lights  were  turned  on,  the  "Exit" 
door  flew  open,  and  while  the  Professor, 
yawning,  pounded  out  "Home  Sweet 
Home,"  the  audience  surged  through 
with  the  precipitancy  of  peas  shot  out  of 
a  sack. 

«  •«  A 

ON  the  hotel  porch  the  Engineer 
had  a  good-night  chat.  "I  dunno 
what  I'd  do  without  the  movies,"  he 
said.  "They're  a  civilizing  influence, 
that's  what  they  are.  Women  in  Scan- 
dinavia have  all  bobbed  their  hair  be- 
cause it  is  done  in  Hollywood.  If  the 
stage  reforms  manners,  the  movies  do 

(Continued  to  Page  28) 


The    San    Franciscan 
[15] 


Shake  That  Thing! 

Well,  there  just  wouldn't  be  any  reason 
for  being  there  at  all  unless  the  gay  and 
giddy  Beverly  were  there  to  squeeze, 
crack,  shake  'em  up,  pour  'em  out  and 
ply  you.  One  wonders  that  he  didn't 
come  into  the  world  with  a  cook-book 
and  a  cocktail  shaker  tucked  under  either 
arm. 


Lemon  or 
Cream? 

DiiKcjngs  by   Sotorruyor 


Get  There  or  Bust 

You  can  always  rely  on  finding  Mr.  Wil- 
lie Land  there  early — usually  seated  very 
matronly  between  whoever'll  listen  to  his 
"do  you  know?  "s,  "are  you  going?  "s 
and  "have  you  been?"s.  Mr.  Land  was 
awarded  an  autographed  copy  of  the 
"four-hundred"  for  the  male  endurance 
contest  for  pouring  tea. 


Willing  But  Flat 

If  the  conversation  gets  too  dull,  everv- 
one,  in  turn,  takes  a  fling  at  coaxing  the 
inevitable  Larry  to  the  piano.  He'll  re- 
fuse as  long  as  he  dares  and  will  finally 
settle  himself  to  sing  through  his  nose 
for  hours!  Nothing  short  of  blasting 
could  possibly  stop  him. 


^^v. 


Night  and  Tempest 

Mrs.  Diggs  and  Miss  Eva  Cutting  both 
take  lemon,  chew  their  food  carefully, 
and  go  over  the  guests  one  by  one,  won- 
dering if  their  antecedents  came  via 
the  Horn,  "covered  wagon"  or  whether 
they're  just  plain  "nouveau." 


Old  Stock  and  New 

When  the  younger  generation  comes 
crashing  through  the  unsullied  gates  of 
aristocratic  conventionality,  Miss  Pan  N. 
Dishum's  first  impulse  is  to  make  one 
wild  lunge  for  the  heirlooms  and  the  old 
family  bric-a-brac. 


The    San    Franciscan 
[i6] 


Guild  Dust 


Being  the  Forward  March  of  the  Art  Theatre 

By  Walter  Krieger 


TEN  years  ago,  a  pale  stripling  in 
the  Drama  Class,  let's  call  him 
"W.  S.  P."— struggled  desper- 
ately for  self-expression.  He  didn't  like 
his  text-books,  much.  He  had  ideas  of 
his  own,  and  he  had  implicit  faith  in 
those  ideas.  But  like  all  shy  youngsters 
he  was  inarticulate,  so  much  so  that 
Schoolmaster  Belasco  laughed  at  him 
right  in  front  of  the  whole  class.  But 
W.  S.  P.  (you  must  remember  him  now 
— Master  Washington  Square  Players) 
went  bravely  on  expressing  himself  as 
best  he  knew.  The  war  dealt  him  a 
hard  blow;  took  away  his  life  blood; 
but  after  the  Armistice  a  transfusion 
saved  him.  He  changed  his  name  for 
the  better-sounding  and  more  explicative 
name  of  his  adopters — "The  Theatre 
Guild,  Inc.,"  and  he  came  into  his  own! 
*** 

DREAMS!  How  strange  they  seem 
when,  years  later,  one  is  sur- 
rounded by  the  material  realization  of  a 
fond  hope.  Today  the  subscription  list 
of  the  Theatre  Guild  outnumbers  that 
of  the  Metropolitan  Opera!  The  little 
band  of  Villagers  who  planned  all  this 
did  not  miscalculate,  and  they  did  not 
falter.  Had  they  succumbed  to  apathy, 
doubt,  fatigue  and  fear — familiar 
wraiths  that  ever  and  anon  appear  on  the 
battlefield  of  plan  and  purpose,  the  Art 
Theatre  of  the  United  States  would  not 
exist  in  strength  and  beauty  as  it  does 
today,  fearlessly  holding  aloft  the  ban- 
ner of  artistic  accomplishment  and  giv- 
ing zest  and  courage  to  the  community 
theatres  scattered  country-wide  from 
coast  to  coast.  One  thousand,  is  the  re- 
port of  the  Independent  Theatres  Clear- 
ing House;  one  thousand  experimental, 
non-commercial  "little"  theatres  in  the 
United  States,  where  actors,  writers, 
scenic  designers,  costumieres  and  direc- 
tors are  frequently  "made";  where  tal- 
ent is  born,  nursed  and  prepared  for 
public  recognition,  when  it  is  deserving 
of  such. 

Without  the  "Little"  or  "Art" 
Theatres  to  produce  them,  how  could 
we  see  in  play  form  the  brilliant  works 
of  Dunsany,  Shaw,  O'Neill,  Yeats, 


Synge,  Strindberg,  Irvine,  O'Casey? 
When  men  with  minds  such  as  the  fore- 
going commenced  to  write  for  the  the- 
atre, it  was  not  destined  that  their  works 
should  remain  between  the  pasteboards 
and  linen  of  book  covers.  These  men 
wrote  as  the  result  of  a  spoken  or  un- 
spoken demand,  just  as  Anne  Nichols 
penned  "Abie"  for  a  specific  demand. 
Both  Anne  Nichols  and  Bernard  Shaw 
have  their  audiences  —  the  one,  the 
masses;  the  other,  the  classes.  It  is  the 
theatre  of  many  chairs,  as  distinguished 
from  the  theatre  of  certain  "airs".  The 
Art  Theatre  was  inevitable ! 

HERE  on  the  Western  Coast  the 
progress  of  the  Little  Theatre  has 
been  noticeably  rapid.  Santa  Barbara 
and  Pasadena  both  have  their  thriving 
Community  Theatres,  the  latter  under 
the  direction  of  Gilmor  Brown.  At 
Carmel  the  very  enchanting  "Theatre 
of  the  Golden  Bough"  supplies  the  art 
colony  with  caviar  theatricals,  while  the 
Egan  Theatre  in  Los  Angeles  is  fre- 
quently used  for  "type"  plays.  The 
Writers'  Club  in  Hollywood  continu- 
ously produces  art  plays  for  discriminat- 
ing audiences.  In  San  Francisco,  where 
over  a  period  of  years  several  attempts 
have  been  made  to  establish  a  Theatre 
Intime,  the  palm  goes  without  question 
to  the  Pla\ers'  Guild,  under  the  direc- 
tion of  Reginald  Travers,  who  began 
his  work  here  over  fifteen  years  ago,  and 
who  has  carried  on  through  trial  and 
tribulation,  continuously  building  his  in- 
stitution toward  higher  prestige  and 
achievement,  while  other  organizations, 
less  resourceful,  took  flight  or  perished. 

Commencing  as  humbly  as  possible  in 
a  basement,  Travers'  little  theatre — first 
known  as  the  "Players'  Club" — did  very 
ambitious  things,  from  one-act  plays  of 
lovely  simplicity  to  examples  of  classic 
drama  and  quaint  operettas.  Two  or 
three  times  the  theatre  was  moved  to 
more  commodious  quarters,  until  it  be- 
came housed  in  a  cozy  little  church, 
where  the  Gothic  designs  within  and 
without  added  much  to  the  atmosphere 
of    the    plays.     Each    season    here   saw 


bigger  and  better  attractions,  with  many 
premieres.  Eugene  O'Neill  was  intro- 
duced here  for  the  first  time  outside  of 
the  extreme  East,  his  "Emperor  Jones" 
being  one  of  the  star  attractions  on  the 
Players'  Club  list  long  before  it  reached 
San  Francisco  via  the  "road".  Ruth  St. 
Denis  and  Ted  Shawn  were  seen  in  a 
colorful  dance  drama  by  Charles  Cald- 
well Dobie.  Finally,  Reginald  Trav- 
ers forsook  his  organization  to  engage 
in  the  same  activity  in  Greenwich  Vil- 
lage, New  York,  together  with  William 
S.  Rainey  and  Evelyn  Vaughn.  Al- 
though a  brave  attempt  was  made  to 
continue  the  Players'  Club  under  a  new 
regime,  the  theatre  languished.  Some- 
thing was  wrong;  something  was  miss- 
ing. Rather  should  I  say  so?nehody  was 
missing,  for  faithful  members  gathered 
together  the  broken  threads  of  an  un- 
successful season  until  Travers'  return, 
when  all  departments  and  units  were  re- 
organized and  "The  Players'  Guild" 
was  formed. 

WITH  The  Players'  Guild  now 
established  in  the  new  Commu- 
nity Plaj'house  at  Sutter  and  Mason 
Streets;  with  Reginald  Travers  faith- 
fully at  the  helm  to  stage  in  his  own, 
gifted  way  a  remarkable  succession  of 
new  plays;  with  an  increased  list  of  sub- 
scribers— many  of  them  attracted  to  the 
Guild  by  the  fine  spirit  of  resourceful- 
ness shown  during  the  tragedy  of  the 
conflagration;  with  an  experienced  Busi- 
ness Manager  in  the  person  of  Stanley 
MacLewee  to  guide  the  organization  to 
the  harbor  of  prosperity,  it  seems  that 
The  Players'  Guild  of  San  Francisco  is 
over  the  rockiest  part  of  the  way,  and 
well  started  toward  success  and  perpet- 
ual life. 

"Through  Fire  to  Fortune."  That's 
a  phrase  at  which  we  used  to  smile. 
Somehow,  it  sounds  like  the  name  of  a 
"ten-twenty-thirt"  melodrama,  doesn't 
it?  But  it  has  proved  a  truism  many 
times,  in  which  both  individuals  and  in- 
stitutions were  bolted  headlong  into  the 
lap  of  prosperity.    Will  it  do  so  again.? 


Between  the  Rounds 
Reproduction  from  a  Paiiit'nig  by  George  Bello'ws 

"1  cannot  help  believing  that  the  work  of  this  painter— when  the  full  panorama  of  it 
has  been  unrolled  and  estimated— will  takes  its  place  beside  the  poetry  of  Walt  Whuman  and 
the  marines  of  Winslow  Homer,  and  that  the  three  of  them  will  then  be  seen  to  constitute 
the  most  inspiriting,  the  most  native  and  the  most  deeply  flavored  performances 
Art." — Frank  Crowninshield  in  The  Mentor. 


American 


r  »  V    San    K»  a  n  v  >  sv  •^  n 


i 


«' 


W*o 


Miss  Evelyn  McLaughlin 

i.ficf  f>j>t  in  tke  frtfjr-iticmi  for  "Tkt  Jtmior  LfJtguf  Follies 


T  H  K    San    Franciscan 
[19] 


The  Reigning  Dynasty 


IN  spite  of  windv  corridors  and  the 
cyclonic  disposition  of  the  auditorium, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  countless  opera  de- 
votees that  succumb  to  pneumonia  and 
other  lungy  disorders  directly  after  the 
season,  the  opera  is  always  a  gracious 
spectacle.  Women,  apt  as  they  are  at 
arranging  themselves  beautifully  in  a 
box  where  all  the  world  may  view  them, 
lend  much  atmosphere  with  their  gor- 
geous wraps  and  jewels  that  blaze  de- 
fiance at  one  another.  For  where  but 
at  the  opera  may  a  woman  retain  her 
chic  with  all  the  jewels  on  she  is  able  to 
muster,  barring,  perhaps,  the  stomacher 
of  the  purple  nineties.  .\s  yet  we  could 
hardly  refer  to  those  unstable  boxes  that 
are  erected  for  dog  shows  and  conven- 
tions alike,  as  the  golden  horseshoe.  But 
we  suffgest  that  among  those  in  the 
Reigning  Dynast)-,  who  took  their 
places  each  night,  none  were  more  con- 
sistent in  their  devotions  to  the  Muse 
than  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nion  Tucker,  Mrs. 
Helen  Irwin  Crocker,  Mrs.  Fred  Sher- 
man, Mr.  and  Mrs.  William  Sesnon, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Joseph  Thompson,  Mrs. 
A.  B.  Dohrmann,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  George 
Armsby,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  .Alfred  Hcn- 
drickson,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robert  Bentlcy. 
Mrs.  Sesnon,  always  charming  in  white, 
looked  particularly  so  the  opening  night 
in  a  velvet  gown  caught  with  rhincstone 
and  crj'Stal  ornaments.  Mrs.  Dohrmann 
wore  black  velvet  and  many  pearls.  Mrs. 
Armsby  chose  an  amber  velvet,  heavily 
beaded,  and  a  cloth-of-gold  wrap.  Mrs. 
Fred  Sherman  and  her  two  daughters 
drew  all  eyes  to  their  three  golden  heads 
as  they  entered  their  box.  Mrs.  Sherman 
wore  light  green  velvet  with  matching 
wrap  of  velvet  and  embroidered  in 
rhinestones.  Frances  Sherman  wore 
black  velvet  and  a  white  ermine  wrap. 
Edna  Sherman  wore  a  robe-dc-sr\le  of 
cream  satin  and  a  brocaded  silver  wrap. 
Mrs.  Eric  Gers<in  was  another  who 
drew  many  eyes  on  the  opening  night. 
She  wore  a  gown  of  gold  heavily  headed 
and  a  mink  wrap  which  was  a  distin- 
guishing note  of  smartness.  .Among  the 
young  matrons,  no  one  looked  lovelier 
that  night  than  Mrs.  John  So  ma  via 
(Edith  von  Rhien)  whose  fragile  blond- 
ness  and  exquisite  delicacy  was  frocked 
in  black  tulle  of  many  flounces.  Har- 
riet Walker,  sitting  with  her  aunt,  Mrs. 


Willis  Walker,  wore  blue  moire  and  a 
pink  wrap,  and  Barbara  Sesnon  wore  a 
pink  shaded  ostrich  trimmed  chiffon. 
Her  guest,  Elizabeth  Moore,  accentu- 
ated her  dark  coloring  with  flame  and 
silver.  Color,  everywhere  one  found 
its  vibrant  vividness.  And  here  and 
there  mingled  the  frosty  coolness  of 
gleaming  white. 


December 

By  Fiie:z>£.rick  R.  Fishfr 

Wise  time  with  g:cnlle  finder  heals  all  pain 
And  moulds  a  ncw-sprun^hopcof  old  despair  ^ 
With  kindly  ma^ic  makes  to  breathe  again 
The  joys  that  perished  seeming  past  repair. 

Vet  with  the  flight  of  four  evtendcd  years 
My  banished  love  still  lingers  with  Its  grief 
And  knows  no  consolation  ^  sigh  and  tears 
But  multiply  its  woe  bcj-ond  relief. 

O  mcmorj'  of  kisses  sweetly  pure. 
Of  kisses  sweet  with  passion's  mad  excess, 
Reach  thou  the  portals  of  my  soul  obscure 
And  ease  the  anguish  of  my  dark  distress. 

Envenomed  memory  turns  its  ruthless  fang 
I'pon  itself  to  quench  the  bitter  pang. 


My^ 


SAN  FRANCISCANS  love  their 
opera.  The  box-holders  were  faith- 
ful unto  the  end  of  the  seas<in,  which  is 
no  small  matter  for  twelve  {perform- 
ances with  yen  few  "nights  off"  in  be- 
tween in  which  to  catch  up  with  loss  of 
sleep. 

The  music  critics  have  rendered  their 
verdict,  which,  after  all,  has  no  place 
here,  this  being  more  or  less  pertinent 
comment  ujxm  the  audience.  The  au- 
dience seemed  to  entertain  a  vast  aware- 
ness of  its  own  part  in  the  drama  of  the 
opera,  all  of  which  was  not  on  the  stage. 
Nor  yet  in  the  audience.  There  was  a 
cosmos,  with  a  complete  complement  of 


loves  and  hates  and  conflict,  backstage 
as  well. 

It  was  racial  and  geographical  and 
antedates  cither  Merola  or  Hertz,  but 
makes  both  the  cafricus.  .\nd  grinds  ex- 
ceedingK  fine,  .^nd  will  grind  exceed- 
ingly finer,  if  not  finus. 

There  were  many  things  to  fill  the 
e\e  in  the  promenades  between  acts  and 
much  to  divert.  There  was  the  youth 
who  came  full-p>anoplied  in  afternoon 
attire,  with  spats  and  striped  trousers  and 
e\'er\thing.  But  he  had  a  good  time, 
which  was  the  real  desideratum  after 
all.  But  it  indicated  that  there  is  quite 
a  sartorial  distance  between  Sacramento 
and  San  Francisco. 

Sun-kissed  backs  and  legs  and  arms 
are  now  in  vogue,  their  place  in  the 
scheme  of  things  having  been  fixed  hy 
the  opera,  which  also  is  arbiter  in  many 
other  things.  Such  as  men  arriving  at 
the  auditorium  as  hatless  astheir  women. 
Wearing  their  tuxedos  neat,  a,s  it  were. 
Why  not?  Why  contribute  to  the  de- 
linquency of  the  hat  girl  by  pennitting 
her  to  make  so  much  money  that  she 
aspires  to  fur  coats?  It's  a.spiration  that 
leads  many  a  girl  to  the  edge  of  folly. 
She  hitches  her  wagon  to  a  star,  so  to 
speak,  and  hitches  once  too  often  when 

the  stag  at  eve  has  drunk  his  fill. 

#** 

THERE  is,  apparently,  a  most  con- 
tagious epidemic  of  going  places 
representing  things.  .\  headdress  party 
where  exquisite  evening  gowns  were 
somewhat  incongruously  topped  with 
frogs'  heads  or  jjelican  bills,  to  a  pa  jama 
pam-  which  smacks  of  Valentino  fame 
but  truly  was  no  more  serious  than 
transplanting  the  Lido  to  Burlingamc. 
.Along  the  Riviera,  quite  the  mast  amus- 
ing m<xlc  of  entertaining  is  to  give  a 
pajama  jMrty  where  P<iiret  and  Patou 
\ic  with  one  another  in  designing  the 
most  gorgeous  and  flamb<iyant  creations, 
which,  after  all,  have  evolved  from 
that  mast  humble  garment.  Europeans 
adore  these  soirees.  They  create  some- 
how, a  <pirit  of  ,  what  shall 

we  call  it?  Informalit\'  will  do!  \\\A 
the  two  hundred  guests  of  the  Edmund 
Lymans'  the  other  night  captured  the 
thought.  The  Burlingame  Country 
Club  was  turned  into  a  replica  of  the 
famous  Italian  restirt  and  gay  little 


The    San    Franciscan 

[20] 

tables  were  placed  under  gayer  umbrel- 
las, and  in  and  out  of  the  Club  wan- 
dered a  hundred  Irene  Bordonis  (or 
near  Irenes)  in  brilliant  satin  or  me- 
tallic costume. 

Pardow  Hooper  did  his  bit  ti)  further 
the  movement  when  he  gave  his  annual 
baby  party.  The  party,  of  course,  took 
place  at  Pebble  Beach,  and  those  who 
motored  down  for  the  week-end  slayed 
those  well-known  birds  by  also  being 
there  for  the  opening  of  the  new  and 
distinctly  smart  Pebble  Beach  Swim- 
ming Club.    It  was,  to  put  it  mildly,  a 

successful  week-end. 

*** 

IT  has  been  more  winters  than  we  like 
to  count  since  such  a  promising  de- 
butante  season   has   confronted   us  and 
already  fifteen  prospective  "debs"  have 
been  named.    The  season  has  every 
promise  of  a  gala  one  and  has  elated 
those  of  us  who  have  found  the  past  few 
years  with  its  sluggish  "oozing"  out  into 
society,    very   bourgeois.      The    first    to 
make  her  bow  was  Marianna  Casserly, 
the   youngest   daughter  of   Mrs.   John 
Casserly,   of   San    Mateo.     Being  early 
mough  in  the  season  for  a  garden  party, 
the  beautiful  gardens  of  Mrs.  Casserly's 
place  were  utilized,  a  the   dansant  was 
held.    Several  hundred  came  during  the 
afternoon   where  the  debutante   greeted 
her  mother's  guests  in  a  delightful  white 
lace  gown  and  carried  a  huge  bouquet 
of  orchids.    In  the  evening  she  contin- 
ued in  the  process  of  coming  out,  at  a 
large  dinner  given  for  the  younger  set. 
Now  that  the  first  affair  is  over,  we 
await  almost  impatiently  for  the  others 
to  start  things  humming.    There  will  be 
Eleanor   Weir,    daughter   of    Mr.    and 
Mrs.  William   Weir,  California   Breu- 
ner,    daughter   of    the    John    Breuners', 
Vail  Jones,  daughter  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Webster  Jones,  and  the  Alexander  Ham- 
iltons'  daughter,  Grace.    Alma  Walker, 
the   daughter  of   the   Clinton   Walkers, 
of    Piedmont,   and    the    niece    of    Mrs. 
Willis  Walker,   will   come  out  shortly 
and  others  are  Agnes  Clark,  Elizabeth 
Ra}mond,  Harriet  Brownell,  Genevieve 
Hart,   Dorothy   Mein   and   Alice   East- 
land.   With  all  this  exceedingly  lovely 
array  things  promise  to  be  very  divert- 
ing. 

*** 

IT  was  learned   with  somewhat  of  a 
shock  that  the  much  looked  for  wed- 
ding of  beautiful  Idabelle  Wheaton  of 


Piedmont  and  George  Tallant  of  Santa 
Barbara  is  to  be  a  very  simple  and  quiet 
affair.  With  the  marble  house  of  her 
aunt,  Mrs.  Edson  Adams,  as  a  setting 
and  a  host  of  lovely  young  maids  and 
matrons  waiting  more  or  less  expec- 
tantly for  the  bridal  party  to  be  named, 
everyone  felt  more  or  less  let  down, 
fulia  Adams,  Idabelle's  cousin  and  com- 
panion to  Europe  each  year,  will  be  the 
only  attendant.  It  is  quite  possible  that 
upon  considering  whom  she  might 
choose  for  bridesmaids,  the  list  became 
too  voluminous  to  consider;  for  surely 
every  large  wedding  among  the  Reign- 
ing Dynasty  in  the  past  few  seasons  has 
found  Miss  Wheaton  among  the  brides- 
maids. 

There  is  much  happening  in  honor  of 
that  distinctively  smart  debutante, 
Frances  Sherman,  who  has  returned 
from  a  year  and  a  half  spent  in  Europe. 
Each  night  at  the  opera  she  was  noted 
in  her  mother's  (Mrs.  Fred  Sherman) 
box,  looking  quite  as  handsome  as  her 
very  lovely  parent.  Mary  Chickering,  of 
Piedmont,  gave  a  luncheon  in  her 
honor,  Livvy  Smith  honored  her  at  a 
dinner  and  Mrs.  Florence  Boardman 
Pulliam  also  entertained  at  luncheon. 
Many  more  parties  have  been  planned. 

EVER  since  Mrs.  Lydig  Hoyt  and 
Thelma  Converse  Morgan  took  to 
tripping  the  boards,  the  Reigning  Dy- 
nasty has  taken  a  kindly  interest  in  any 
of  its  members  that  turn  their  attention 
thuswise. 

For  the  past  fortnight  at  Del  Monte 
several  of  the  Dynasty  have  been  film- 
ing a  picture  with  the  background  of 
old  Missions  and  diverting  hotels,  and 
the  minor  roles  filled  by  none  other  than 
Conway  Tearle,  Norman  Kerry,  Ri- 
cordo  Cortez  and  Jackie  Coogan,  each 
a  star  in  the  cinema,  down  for  a  holiday 
and  anxious  to  enter  into  the  fun. 
Anita  Reiners,  of  Pebble  Beach,  who 
has  been  one  of  the  most  popular  mem- 
bers of  the  summer  colony,  was  the 
lovely  lady.  Jack  Dolman,  of  Prince- 
ton, vacationing  at  the  Lodge,  found 
himself  the  hero,  and  Steve  Field,  the 
villain.  Mrs.  Ada  Murphy,  of  Pasa- 
dena, was  a  combined  camera  man  and 
director  under  the  guidance  of  Jack 
Coogan,  Senior.  Everyone  joined  in, 
lending  rare  old  antiques,  villas,  or  any- 
thing demanded  to  assist  and  the  fa- 
mous stars  were  quite  contented  to  have 


"extra"  parts  and  bask  in  the  glory  of 
the  novices.  *  *  "^- 

A  TRULY  beautiful  wedding  took 
place  in  Piedmont  not  long  ago, 
when  Geraldine  Gannon,  the  daughter 
of  Mrs.  Walter  Gannon,  became  the 
bride  of  Dr.  Sanford  Larkey.  It  was 
rather  pleasant  after  a  flurry  of  tiger 
lilies  and  gold  brocade  or  something 
equally  subdued  that  has  marked  the 
decorative  note  of  the  large  weddings 
of  late,  to  get  back  to  bowers  and  gar- 
lands of  pink  roses,  lilies-of-the-valley 
and  long  blue  sprays  of  delphinium. 
*** 

THAT  was  a  happy  idea  of  Mrs. 
James  W.  Reid  of  singing  Joyce 
Kilmer's  "Trees"  at  the  ceremony  at 
which  the  San  Francisco  Garden  Club 
planted  an  oak  tree  in  Memory  Vale, 
Golden  Gate  Park,  as  a  memorial  to 
Willis  Polk,  San  Francisco  architect 
who  died  about  a  year  ago.  It  has  been 
so  long  since  she  has  sung  in  public  that 
her  friends  had  forgotten  that  as  Mae 
Sadler  she  had  a  lovely  voice  that  prom- 
ised an  operatic  career  had  she  chosen  it. 
Mrs.  William  Hinckley  Taylor, 
President  of  the  Garden  Club,  was 
given  a  tribute,  en  passant,  by  James 
W.  Reid,  who  introduced  the  speakers 
of  the  occasion.  "The  woman  who  had 
the  vision  to  organize  and  support  the 
Garden  Club  in  the  tasks  it  has  assumed 
in  beautifying  San  Francisco  and  en- 
virons," he  characterized  her,  and  he 
was  enthusiastically  applauded.  Mrs. 
Polk,  widow  of  the  distinguished  ar- 
chitect, was  an  appealing  figure  as  she 
lifted  the  first  spade  of  earth  to  bank 
at  the  roots  of  the  gigantic  oak.  The 
Garden  Club  wanted  a  tree  as  a  tribute 
to  John  McLaren  of  Golden  Gate 
Park.  To  which  the  canny  Scot  replied, 
"Only  over  my  dead  body  will  it  be 
done."  The  retort  was  obvious:  "We 
hope  that  time  will  not  come  soon. 
*** 

MISS  PEGGY  STEELE  last 
month  celebrated  her  twenty-first 
birthday.  There  was  a  cake  with  elec- 
tric lights  instead  of  candles  and  bon- 
bons and  bon  mots.  Shorb  Steele,  the 
son  of  the  family,  is  but  a  few  months 
older  than  Miss  Peggy,  who  was  adopted 
by  the  Steeles  a  few  years  ago  and  has 
in  that  time  not  only  found  an  abiding 
place  in  their  hearts  but  has  endeared 
herself  to  the  wide  circle  of  friends  of 
the  Steele  family. 


The    San    Franciscan 

[21] 


New  Moods 

wherein  the  Young  Moderns  Go  Up-Town 


Bv  Aline  Kistler 


LESS  than  a  year  ago  the  young 
artists  of  San  Francisco  estab- 
lished the  Modern  Gallery  in 
Montgomery  Street  where,  in  what  was 
once  a  livery  stable,  they  showed  their 
work  and  invited  criticism  and  comment 
for  their  departures  in  artistic  expres- 
sion. Now,  ten  months  after  their  first 
appearance,  we  find  four  of  the  original 
group  of  "young  moderns"  exhibiting 
uptown  in  the  East  West  Gallery  of  the 
Women's  Building,  quite  the  most  fre- 
quented show  place  in  San  Francisco. 

In  this  exhibit  the  work  of  Ruth  Cra- 
vath,  Parker  L.  Hall,  Jacques  Schnier 
and  Ward  Montague  of  the  original 
Modern  Gallery  group  is  augmented  by 
that  of  Enid  Foster  and  Magnus  A. 
Arnason.  These  six  young  artists, 
though  known  as  sculptors,  show  paint- 
ings, wood  carvings  and  line  drawings 
as  well  as  sculpture. 

A  wide  gamut  of  theme  and  treat- 
ment is  ranged  by  the  forty  pieces 
shown  but  there  is  a  bond  of  sympa- 
thetic outlook  that  makes  the  exhibit  ho- 
mogeneous. As  widely  different  things 
as  ScHnier's  "Marriage  of  Earth  and 
Water"  and  Ward  Montague's  "Lotus 
Flower"  are  the  product  of  similar  at- 
titudes, the  present  day  belief  that  the 
emotional  concept  must  be  intellectual- 
ized.  So  it  is  that  we  find  representation 
dominated  by  abstraction  even  unto  so- 
phisticated naivete. 

Such  is  the  "modernism"  of  the 
youth  of  today.  Intellectual  ghosts  ani- 
mating emotional  form.  Crystalliza- 
tions of  an  introvert  world. 

The  interest  shown  in  this  exhibit  in- 
dicates that  there  is  a  growing  response 
to  these  new  art  idioms  for,  with  the 
exception  of  some  of  Mr.  Arnason's 
work,  practically  all  the  pieces  shown 
are  far  from  classical  in  feeling.  And 
even  Mr.  Arnason  demonstrates  his 
right  to  be  classed  with  the  other  young 
moderns  by  the  blase  mechanism  of  pro- 
ducing abstract  porcelain  effect  with 
deftly  Ducoed  plaster  as  in  his  "Prayer." 

It  is  significant  that  four  of  this  group 
now  monopolizing  the  artistic  spotlight 


«SO: 


rC32» 


FURY 

A  wood  carving  in  modern  idiom  by  one  of  the 
young-  moderns  whose  work  .ittr-icted  attention  at 
the  recent  group  showing  in  the  East  West  Gallery. 


<^0- 


rasr^ 


are  the  same  "youngsters"  who  defied 
fate  and  the  public  less  than  a  year  ago 
by  opening  a  gallery  dedicated  to  new 
e.xperiments  in  art. 

**# 

LAST  November  people  went  to  the 
opening  of  the  Modern  Gallery 
with  tongue  distended  cheeks,  curious 
but  une.xpectant.  They  saw  drawings, 
paintings,  sculpture — all  in  unaccepted 
idioms.  Many  scoffed  at  presumptuous 
youth.  Some  were  susceptible  to  the 
noveltj'.  A  few  saw  beauty  in  the 
freshly  cast  concepts. 

Today  the  work  of  these  artists  and 
others  of  similar  ideals  not  only  attracts 
general  attention  but  receives  serious 
consideration  as  indicative  of  the  new 
trend  of  artistic  expression. 

But,  in  spite  of  the  partial  acceptance 
given  this  type  of  work,  people  were 
startled  when,  at  the  opening  of  the 
present  showing  in  the  East  West  Gal- 
lery, Lucien  Labaudt  called  the  young 
artists  "true  traditionalists." 

Such  sweeping  acceptance  was  justi- 
fied only  by  Labaudt's  explanation  that 
he  considered  this  phase  of  art  the  re- 
sult of  the  application  of  the  eternal 
laws  of  art  to  the  mood  of  today.  He 
insisted  that  the  basic  principles  of  art 
that  has  become  classic  and  that  which 
now  seems  strangely  new  are  the  same. 

In  this  sense  the  artists  working  in 
the  present  day  idiom  are  not  artistic 
bolsheviks  or  revolutionists.  It  is  only 
their  means  of  expression  that  differs 
from  that  of  the  accepted  old  masters. 
The  basis  of  true  art  remains  the  same. 

Art  must  ever  be  the  safety  valve  of 
civilization  and,  as  times  and  manners 
change,  it  is  inevitable  that  the  form  of 
artistic  expression  shall  change  in  both 
content  and  spirit  while  the  underlying 
principles  remain  the  same. 

So  it  is  that  this  exhibit  in  the  East 
West  Gallery  which  has  brought  the 
"young  moderns"  uptown  is  not  only 
an  acknowledgment  that  the  young  ar- 
tists have  something  to  say  but  it  is  also 
evidence  that  the  San  Francisco  art  pub- 
lic is  keenly  responsive  to  new  moods 
and  messages. 


The    San    Franciscan 

[22] 


As  Seen  By  Her 


UNDOUBTEDLY  the  Scotch 
are  wonderful  people!  They 
invent  golf, — eighteen  holes 
of  exquisite  torture, — then  they  distill 
consolation  for  the  agony.  They  wear 
kilts  through  all  the  rigors  of  a  stern, 
northern  winter,  and  still  they  remain 
among  the  most  robust  peoples  of  the 
earth.  And  now,  right  in  our  midst, 
there  is  a  Scotchman  who  is  making  a 
fine  art  of  furniture  reproduction,  and 
for  the  first  time,  at  least  to  our  humble 
knowledge,  is  not  trying  to  fool  anyone 
into  the  belief  that  he  is  purveying  orig- 
inals. 

In  a  little,  unpretentious  shop  on  the 
peninsula  highway  near  Beresford,  Dan 
Wallace,  master  artisan,  has  constructed 
a  great  deal  of  the  French  Normandy 
type  furniture  that  is  in  the  new  Ah- 
wahnee  Hotel  in  Yosemite  Valley.  As 
you  enter  his  shop  your  eye  is  caught 
immediately  by  a  long,  narrow  table, 
dignified  in  line  and  character  with  the 
quality  that  comes  with  hundreds  of 
years'  usage.  Wallace  chuckles  when  he 
is  asked  about  it. 

"So  you  think  that's  old,  do  you? 
Well,  it  isn't  even  finished  yet.  It's  all 
been  done  by  hand,  dry  rot,  foot-marks, 
discoloration  and  all.  And  done  with 
just  an  axe  and  an  adze,  the  way  they 
built  things  in  those  days." 

The  visitor's  eye  might  then  wander 
to  a  chair  in  the  French  Empire  style, 
faded  and  mellow  with  age,  only  to  be 
told  that  this  particular  piece  has  a  few 
touches  to  be  added  before  it  can  be  de- 
livered to  the  customer  as  a  mate  to  the 
original  which  stands  next  to  it. 

Wallace  is  a  graduate  of  a  Glasi^ow 
college,  an  artist  and  an  advocate  of  the 
making  of  reproductions  as  an  art  in  it- 
self. He  knows  periods,  the  craftsman- 
ship of  different  times  and  peoples,  and 
the  processes  of  aging.  The  Persian  fur- 
niture, forerunner  of  our  Gothic  style, 
designed  for  John  Drum's  residence  on 
the  roof  of  the  Fairmont  Hotel,  is  now 
under  construction  in  Wallace's  shop. 

NOT  wishing  to  cast  aspersions  on 
so  great  an  authority  as  Benjamin 
Franklin,  kite  flyer  of  no  mean  ability, 
we  still  beg  to  differ  with  his  dictum 
that  "It  is  hard  for  an  empty  bag  to 
stand  upright,"  since  we  have  seen  the 


hand-bags  of  all  descriptions  displayed 
by  Leonard  Moese  of  Paris  at  279  Post 
Street.  We  stood  enraptured  before  his 
window,  fascinated  by  the  variety  of 
shapes,  sizes  and  materials,  richly  glow- 
ing brocades,  petit-point,  intricately 
worked  bead  designs.  Then  there  is  the 
flashing  brilliance  of  every  sort  of  bag- 
top.  Every  taste  can  be  satisfied,  and 
if  the  particular  bag  isn't  in  stock,  it  can 
be  made  according  to  any  selection  de- 
sired. 

*** 

TURNING  off  from  the  bustle, 
traflic  policemen  and  honking  horns 
of  Grant  Avenue  the  other  day,  we  re- 
joiced once  more  in  the  oasis,  the  peace 
and  quiet  and  the  European  flavor  of 
the  little  blind  alley  that  has  been  spared 
from  the  encroachments  of  modern 
commerce  on  the  west  side  of  the  Ave- 
nue to  be  known  as  Tillman  Place. 

There  in  the  corner  is  Harry  Dixon's 
workshop  and  display  room.  Down 
three  or  four  steps,  and  a  long,  narrow 
room  opens  up,  with  every  sort  of  cun- 
ningly devised  and  executed  pieces  of 
copper  exhibited  against  warm  patches 
of  batik,  or  standing  on  fascinating 
chests  and  tables.  Handwrought  jewelry 
brightens  one  corner,  bright  blue  tur- 
quoise against  dull  silver,  the  impris- 
oned flame  of  carnelian,  and  the  dull 
fire  of  opal.  The  whole  room  is  domi- 
nated by  the  richness  of  an  oil  painting 
of  the  desert,  steeped  in  sun  and  vibrat- 
ing in  a  riot  of  color.  It  has  been 
painted  by  Maynard  Dixon,  the  copper 
worker's  brother. 

At  the  extreme  end  is  the  Temple 
Bar  Tea  Room,  peopled  by  gay  little 
Chinese  princesses  in  disguise,  known  as 
waitresses  in  our  prosaic  language.  The 
original  bar  is  still  there,  innocuous  but 
complete  in  detail,  shiny  brass  rail  and 
all.  It  is  not  necessary  to  say  more  of 
the  quality  of  the  meals  than  that  a  long 
line  of  hungry  humanity  stands  patiently 
waiting  for  an  empty  seat  every  noon. 
A  most  up-to-date  and  efficient  circu- 
lating library  is  at  the  entrance,  so  that 
waiting  itself  becomes  a  unique  pleasure 
under  these  circumstances. 

Perhaps  the  most  attractive  of  all  is 
the  Old  Book  Shop.  Books  from  floor 
to  ceiling,  old,  worn,  early  editions, 
luxurious  special  bindings,  item  after 


item  of  real  interest  tempts  the  passerby 
to  come  in  and  browse.  And  he  is  un- 
disturbed, too.  He  is  greeted  by  a  fel- 
low book-lover,  and  treated  in  the  spirit 
of  true  kinship.  But  if  he  can  tear  him- 
self away  from  the  temptations  inside 
these  walls,  he  is  no  true  bibliomaniac, 
and  he  has  the  strength  of  an  unshorn 
Samson. 

*** 

NOW  that  our  winter  season,  the 
best  possible  golf  weather,  is  ap- 
proaching, we  look  with  eager  eyes  at 
the  newest  costume  for  gamboling 
(gambling?)  on  the  green,  displayed  by 
May  G.  Walsh  at  453  Post  Street.  In 
addition  to  a  big  stock  of  sweaters  and 
skirts,  there  are  several  jersey  outfits  in 
which  one  could  lay  one's  fourth  putt 
dead  to  the  pin  to  perfection.  The  skirt 
is  solid  color,  but  the  top  jersey  has  en- 
trancing stripes  running  diagonally  or 
vertically,  guaranteed  to  produce  the 
perfect  streamline  figure. 

Then  there  are  some  tweed  coat- 
dresses  which  have  an  undeniably  British 
accent.  The  finishing  touch  for  these  is 
a  leather  flower  to  be  won  in  a  come- 
hither  fashion  on  the  shoulder,  and  a 
belt  to  match. 

An  entirely  new  model  which  Miss 
W^alsh  has  brought  back  from  the  effete 
East  is  a  three-piece  suit  consisting  of  a 
velveteen  skirt,  a  long  velveteen  coat 
and  a  silk  blouse  of  a  lighter  shade  than 
the  coat  and  skirt,  all  three  highly  to  be 
recommended. 

*** 

EVEN  if  the  "Do  Your  Christmas 
Shopping  Early"  slogan  is  still  dor- 
mant, we  have  decided  to  beat  the  gong, 
urged  into  this  unseemly  haste  by  some 
novelties  shown  by  Magnin's,  no  one  of 
which  would  make  an  unwelcome  bulge 
in  our  patched  but  robust  hosiery  on  De- 
cember 25th.  Quite  a  collection  of  golf 
watches,  entirely  new  at  least  to  us,  may 
be  had.  These  are  made  to  resemble 
golf  balls,  somewhat  flattened,  and  are 
attached  to  straps  which  may  be  fastened 
to  any  unoccupied  button  in  the  sports- 
man's attire. 

Ever  since  we  saw  the  luggage  stand- 
ing nonchalantly  about  in  the  leather  de- 
partment, we  have  had  an  itch  for 
roughing  it  at  Claridge's  or  the   Ritz. 

(Continued  to  Page  32) 


The    San    Franciscan 
[23} 


Isadora  Duncan 

///  mentors  of  a  great  artist  and  a  Sait  Franciscan. 


Photograph  by  Steichen. 


The    San    Franciscan 


B.  I.  and  B.  I.  C 


Will  They  Disprove  the  Theory  That  What  Goes  Up  Must  Come  Downi 


THE  amazing  phenomenon  of  the 
consistent  and  prolonged  rise  in 
the  market  value  of  the  two  Gi- 
annini  stocks,  the  Bank  of  Italy  and  the 
Bancitaly  Corporation,  on  the  hoards  of 
the  San  Francisco  Stock  &  Bond  Ex- 
change during  the  last  three  years  has 
shed  its  last  vestige  of  localism  and  now 
appears  to  be  engaging  the  best  attention 
of  some  investors  and  more  speculators 
on  the  big  Exchanges  in  New  York.  A 
grand  total  of  172,900  of  Bancitaly 
shares  were  bought  and  sold  in  New 
York  alone  last  week,  and  the  enthusi- 
astic followers  of  these  stocks  in  San 
Francisco,  including  both  Native  Sons 
and  a  distinct  international  element,  are 
now  able  to  get  some  idea  at  seven 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  from  the  quo- 
tation boards  of  their  favorite  brokers, 
of  what  their  stock  is  likely  to  accom- 
plish in  a  day  of  trading  on  the  local 
Exchange. 

Up  to  the  present  time  this  has  been 
perfectly  simple;  for  here  is  a  stock  that 
apparently  can  only  go  one  way — up- 
ward. In  spite  of  the  not  infrequent 
vociferations  of  Amadeo  Pietro  Gian- 
nini  that  his  stocks  must  be  considered 
on  a  cold  and  tangible  basis  of  assets  and 
earning  power,  and  that  he  wished  to  go 
on  record  as  quite  firmly  opposed  to 
speculation  in  either  Italy  stock  and,  in 
fact,  that  he  was  prepared  to  resort  to 
extreme  measures  to  keep  the  market 
prices  down  within  reasonable  levels, 
Bank  of  Italy  and  Bancitaly  stocks  have 
never  had  a  real  market  set-back. 

The  swift  expansion  and  sentimental 
domination  of  the  Bancitaly  Corpora- 
tion reads  like  a  tale  from  Marco  Polo. 
Although  only  organized  in  191 9  with 
a  paid  up  capital  of  $1,500,000  it  has 
now  evolved  into  one  of  the  world's 
largest  investment  trusts  and,  chrysalis- 
like, has  finally  emerged  into  a  dazzling 
entity  having  a  capital  investment  of 
over  $217,000,000,  and  its  stock  has 
taken  wing  and  soared  accordingly.  It 
took  its  founders  about  five  years  to 
realize  the  possibilities  that  were  present 
psychologicall)'  and  practically  to  sell 
stock  and  with  the  proceeds  thereof  to 


By  Covington  Janin 

buy  diversified  investments.  But  once 
realized,  the  selling  of  stock  was  ac- 
complished by  an  expedient  so  simple 
that  it  appears  somewhat  like  a  man 
raising  himself  by  his  proverbial  boot- 
straps; stockholders  were  allowed  to 
subscribe  to  a  limited  number  of  new 
shares  at  a  price  substantially  below 
what  they  could,  if  they  so  wished,  sell 
them  for  in  the  open  market,  the  double 
effect  of  which  was  to  greatly  facilitate 
the  sale  of  new  stock  and  to  raise  the 
value  of  the  existing  stock  which  car- 
ried this  right. 

*  *  4 

AIDED  very  material  1)-  by  the  tre- 
mendous and  unprecedented  bull 
market  of  1924-27,  the  public  was  in- 
duced, and  indeed  almost  demanded  in 
two  years  to  intrust  some  $200,000,000 
to  Giannini  for  reinvestment  in  his 
chosen  list  of  widely  separated  banks, 
corporations  and  foreign  governments. 
So  pleased  with  his  work,  moreover, 
were  his  stockholders  that  in  spite  of  his 
plea  for  conservatism  to  replace  the  wild 
bidding  for  his  stock  in  the  market,  the 
public  now  apparently  places  the  value 
of  Bancitaly  Corporation  at  some 
$208,000,000,  more  than  its  actual 
stated  book  value. 

Bancitaly  stock  was  daily  contribut- 
ing a  pyrotechnic  display  to  the  stock 
market  and  had  risen  precipitously  about 
120  points  in  less  than  3  months.  The 
more  sober-minded  of  the  stock  market 
intelligentsia  were  inquiring  if,  really, 
this  was  not  a  little  too  much  of  a  good 
thing,  and  San  Francisco  bankers  gen- 
erally were  beginning  to  refuse  to  fur- 
ther augment  their  brokerage  loans  on 
Bancitaly  stock.  At  this  apparent  crisis 
A.  P.  Giannini  gave  out  a  statement 
which  said,  in  effect,  "I  notice  with  re- 
gret that  an  undue  amount  of  specula- 
tion surrounds  the  stock  .  .  .  and  I  pro- 
pose to  stop  this  at  any  cost  ...  I  have 
determined  to  authorize  and  sell  new 
stock  in  the  market  until  the  buying  be- 
comes reasonable,  and  I  shall  keep  on 
authorizing  and  selling  stock  until  this 
is  accomplished."  Bancital)-  checked  its 
pace  momentarily,  and  the  market  tur- 


moil calmed;  but  soon  the  stock  began 
to  climb  again,  more  slowly,  however. 
It  was  becoming  more  and  more  evident 
that  buying  orders  were  being  met  with 
a  new  volume  of  stock,  from  whence 
no  one  knew. 

Some  time  later  Mr.  Giannini  called 
a  directors'  meeting  for  the  purpose  of 
authorizing  the  issuance  of  100,000 
shares  of  new  stock.  The  open  market 
price  at  the  time  was  about  $340.  A 
certain  percentage  of  the  stock  was  to 
be  added  to  the  treasury  to  be  sold  at 
the  discretion  of  the  company  at  not  less 
than  $350  a  share.  The  rest,  38,916 
shares,  at  Mr.  Giannini's  request,  was 
to  be  issued  to  him  personally  at  $300  a 
share — $40  below  the  current  market — 
"to  return  to  persons  from  whom  he  had 
borrowed  stock,  to  hold  the  market 
down,"  or  itt  other  words  to  cover  his 
own  short  position  in  the  stock  market. 
*** 

THAT  this  position  was  caused  by 
Giannini's  over-sale  of  stock  to  pro- 
tect his  stockholders  from  excessive  mar- 
ket fluctuations  detracts  no  whit  from 
the  perfectly  astonishing  fact  that  these 
stockholders  voluntarily  agreed  to  forego 
a  very  substantial  cash  sum  in  order  to 
help  out  a  man  whom  they  unanimously 
felt  to  be  their  friend.  All  stockholders 
legally  had  the  right  to  reap  a  portion 
of  the  additional  $40  a  share  discount 
on  the  new  stock,  yet  such  was  their  be- 
lief in  their  president's  sincerity  that  out 
of  10,000  stockholders  only  43  refused 
his  plea  and  demanded  their  stockhold- 
ers' rights.  As  far  as  we  know  this  con- 
stitutes the  very  last  word  in  capitalistic 
reciprocity. 

What  will  be  the  final  end  of  specu- 
lation in  Bancitaly  stock,  what  will  be 
its  final  point  of  stabilization  must  still 
represent  the  merest  guess.  It  is  silly  to 
endlessly  repeat,  in  face  of  actual  sales 
quotations,  the  platitude  that,  "it  can't 
go  up  forever."  Its  rise  is  in  a  measure 
sound,  and  perfectly  capable  of  logical 
appreciation.  It  is  partly  founded  on  ac- 
tual accomplishment,  somewhat  on  po- 
tentialities, which  are  the  very  essence 

(Continued  to  Page  ll) 


The    Sax    F  r  a  n  c  i  s  c  a  ?< 


The  Bookstall 


Being  Reflections  and  Opinions  on  Some  Current  Works 
Bv  A\'iLLiAM  Ahlefeld  Flanagan 


THOSE  who  have  followed  with 
satisfaction  the  past  work  of 
Vicente  Blasco  Ibanez,  will 
find  again,  in  his  newest  novel,  The 
Mob,  nothing  to  disapfwint  them — or 
nothing  to  increase  their  esteem.  With 
Ibanez,  it  is  probable  that  this  condition 
shall  never  change.  Looking  back  over 
his  career,  one  is  struck  with  the  fact 
that  he  incessantly  writes  propaganda, 
and  uses  the  masses  for  both  his  force 
and  his  color.  With  but  one  or  two  ex- 
ceptions he  has  never  shown  the  merest 
touch  of  originality,  nor  attained  the 
grace  of  genuine  eloquence.  In  The 
Shadow  of  the  Cathedral  he  came  near 
to  this  high  level  of  writing,  and  in 
Blood  atul  Sand,  and  to  some  extent 
The  Pope  of  the  Sea,  he  had  flashes  of 
fine  color-writing.  But  for  the  most 
part  the  supreme  tones  are  lacking,  and 
his  work  has  no  voice ;  what  he  says  is 
only  an  echo,  the  oft-repeated  cries  of 
the  day.  The  reason  is  not  far  to  seek. 
He  has  not  been  able  to  disassociate  the 
ideas  of  the  moment;  for  him  what  is 
a  commonplace  among  certain  elements 
of  fwople  (his  own  element)  becomes 
a  passion  and  a  truth.  But  to  make 
original  disassociations,  which  is  the  true 
test  of  creative  intelligence,  has  been 
for  him  an  impossibility.  The  fact  that 
he  continues  to  see  life  with  but  one 
color,  argues  nothing  whatever  against 
him  as  a  writer;  but  when  a  writer  de- 
cides to  do  this  he  should  be  careful  not 
to  draw  a  knave  instead  of  a  king.  Both 
religious  and  scientific  thinkers  have 
agreed,  through  innumerable  genera- 
tions, that  the  mob  is  fickle;  yet  the 
voice  of  his  work  is  nothing  else  than 
that  of  this  same  fickle  crowd,  yelping 
the  desires  of  the  hour.  The  Mob  is  a 
vivid  and  interesting  book,  and  Ibanez 
writes  again  with  the  colorful  and  dra- 
matic force  that  characterizes  his  work; 
but  also  he  again  sells  his  soul  to  the 
mob,  and  un-artistically  finds  his  chief 
relish  in  the  flare  of  sensationalism. 


The  Mob,  by  Vicente   Blasco  Ibanez; 
E.  P.  Button  Co.,  price  $2.50. 


Glenwav  Wfscott,  the  winner  of  Harper's 
Prize  Novel  Competition.  His  prize-winning 
novel,  which  w.is  published  August  tw-ent>--fifth, 
is  entitled   "The  Grandmothers." 


ANOTHER  collection  of  stories 
has  been  compiled  by  Charles 
Wright  Gray,  this  time  under  the  title 
of  "Hosses".  As  .Mr.  Gray  says  in  his 
dedication,  horses  are  creatures  of  great 
variability,  personalities  to  be  considered 
from  many  points  of  view.  But  there  is 
a  considerable  difference  between  stories 
whose  merit  lies  in  their  dealing  with 
good  points  of  horse-flesh  or  horseman- 
ship, and  stories  whose  merit  lies  in  their 
being  fine  stories. 

It  is  a  common  failure  when  writing 
of  dogs,  cats,  and  horses,  to  write  so 
that  the  essence  of  the  story  is tcxi  wholly 
one  of  sentiment.  .And  because  of  our 
love  for  these  animals  we  read  such 
stories  in  deep  satisfaction,  oblivious  of 
all  the  angles  of  bad  writing  that  might 
be  apparent  to  a  careful  reader.  The 
first  stor}-  in  this  book,  by  Will  Com- 
fort, is  one  altogether  of  that  sort;  done 
in  sentiments  of  the  ordinary  and  e.\- 


pected,  sure  to  please  a  jockey,  a  senti- 
mental horse  owner,  or  the  hired  girl; 
but  just  as  certain  to  displease  the  sensi- 
tive artist  or  the  analytical  reader.  It  is 
a  shame  that  such  an  excellent  title, 
"The  Outside  of  a  Horse,"  could  not 
have  been  properly  treated.  The  tale  in- 
cluded by  Zane  Grey  was  of  a  much 
better  grade,  being  replete  with  bits  of 
horse  knowledge,  and  more  capably 
written.  Though  here,  too,  its  being  in- 
cluded in  a  special  selection  of  stories  is 
permissible  only  on  the  grounds  of  what 
the  stopi"  dealt  with,  and  not  because  of 
any  particular  literan"  value.  The  storv' 
by  William  Rose  Benet,  which  is  done 
in  poetr)'  and  should  not  have  lieen  in- 
cluded in  a  prose  anthology,  is  not  with- 
out merit;  but  it  is  far  inferior  to  what 
the  compiler  has  evidently  believed.  One 
can  see  in  it  the  evidence  t|jat  Mr.  Benet 
is  both  clever  and  romantic,  but  nothing 
else.  The  poem  is  mechanical,  and  his 
sensibility  is  shallow  and  unoriginal; 
neither  his  tones  nor  his  color  seem  to  be 
his  own,  and  his  sense  of  effect  falls 
weakly  into  a  clever  approximation. 
"The  Brown  Outlaw,"  by  Victor  Shawe, 
is  likewise  an  over-rated  story,  undeserv- 
ing for  a  special  collection ;  it  is  one  ap- 
pealing only  to  humane  emotions,  and 
its  literary  treatment  is  decidedly  me- 
diocre. In  fact,  one  may  skip  through 
this  volume  quickly  if  he  limits  himself 
to  the  stories  of  literary  merit.  He 
might  possibly  be  satisfied  with  Donn 
Byrne's  storv',  although  it  is  by  no 
means  of  consequence;  he  will  undoubt- 
edly like  Arthur  Ficke's  poem,  but  here 
again  is  something  that  has  no  excuse 
for  appearing  in  a  collection  of  prose; 
there  are  perhaps  only  two  tales  in  the 
volume  that  belong  there  unquestion- 
ably: the  one  by  Whyte  Melville,  and 
the  one  by  James  Stevens.  .And  there 
are  a  great  many  horse  stories  exceed- 
ingly finer  than  the  most  of  these,  that 
have  never  appeared  in  a  collection.  But 
in  this  latter  instince  the  compiler  is 
often  up  against  it,  not  being  able  to 
obtain  rights  on  the  stories  he  prefers. 
Nor  do  I  want  to  discredit  the  work 
(Contimued  to  Page  29) 


The    San    Franciscan 
[26] 


Titans 


The  Powers  That  Direct  the  Destiny  of  San  Francisco 
Aniadeo  P.  Giannini 


AN  ancient  story  tells  us  that 
while  Rome  was  burning  Nero 
fiddled  —  the  flippant  gesture 
of  a  dissolute  monarch  without  thought 
for  his  magnificent  city  or  how  it  was 
to  be  rebuilt. 

In  April,  1906,  San  Francisco 
burned.  While  flames  swept  the  city 
Amadeo  P.  Giannini,  whose  ancestors 
for  many  centuries  lived  in  the  land 
over  which  the  careless  Nero  ruled  so 
long  ago,  was  calmly,  capably,  practi- 
cally carrying  forward  work  and  plans 
to  rebuild  a  San  Francisco  greater  than 
the  one  the  flames  were  consuming. 
Strange  are  the  contrasts  and  irony  of 
the  fates!  One  man  turned  his  back 
upon  his  doomed  city.  Another  man — 
bred  of  the  same  race — many,  many 
years  later  on  the  other  side  of  the  world, 
saw  his  city  burning  and  while  the 
flames  raged  visioned  a  city  greater  than 
the  one  being  laid  in  ashes. 

But  to  get  on  with  the  details  of  this 
bit  of  San  Francisco's  history.  At  the 
time  of  the  earthquake  Giannini's  bank, 
the  Bank  of  Italy,  established  in  1 904, 
was  the  baby  bank  of  the  city.  By  noon 
of  April  1 8th  Giannini  had  succeeded 
in  making  his  way  to  the  bank  building 
at  Clay  and  Montgomery  Streets.  A 
block  away  the  fire  was  raging.  Gian- 
nini commandeered  two  teams  and  wag- 
ons; loaded  the  contents  of  his  vaults 
and  a  supply  of  all  forms  necessary  for 
doing  business  into  them  and  took  his 
treasures  to  his  San  Mateo  home. 

The  rest  of  us  (assuming  that  you, 
the  reader,  have  personal  memories  of 
the  fire)  were  for  several  days  quite 
forsaken  of  our  sanity  and  wits.  We 
ran  frantically  hither  and  yon,  salvag- 
ing and  dragging  to  safety  all  manner 
of  absurd  and  useless  objects.  We  la- 
mented loudly  and  bewailed  at  great 
length  the  loss  of  our  homes,  businesses 
and  possessions.  Did  Giannini  stand  thus 
wringing  his  hands  and  cursing  the  gods 
of  ill  fortune?  He  did  not.  He  wrote 
a  letter  to  each  of  his  depositors,  telling 
them    that   a    goodly   portion    of    their 


By  ZoE  A.  Battu 

money  was  immediately  available  and 
offering  them  loans  with  which  to  re- 
establish their  businesses.  A  number  of 
the  letters  reached  the  persons  to  whom 
they  were  addressed  in  spite  of  the  pre- 
vailing confusion.  While  the  ruins  of 
North  Beach  were  still  smouldering, 
Giannini  set  up  temporary  offices  near 
the  waterfront.  The  Bank  of  Italy  was 
the  first  bank  in  the  city  to  resume  oper- 
ations after  the  fire,  and  North  Beach 
was  the  first  section  of  the  city  to  rise 
from  its  ashes,  largely  as  a  result  of 
Giannini's  cool-headed,  direct  action  in 
the  crisis. 

Foresight  of  quite  a  different  nature 
was  displayed  by  the  man  in  the  panic 
of  1907.  While  traveling  through  the 
East,  his  uncanny  sense  of  future  events 
told  him  that  a  general  business  depres- 
sion was  at  hand.  Returning  to  San 
Francisco,  Giannini  gathered  into  his 
vaults  all  the  gold  upon  which  he  could 
lay  his  hands.  Conditions  got  so  bad 
that  the  banks  would  only  pay  up  to 
$100  on  any  withdrawal.  Gold  and 
silver  were  at  that  time  still  the  uni- 
versal currency  of  the  West  and  the 
notion  persisted  that  paper  money  was 
a  worthless,  uncertain  substitute  for 
metal  money.  Giannini's  bank  did  not 
have  to  pay  in  paper  money;  it  paid  in 
gold  straight  through  the  crisis.  The 
psychological  effect  of  this  upon  a  pan- 
icky public  was  magical.  Scores  of  new 
depositors  poured  gold  into  the  Bank  of 
Italy  vaults  faster  than  it  could  be  paid 
out.  Giannini  again  capitalized  on  cir- 
cumstances   that    to    other    men     were 

tragedy  and  disaster. 

^     ■  *  *  -* 

WE  may  be  wont  to  think  that  this 
financial  seer  was  born  in  the 
banking  business,  but  he  got  into  it  al- 
most by  accident.  The  first  years  of  his 
business  life  were  spent  in  the  whole- 
sale produce  business,  when  at  the  age 
of  12  years  he  entered  the  business  of 
his  stepfather,  L.  Scatena.  He  was  still 
attending  grammar  school  and  though 
he  was  on  the  waterfront  every  morn- 


ing at  dawn  and  worked  after  school, 
he  stood  at  the  head  of  all  his  classes. 
Within  a  few  months  of  his  graduation 
from  grammar  school  he  quit  and  took 
a  business  course  at  a  local  business  col- 
lege. 

At  the  age  of  19  Giannini  was  a 
partner  in  the  business  his  resourceful- 
ness had  doubled  and  trebled.  He  en- 
tered upon  a  period  of  further  expand- 
ing the  house,  resulting  in  a  series  of 
bitterly  competitive  battles  and  price- 
cutting  wars.  But  Giannini  was  a 
match  for  all  his  rivals.  Old-timers  on 
the  waterfront  retain  vivid  memories  of 
his  shrewdness  in  buying,  his  strategy  in 
selling,  his  ability  to  gauge  prices.  There 
was  no  one  in  the  district  who  could 
take  a  customer  away  from  him;  none 
who  could  catch  him  unawares;  none 
whose  motives  and  tactics  he  could  not 
quickly  penetrate  and  shatter  their  plans 
before  their  eyes.  He  emerged  from 
these  battles  the  acknowledged  leader  of 
the  San  Francisco  wholesale  produce 
business.  At  3  I  he  sold  out  his  interests 
in  the  commission  house,  planning  to  re- 
tire and  devote  himself  to  the  manage- 
ment of  several  large  estates  that  had 
been  entrusted  to  him. 

Giannini  had  been  elected  to  the 
board  of  directors  of  a  bank  patronized 
largely  by  Italians.  The  financial  field 
made  quick  appeal  to  his  imagination. 
He  studied  the  bank  with  which  he  was 
connected  and  banking  in  general. 
Shortly,  he  proposed  that  certain  im- 
provements and  changes  be  made  in  the 
institution's  business  methods.  His  fel- 
low directors  were  cautious,  conserva- 
tive members  of  the  old  school.  They 
were  horrified  at  his  ideas;  pronounced 
them  heresy  that  would  lead  to  ruin. 
"Very  well,  gentlemen,  I'll  start  a  bank 
of  my  own,"  quoth  Giannini. 

He  started  the  Bank  of  Italy.  From 
its  first  day  to  this  the  organization's 
history  has  been  one  of  steady  growth. 
As  Giannini  began  to  create  and  ex- 
tend   his    Statewide    system    of    branch 

(Continued  to  Page  30) 


The    San    Franciscan 
[29} 


No  More  Parades 

(Continued  from  Page  7) 

inted  Freedom's  banners  on  America's 
ires,  is  stifled  now  by  asinine  profes- 
inal  flag-waving — Standardized  Pa- 
.riotism.  Theology,  by  which  once  men 
were  pointed  to  the  heights,  has  been 
dragged  from  high  places  and  put  on  a 
commercial,  paying  basis — Standardized 
Religion.  The  stream  of  pure,  clear 
thought  which  had  its  source  high  in  the 
mountains  of  sound  learning,  now  is 
polluted  by  an  avalanche  of  unrelated 
unpurposed  facts — Standardized  Educa- 
tion. Puritanism  unleashed  and  Calvin- 
ism revivified  have  moulded  into  rigid 
law  almost  all  things  intolerant  and 
absurd — Standardized  Morality.  Joy 
and  Free  Spirit  are  dead;  and  likewise 
mirth  and  spontaneous  gaiety.  And  of- 
fered in  their  stead,  nay,  foisted  on  us 
all,  is  something  which  no  man  of  merit 
can  for  long  abide:  Standardized  Hap- 
piness. 

There  are  no  more  parades! 
*  *  s 

The  Bookstall 

(Continued  from  Page  25) 

which  Mr.  Gray  has  done  in  compiling 
this  volume,  and  his  other  volumes  of 
stories.  Such  books  are  usually  compiled 
under  the  necessity  of  appealing  to  popu- 
larity, ana  certainly  he  has  succeeded  in 
giving  us  entertainment.  The  book  is 
undoubtedly  one  that  all  horse  lovers 
will  enjoy,  and  Mr.  Gray  is  materially 
helping  the  literary  situation  in  general, 
by  trying  to  increase  the  popularity  of 
short  stories  in  book  form.  If  it  has 
seemed  that  I  have  been  too  hard  upon 
this  collection,  is  is  only  because  a  critic 
is  supposed  to  judge  literature,  and  not 
horsemanship. 


"Hosses",  compiled  by  Charles  Wright 
Gray,  Henry  Holt  Co.,  price  $2.50. 

THE  Queen's  Gate  Mysiery,^y}\eT- 
bert  Adams,  is  one  of  the  conven- 
tional sort,  with  numerous  possibilities 
for  good  melodrama,  but  so  amateur- 
ishly written  that  the  possibilities  are  all 
lost.  It  will  satisfy  the  mentally  youth- 
ful reader. 


«',  ••«^  -^S^,  ^«\  --aJv  -^Sr.  -'X',  ^S^A^E^.  '■».  '^,  '«<.  «'.  ^-x-. 


QaXifornias  most  distinguished  resort  hotel 

THE  AHWAHNEE  IN  yOSEMlTE 


Reservations  at  any  of  the  travel 
offices  or  hotels,  or  at  the  Yosemite 
Park  6?  Curry  Company's  offices: 
39  Geary  St.;  Phone  Keamy  47Q4 

San  Francisco 
604  West  6th  St.;  VAndi^e  5022 

Los  Angeles 
Tosemite  National  Pari;,  California 


A  superlative  addition  to  the  guest  accommoda- 
tions of  Yosemite,  in  quiet  harmony  with  its 
majestic  environment.  92  individually  decorated 
rooms;  $io,$i2,$i4  a  day  upward.  AmericanPlan. 

[Sentinel  Hotel,  $2.50  a  day 'upward,  European  Plan. 
Winter  Housekeaping  Cabins.  Yosemite  Motor  Par- 
lor Cars  via  AU-Year  Highway  from  Merced] 


'-Sr,  -^a&  '<»,  ^SJ;  ^K",  '«\  '■»;  ^«-.  '-a^,  ^v  *-fl5;  \^P.  "afc  '«'v 


The  Queen's  Gate  Mystery,  by  Herbert 
Adams;  Lippincott,  $2.00. 


Frank  Carroll  Giffen 

Teacher  of  Singing 

976  CHESTNUT  STREET 
SAN  FRANCISCO 

Tclfphinif  Ghaystonk   ^^20 
^y  Appoiuftnejif  Only 


■MPRODm 
^PAIRED 

jBERE5FpRD,CAlilFi:i 

J^-sovTH:  or  SAN  mateo  . 


The    San    Franciscan 
[30] 


Titans 

(Continued  from  Page  26) 

banks,  there  arose  a  mighty  storm  of 
criticism.  Nothing  like  it  had  ever  been 
done  before.  The  man  was  walking  on 
thin  ice.  He,  his  ideas  and  branch  banks 
would  crash,  bringing  panic,  loss  and 
desolation  to  the  depositors.  The  crash 
has  not  yet  come.  The  Bank  of  Italy 
system  now  numbers  383  branch  banks. 
Its  total  resources  are  $675,716,343. 
There  are  1,140,394  depositors,  the 
largest  number  of  any  bank  in  the  coun- 
try. 

This  man  Giannini  is  the  father  of 
two  great  financial  systems.  He  has 
made  San  Francisco  and  the  West  pow- 
ers in  the  money  markets  of  the  world 
and  the  source  of  some  of  the  most 
constructive  financing  that  history  has 
ever  seen.  He  has  created  individual  and 
collective  wealth  for  the  people  of  a 
great  State.  He  has  pioneered  in  form- 
ing standards  and  policies  for  financiers 
the  world  over  to  follow.  What  sort  of 
a  man  is  it  that  can  do  these  things?  Is 
he,  indeed,  a  man — or  a  remote,  imper- 
sonal, machine-mind,  barricaded  behind 
the  millions  he  piles  one  upon  the  other? 

No,  Giannini  is  guarded  by  no  crew 
of  opinionated  flunkies.  You  do  not  have 
to  wander  through  a  maze  of  red  tape 
to  arrive  confused  in  the  presence  of  a 
"Great  Man".  Giannini  is  open,  readily 
approachable,  democratic  to  all  who  may 
have  business  with  him.  You  state  your 
business.  He  talks  rapidly — very  rapidly, 
but  every  word,  every  idea,  is  as  clean- 
cut,   sharp  and   exact  as  pieces  of  steel 

stamped  out  by  some  machine. 

#*  * 

AND  strange  is  this  fact — this  man 
Giannini,  who  has  created  mil- 
lions, who  handles  them  daily,  is  not 
himself  a  man  of  wealth,  as  wealth  is 
reckoned  today.  His  personal  fortune  is 
placed  at  somewhere  around  $250,000 
— a  modest  sum  in  comparison  with  the 
colossal  fortunes  of  the  Wall  Street 
money  kings,  with  the  wealth  of  the 
heads  of  the  automobile,  railroad,  steel, 
oil  and  other  industrial  enterprises.  He 
asks  simply,  "When  a  man  has  enough 
money  to  provide  himself  and  family 
with  every  comfort  and  necessity  of  life 
and  to  assure  himself  against  want,  what 
more  does  he  need?" 

Giannini  has  always  operated  his 
great  financial  enterprises  with  the  basic 
idea  of  making  money  for  his  depositors 
and  stockholders.    The   Bank  of   Italy 


Sail  to  New  York 


SISTER  SHIPS 


SS  VENEZUELA 
SS  COLOMBIA 
SS  ECUADOR 


See  MEXICO,  CENTRAL  AMERICA,  PANAMA  CANAL 
and  GAY  HAVANA,  en  route 

Panawa  Mail  Liners  Are  Specially  Built  for  Service  in  the  Tropics 

TWENTY-EIGHT  days  of  pure  delight  abo:ird  a  palatial  Panama  Mail  Liner  with 
se\'en  never-to-be-forgotten  visits  ashore  at  picturesque  and  historic  ports — Manzan- 
iUo,  Mexicoi   Champerico  and  San  Jose  de  Guatemala   (Guatemala)  i   Acajutla  and 
La  Libertad   (Salvador);   Corinto   (Nicaragua).    Two  days  in  the  Canal  Zone.    See  the 
great  Panama  Canal;  visit  Balboa,  Cristobal  and  historic  old  Panama. 

Every  cabin  on  a  Panama  Mail  Liner  is  an  outside  one;  each  has  an  electric  fan, 
and  there  is  a  comfortable  lower  bed  for  every  passenger.  There  is  an  orchestra  for 
dancing;    deck  games  and  sports  and  salt  water  swimming  tank. 

Costs  Less  Than  ^9  a  Day 

The  cost  is  less  than  $g.oo  a  day  for  minimum  first  class  passage,  Including  bed 
and  meals  on  steamer.  Go  East  by  Panama  Mail  and  return  by  rail  (or  the  reverse  routing 
for  $380)  for  as  little  as  $350.  (This  price  does  not  include  berth  and  meals  on  trains.) 
Panama  Mail  liners  leave  San  Francisco,  Los  Angeles  and  New  York  approximately  every 
21  days.  Next  sailings  from  San  Francisco:  SS  VENEZUELA,  Oct.  8;  SS  ECUADOR, 
Oct.  29.    From  New  York:  SS  COLOMBIA,  Oct.  22j  SS  VENEZUELA,  Nov.  12. 

Fur  illustrated  booklets  and  further  details  ask  any  steainship  or 
ticket  agent,  or  zvrite  to 

PANAMA  MAIL  S.  S.  CO. 


548  S.  Spring  Street 
LOS  ANGELES 


2  Pine  Street 
SAN  FRANCISCO 


10  Hanover  Square 
NEW  YORK 


The    San    Franci 
[31] 


SCAN 


and  Bancitaly  Corporation  are  so  or- 
ganized and  run  that  no  one  person  or 
group  can  gain  a  controlling  interest  and 
dictate  their  policies  for  their  personal 
enrichment. 

In  some  three  years  Giannini  will  he 
sixty  years  old,  at  which  time  he  declares 
he  will  retire.  But  will  her  He  retired 
once  before.  There  is  open  speculation 
in  Western  financial  circles  as  to  what 
new  worlds  Giannini  will  turn  to  when 
he  "retires". 

*** 

B.   I.  and  B.   I.   C. 

(Continued  frnni  P.igf  24) 

of  speculation,  somewhat  on  a  distinct 
suspicion  of  vast  hidden  earnings,  and 
very  largely  upon  the  intense  enthusiasm 
of  a  class  of  people  whose  implicit  be- 
lief in  their  idol,  Mr.  A.  P.  Giannini, 
in  reality  sets  the  market  pace. 

Earnest  statisticians  will  tell  \()u  with 
indubitable  accuracy  that  investment 
trust  stocks  usually  sell  at  from  15  to 
20  times  of  their  normal  earnings,  while 
Bancitaly,  apparently  earning  money 
now  at  the  rate  of  $4.50  or  less  per 
share,  already  sells  for  25  times  this 
amount.  Its  present  position  seems  ob- 
viously vulnerable,  perhaps  directly  in 
line  for  a  sustained  period  of  decline — 
these  are  things  for  the  future.  One 
thing  only  is  certain,  and  that  is  that 
here  you  can't  get  anywhere  by  a  simple 
perusal  of  available  facts.  A  friend  of 
ours  appears  to  have  discovered  the  near- 
est answer  to  the  whole  situation. 
"What,"  says  he,  "is  the  use  of  figuring 
this  Bancitaly  stock  when  you  can't  even 
pronounce  its  name?" 


s**^--- 


w 


"^1 

..uMi,!'/,- 


OIL  STOCKS 


LEIB^KEYSTON 

AND  COMPANY 


"Ten 
Commandments 

for 

Investors" 


Sent  on  Request 
No  Obligation 


Sdmabacher 

Investment    ^^^Yl 
Securities    K/  V^U 

PAIACE  HOTEL  BUILDING 

665  MARKET  ST.       DOUGLAS  $00 

Jan  francittt 


l°f 


If  there  is  one  enterprise 
on  earth  that  the  quitter 
should  leave  alone,  it  is 
advertising.  Advertisins 
does  not  jerk — it  pulls.  It 
begins  gently  at  first,  but 
the  pull  is  steady.  It  in- 
creases day  by  day,  year 
by  year,  until  it  exerts  an 
irresistible  power. 


ADVERTISING 

Rtiss  Building  Kc^Arny  4479 


The     San     Franciscan 
[32] 


,.^.jiai 


Hollywood  Plaza  Hotel 

Hollywood's  Finefl 
Vine  Street  and  Hollywood  Blvd. 

CHAS.  DANZIGER,  ^Managing  THriclor 


October  6,  7,  8 

^11. !  FATA  MORGANA 


Thursday,   Friday,   Saturday  Evenings 
Oct.  13,  14,  15,  20,  21,  22 

Saturday  Matinees  Oct.  1  5  and  22 

FANNY'S  FIRST  PLAY 

By  GEORGE  BERNARD  SHAW 

in  which  G.  B.  S.  lampoons  the  drama 
critics  ! 

DOKIS    C.ANNEV,    RlCHEND.\    StEVKK,    LvdIA 

Warren    Lister,   Curtis   Arnai.e,   Barrie 
O'Daniei  5,  Lee  Meral,  Etc. 


OCTOBER  CALENDAR 
The  PLAYERS'  GUILD 

of  San  Francisco 
SEASON  1927-28 

Community  Playhouse 

Sutter  and   Mason  Sts. 
OPEN  TO  THE  PUBLIC 


Good  Things  to  Come: 

"The  Hero"  "Goat  Song" 

"The  Wisdom  Tooth" 

"Nero"       "The  Tempest" 

"Young  Woodley" 

— and  other  great  plays 

Prices:   Evgs.,  75c  to  S1.50.   Mats.  50c  and  75c. 
Subscription  Bks.    (510)    Save  You   33  1/3% 


As  Seen  By  Her 

(Continued  from  P.ige  22) 

.A   night  of   emptiness,  sleep  and   hl.ick 

dreams. 

Pigskin,  tortoise,  lizard  skin,  every  kind 

of  leather  made  into  ever}'  conceivable 

shape    for    beauty    and    convenience    in 

travel.    Verily  we  now  understand  why 

girls  leave  home. 

These  are  only  a  few  of  the  man}' 
alluring  novelties,  including  tooled 
leather  sewing  kits,  parchment  book- 
covers,  picture  frames  and  sets  of  dic- 
tionaries in  various  languages  uniformly 
bound,  reposing  in  stands  all  their  own, 
just  big  enough  to  look  right  on  a  desk 
or  table. 

*** 

THE  Primrose  House,  a  New  York 
beautif}'ing  concern,  has  established 
its  first  branch  on  the  Pacific  Coast  at 
127  Grant  Avenue.  This  establishment 
is  the  creme  de  la  creme  in  cosmetic  art, 
and  specializes  in  a  form  of  facial  treat- 
ments which  are  designed  to  mold  the 
human  face  in  the  same  wa}'  that  a 
sculptor  molds  inanimate  clav.  A  full 
line  of  accessories  to  the  feminine  toi- 
lette are  available  here,  all  made  by  the 
Primrose  House,  whose  representative  at 
the  new  shop  instructs  niadame  in  the 
most  effective  way  of  making  the  best 
of  her  natural  gifts. 

*** 

THEN,  when  madame  emerges  ra- 
diant from  behind  the  bright  taffeta 
curtains  of  the  cosmetic  salon,  she  ma\' 
walk  just  across  the  hall  and  be  most 
artistically  photographed,  while  she  is 
still  at  her  best,  by  Dorothy  Moore.  And 
then  she  can  feed  the  inner  man  delec- 
tably  for  either  luncheon,  tea  or  dinner 
at  the  Loggia  Tea  Room,  whose  en- 
trance is  hut  a  step  or  two  awa\'. 
^  «  « 

BLf'r  shiHild  madame  wish  to  meet 
her  husband  for  dinner  downtown 
(and  why  not,  pra\'?),  we  suggest  that 
she  go  to  the  Palace  Hotel  with  him. 
There  she  will  find  everything  to  her 
liking,  and  so  will  the  old  man.  If  she 
goes  once  on  this  recommendation,  she 
will  go  again  of  her  own  volition. 


Jho  Zatuccd  enxranp« 
— kiio=ii:ii  round  the  wortd 

Incomparable  Chocolates 

for  those  who  seek  the  Highw.iys 
and  Byways  for  the  unusual 

KRATZ  GIFT  BOXES 

Priced  from  $^ 

DeLuxe  Assortments — $5,  :f6,  $7, 

$8  and  $10  the  pound 

KRAT'/.  -.'-:STABLISHKD  AMERICA   1H79 

NOW  at  276  POST  STREET 
SAN  FRANCISCO 


Their  Home  Has  Been 
Condemvnedl 


^»v 


Won't  you  build  a  new  Infant 
Shelter  for  them? 

INFANT  SHELTER 
APPEAL 

Headquarters— 2030  Palace  Hotel 

Endorsed  by  The  Community  CKest 

and  San  Franctsco  Endorsement 

Council 

(Space  by  CoMrlcsv  The  San  Franciscan) 


The    San     Franciscan 
[  a  J 


M-  M  JUEPTNER-5TUARTS 


Famous 

Brushwork 

Camera  Portraits 

Studio:  Shreve  Buildinc 
Telephone  210  Post  Street 


Kearny  6181 


SAN  FRANCISCO 


F^\neis 

TCABOOIft 

umcH€on 
mrinea 


3>  ■  1     S> 

SUTTCB.  ST 


8-  1     T    T 


Classes  at 
San  Mateo 

every 
Wednesday 


DENISHAWN 

METHOD 
of  the  DANCE 


BETTY  HORST  STUDIO 

1373  Post  Street,  San  Francisco 
Telephone  Wahmc  823 


Etude  in  Ugliness 

(t'-intinufJ  from  P.ige  lo) 

Mil's    buzzed    against    the    screen    at    the 
window. 

The  doctor  stayed  and  stayed.  The 
neighbors  ran  in  and  out.  Something 
was  wrong.  The  neighbor  women  had 
talked  all  day  in  whispers.  Now  it  was 
late  at  night  and  they  were  still  whis- 
pering. Stephen  grew  afraid.  The 
frogs  in  the  marsh  were  croaking. 
Strange  dogs  had  invaded  the  cellar  and 
they  howled  desperately.  Through  the 
closed  door  of  his  mother's  room  came 
a  harrowing  noise.  It  seemed  to  pene- 
trate the  very  foundation  of  the  house 
and  re-echo  itself  from  the  walls.  The 
house  was  saturated  with  this  horrible 
noi.se,  sometimes  a  rattle,  sometimes  a 
groan,  something  unnamable.  The 
neighbors  took  bread  and  ham  from  the 
pantry  and  ate,  whispering  anecdotes 
between  bites.  Stephen  understood  thpt 
his  mother  was  dying.  He  went  to  the 
door  of  the  sick  room  and  opened  it 
cautiously.  He  saw  the  doctor  who 
scowled  at  the  bed.  Other  figures  stood 
about  the  bed  in  silence.  The  thing  on 
the  bed  seemed  eyeless.  Its  big  cav- 
ernous mouth  was  open.  Stephen  was 
puzzled.  He  had  not  remembered  his 
mother  with  such  a  big  mouth. 

Hours  of  waiting,  hours  of  whisper- 
ing, hours  filled  with  strange  noises  and 
tears.  These  all  passed, with  the  night 
as  though  ashamed  in  the  light  of 
dawn.  The  day  came  with  nothing  to 
do.  Another  day  and  still  another. 
Then  a  funeral.  The  white  church,  a 
black  coffin,  a  crowd  of  people  of  no 
color  at  all.  Everyone  was  dressed  up 
as  for  church.  His  mother  lay  ashen 
and  withered  in  the  black  box.  She  had 
her  best  white  waist  on.  She  had  saved 
it  for  years.  It  was  made  of  lace.  Ste- 
phen cried.  He  didn't  know  why  but 
the  waist  was  the  saddest  part  of  it  all. 

"Kiss  your  mother,  Stephen.  Kiss  her 
good-bye,"  someone  sobbed. 

He  tried.  He  could  not.  He  shook 
his  head.    "I  can't." 

"You  can't,"  sharply. 

"Don't  make  me  touch  it,"  he  begged, 
terrorized. 

Suddenly,  everyone  hated  him. 

Clods  of  earth  were  falling  in  the 
grave.  Their  falling  produced  a  hollow 
sound.    Another  dreary  procession  back. 

Uprooted.    He  had  to  sit  still  while 

(Continued  to  Page  34) 


525  puffer  ^frccf 


Antiques 

Period  Furniture 

Objets  d'art 


7^'  £t.  Cofonef 


BOOKS 

Old  and  New 

PALO    ALTO 
542  Ramona  Street 

Phone  P.  A.  1960 
KENNETH  CARNAHAN   Mgr. 


The    San    Franciscan 

[34] 


ALBERT  miUlH 


EXPONENT 
OF  MODEP.N 
PHOTOGRAPHIC 
PORTRAITURE 


22  THIRD    AVE 

JAN    MATEO  CALIF 

PHONE    634 


(Continued  from  Preceding  Page) 

people  discussed  him.  There  was  no 
use  in  speaking.  One  place  was  as  un- 
desirahle  as  another.  There  was  no 
place  for  him  anywhere.  The  Orphans' 
Home  was  an  unpleasant  name.  The 
grocer's  house  was  full  of  work.  There 
was  no  need  in  making  a  choice.  It 
would  be  made  for  him.  People  asked 
him  wh\-  he  did  not  talk.  How  could 
one  talk  when  one  had  seen  somebody 
die? 

STEPHEN  rode  on  the  high  seat  of 
a  wagon  beside  a  man  who  chewed 
tobacco.  They  passed  through  several 
small  towns.  Each  town  was  built 
around  a  general  merchandise  store  and 
at  each  of  these  stores  they  would  stop 
while  the  man  who  drove  the  wagon 
talked  to  a  friend  of  his.  The  man 
talked  and  spat  and  argued.  No  one 
seemed  to  know  that  Stephen  was  on 
his  way  to  the  Orphans'  Home.  It 
seemed  strange  to  him  that  they  did  not 
know.  If  they  knew  they  were  not  con- 
cerned about  it.  Perhaps  they  deemed 
it  a  good  place.  Maybe  it  was  a  nice 
place.  But  somehow  Stephen  felt  cer- 
tain that  it  was  not  a  nice  place.  He 
was  filled  with  fear  of  it.  Until  the 
moment  he  saw  the  grey  buildings  of 
his  sordid  destination  loom  upon  the 
horizon  he  had  believed  something 
would  save  him  from  his  awful  fate. 
Perhaps  the  driver  of  the  wagon  would 
let  him  ride  with  him  every  day.  Maybe 
something  would  happen.  But  maybe 
the  Orphans'  Home  was  a  nice  place. 

He  looked  for  reassurance  in  the  face 
of  the  matron.  He  smiled  sickly  at  her. 
She  did  not  see  him.  She  asked  him 
questions  without  looking  at  him.  He 
waited  alone  in  a  corridor  for  someone 
to  approach  him  and  tell  him  what  to 
do  and  where  to  go.  He  waited  for 
hours.  His  hands  grew  hot  and  moist 
and  his  head  grew  dizzy.  He  did  not 
want  to  cry.  He  walked  to  the  window 
and  looked  out  upon  the  hills  beyond. 
The\'  were  so  far  away  and  so  mysteri- 
ous it  made  one  very  sad.  The  quiet 
road  stretched  out  lazily.  One  could 
see  a  lonely  horseman  riding  in  the  dusk, 
a  woman  with  a  child,  and  there  was  a 
sound  of  distant  cow-bells.  The  world 
from  the  window  seemed  to  be  a  big, 
sleeping  grey  monster.  No  prickings 
from  his  hot,  dirty  hand  could  ever 
wake  it.  It  was  too  big  for  him.  No, 
he  was  too  small. 

(  To  Be  Continued  Next  Month) 


"Betty  K[ghk 

^JModiste 


96  TOLEDO  WAY 

Near  Pierce 

Fillmore  17^1 

SAN  FRANCISCO 


of  genuine 

'Polo  Cloth" 

(Copyright) 

Woven  of  pure  camel's 
hair  .  . .  soft  as  swansdown 
.  .  .  thick  and  warm  but 
astonishingly  light  in 
weight  .  .  .  wrinkleproof 
.  .  .  showerproof  ...  al- 
most indestructible  .  .  . 
and  beyond  question  the 
most  beautiful  overcoat 
obtainable  in  Europe  or 
America  today. 


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11 


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First  Anniversary  Number. 


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^ 


^/fivc  TintG/  (M^^^df 


Now  that  there  arc  just  a  few  short  weeks  before  Christ 
mas,  remember  the  last  minute  rush  and  avoid'  it  by 
rending  this  page,  as  no  Caesar  ever  rent  a  scroll,  from  its  se- 
cure hinges  and  jot  down  a  friend's  name,  your  name,  or  any- 
body's name  and  dash  hither  and  yon,  in  the  manner  of  a  high- 
school  boy,  in  search  of  the  nearest  mail  box  and  we  shall  see 
that  you  or  your  friend  receives  that  mentor  which  differen- 
tiates a  cultivated  San  Franciscan  from  a  boring  nobody. 


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Music 

November  8,  Tuesday  Evening,  at 
the  Community  Theatre,  Easton 
Kent.  Tenor,  and  Michel  Penha, 
Cellist. 

November  id,  Thursday  Evening,  at 
the  Scottish  Rite  Auditorium, A/ex- 
ander  Brailowsky  (Elwyn  Series.) 

November  23,  Wednesday  Evening, 
at  the  Scottish  Rite  Auditorium, 
Edward  Johnson.  (Elwyn  Series.) 

November  21,  Monday  Afternoon. 
Fairmont  Ballroom,  Nina  Morgana- 
(Seckels  Series.) 

November  24,  25,  Thursday  and  Fri- 
day Evenings,  and  November  27, 
Sunday  Afternoon,  The  Florentine 
Choir.  (Healy  attraction.) 

December  i.  Friday  Evening,  Civic 
Auditorium,  Lawrence  Tibbett,  (Op- 
penheimer  attraction.) 

November  13,  18,  20,  27,  afternoons, 
Curran  Theatre,  San  Francisco 
Symphony . 

The  Theatre 

The  Alcazar:  Pigs.  They've  been  ill 
but  are  getting  along  nicely. 

The  Columbia:  Repertoire  season 
with  Marjorie  Rambeau. 

The  Curran:  The  Madcap  with  the 
yodeling  Mitzi. 

The  Lurie:  Hit  the  Deck.  A  singin' 
and  a  dancin". 

President:  Why  Men  Leave  Home. 
It  won't  hurt  to  find  out. 


Movies 

California:   Long   runs   of   feature 

pictures. 
St.  Francis:  Les  Miserables.  Victor 

Hugo's  classic  rehashed. 
Warfield:  Whether  you  like  it  or  not, 

a  new  program  weekly. 
Granada:  Ditto. 
Imperial:  Ditto  again. 

Art 
Beaux  Arts  Galerie:  November  2 
to  16:  Paintings  by  Otis  Oldfield. 
November  17  to  30:  Paintings  by 
Maynard  Dixon. 

California  School  of  Fine  Arts: 
Starting  November  15:  Twenty- 
five  water  colors  by  Sergey  Scher- 
bakoff. 

Crock  of  Gold:  Drawings,  wood 
blocks  and  etchings  by  Howard 
Simon. 

East-West  Gallery  of  Fine  Arts: 
To  November  15.  Paintings  by 
Diego  Rivera.  From  November  16: 
International  exhibition  of  prints 
by  members  of  the  Chicago  Society 
of  Etchers. 

Modern  Gallery:  November  i  to 
15:  Paintings  and  drawings  by 
Rudolf  Hess. 

Nineteen-Ninety  California 
Street:  Paintings  by  Trevor  Had- 
don,  R.B.A. 

Persian  Art  Centre:  Persian  fine 
arts  from  the  collection  of  Dr.  Ali- 
Juli  Khan. 


San  Francisco  Society  of  Women 
Artists:  At  the  Heger  Building, 
November  7  to  19:  Holiday  sales 
exhibition  of  work  by  members  of 
the  society. 

WoRDEN  Gallery:  Paintings  by  Cal- 
ifornia artists.  Etchings  and  mezzo- 
tints. 

Dining  and  Dancing 

The  Mark  Hopkins:  The  Peacock 
Room.  THE  place  to  dine  and 
dance. 

Tait's-at-the-Beach:  On  Sloat 
Boulevard.  San  Francisco's  "differ- 
ent "  restaurant. 

The  Saint  Francis:  The  Garden 
Room.  Where  the  smart  people  en- 
tertain. 

Cafe  Marquard:  Geary  and  Mason. 
Continentally  exciting.  It's  fun! 

Cabiria:  530  Broadway.  Informality 
in  the  heart  of  the  Latin  Quarter. 

The  Aladdin  Studio:  363  Sutter. 
Oski!  Wow!  Wow!  — and  that 
means  collegiate. 

New  Shanghai  Cafe:  332  Grant 
Avenue.  Oriental.  You'll  enjoy  it. 

Francis  Tea  Room:  315  Sutter. 
Where  dining  is  a  pleasure. 

Temple  Bar  Tea  Room:  No.  i  Till- 
man Place.  The  aristocratic  eating 
place. 

La  Casa  Alta:  442  Post  Street.  A 
Night  in  Spain !  Worth  looking  into. 

The  Loggia:  127  Grant.  Where  the 
Grant  Avenue  shoppers  rest  a  bit. 

The  Gypsy  Tea  Room:  41  Grant. 
Have  your  fortunes  told  between 
courses. 


ESTABLISHED  1852 


SHREVE  &  COMPANY 


JEWELERS  and 
SILVERSMITHS 


Post  Street  at  Grant  Avenue 


San  Francisco 


George  Sterling 
December  i,  i86g  November  ii,  1926 


Portrait  by  Hagemeyer 


TtTC 

SAN  fliANCISCAN 


The  First  Year 

We  Modestly  and  Demurely  Take  Our  First  Curtain  Call 

By  Joseph  Dyer 


WE  should  like  to  commission 
the  guardsmen  to  give  seven 
blares  on  their  silver  trump- 
ets and  let  this  solemn  business  of 
commenting  a  resume  of  the  twelve- 
month anniversary  slither  off  in  grace- 
ful echoes.  But  here  and  there  a  slim 
reed  persists  in  the  vvind  and  demands 
the  pruner's  blade.  Here  and  there, 
scattered  over  our  fourth  estate,  wis- 
doms have  been  plucked  and  we  desire 
in  an  idle  fashion  to  give  them  ink. 
The  thousands  of  subscribers,  persist- 
ing in  their  loyalty,  lasting  in  their 
devotion  to  the  Exquisite  Gesture 
often  spelled  San  Franciscan,  must  be 
given  a  first  palm.  Next,  the  brave 
and  intelligent  advertisers.  (Hah! 
words,  words  for  these  remarkable 
souls!)  Through  their  exceeding  gen- 
tility, we  have  rounded  the  four  sea- 
sons. After  these  merry  squanderers, 
come  the  slaveys.  The  writers,  as  they 
are  listed.  Some  of  them  have  devel- 
oped the  cunning  of  AH  Baba,  while 
others  have  introverted  science  and 
poured  rich  blood  into  the  type  case. 
To  these  we  doff  a  peaked  cap  and 
pass  out  fresh  quills,  A  goodly  aver- 
age of  them  pierced  convention  and 
sloughed  the  syrup  of  sentiment,  pro- 
ducing parchments  that  have  brought 
us  the  scented  wine  of  appreciation 
from  our  Eastern  editorial  contem- 
poraries. Last  in  line,  for  no  intelli- 


gent reason,  come  our  blowing  and 
blustering  enemies.  For  these  peculiar 
rowdies  we  pop  the  cork  and  spill  a 
mug  of  excellent  Burgundy.  Without 
them  we  should  be  smudged  in  pov- 
erty and  lighter  in  purse.  One  does 
not  ride  a  cock  horse  without  sifting  a 
quantity  of  dust.  Nor  does  one  select 
the  finest  in  the  market  place  without 
disturbing  the  coarser.  We  solicit 
their  patience  and  leave  them  the  last 
of  the  bottle. 

«    t    I 

ANCIENT  and  honorable  journal- 
ism requires  an  annual  review 
of  asset  and  liability.  In  the  fastidious 
Fifteenth  Century  pamphlets  of  peri- 
odical patter,  se\eral  pages  were  de- 
voted to  the  milestone  in  its  time  and 
deposit.  We  desire  to  sustain  this  cus- 
tom— without  listing  too  finely  either 
the  asset  or  the  liability.  Our  liabililies 
have  been  carefully  vacuumed  each 
month  in  the  wicker  catch-all.  Our 
assets,  on  the  other  side,  have  been 
plentiful  and  of  large  worth.  We  count 
them  over  with  a  delicate  reverence 
and  with  no  petty  affection.  The 
friends  we  have  come  to  look  on  with 
passing  calm  and  immediate  pleasure. 
The  small  band  of  industrious  helpers 
who  have  given  us  of  their  meat  and 
wine,  who  have  assisted  depositing 
the  sheriff  in  the  hallway  and  thrash- 


ing the  printer  into  submission.  The 
noble  squires  and  ladies  who  have 
spared  little  of  self  in  rallying  slabs  of 
silver  into  our  chest  and  lines  of 
crystal  into  our  pages. 

t    5!    « 

WE  have  struck  a  road  through 
bramble  and  thorn,  often,  but 
attempted  no  detour.  It  was  our  de- 
sire to  offer  Franciscan  culture  to  the 
intelligent  minority.  To  enlarge  and 
polish  the  rank  of  that  minority.  We 
feel  in  this  past  dozen  months  we 
have  made  a  considerable  and  per- 
manent road.  It  is  for  no  mean  grail 
we  have  gone  through  privation  and 
sacrifice.  And  the  everlasting  wisdom 
of  our  gain  has  been  the  knowledge 
that  we  should  happily  double  the 
sacrifice  to  accomplish  not  a  wit  more 
than  has  been  returned. 

We  have  offered  twelve  plays  in  the 
past  year,  and  our  theatre  has  occa- 
sioned new  eyes  with  each  perform- 
ance. It  is  a  delight  to  know  that  the 
scenes  were  shifted  with  a  minimum 
of  confusion  and  the  lines  spoken  with 
clarity.  And  a  pride  to  recognize  the 
cultural  appreciation  has  been  as 
strenuous  as  we  believed  it  would  be. 
And  while  our  theatre  is  kernaled  be- 
tween the  Golden  Gate  and  the  Ferry 
slip,  our  audience  is  scattered  over 
the— but  the  play's  on.  Clear  the  lobby' 


The   San   Franciscan 
181 


Now  It  Can  Be  Told 


ALONG  with  the  gross  of  straw 
flowers  and  the  stuffed  kitten, 
we  were  given  the  birthday 
honor  of  having  a  perfectly  good  aero- 
plane presented  us.  With  a  brave 
banging  of  tambourines  and  many 
pretty  speeches  the  presentation  was 
delivered  yesterday  at  Lotta's  foun- 
tain, Mr.   Garfungle  blowing  dainty 


melodies  on  his  harmonica  and  An- 
gelica our  social  itemizer,  tripping 
lightly  about  the  brightly  colored 
engine  with  many  coos.  It  was  a  gay 
moment  in  our  life,  and  after  the 
sandwiches  and  pop  had  been  spread 
about  the  Fountain  our  staff  selected 
positions  and  recounted  many  a  parcel 
of  story  and  event  dealing  with  past 
presentations  ^nd  due  salaries.  Some 
little  confusion  —  alack!  —  developed 
when  we  made  a  coy  little  acceptance 
speech  and  retired  to  ponder  with 
currente  calamo  on  the  uses  and  prac- 
tices of  our  possession.  We  were,  to  be 
sure,  relieved  of  a  perfidious  and 
malevolent  jealousy.  The  long  nights 
spent  pouring  over  accounts  of  con- 
temporary publishers  and  their  air- 
ship adventures  had  become  thick 
shadows  in  our  brain.  This  was  now- 
cleared  away  and  we  were  even  a  trifle 
to  the  good — ■in  that  our  cloud  wagon 
was  still  navigable.  But  where  to  go? 
What  to  see:"  Where  to  vanish:"  Of 
what  earthly  good  this  mechanical 
gull,  we  reasoned,  unless  quickly  dis- 
patched in  the  current  vogue  to  ob- 
livion? The  Atlantic  wetway  is  no 
longer  fashionable,  the  Pacific  waters 
have  been  completely  scavengered, 
the  South  and  North  poles  have  been 
thoroughly  skimmed  and  garnished. 
We  felt  some  irritation,  to  be  truthful, 
that  there  weren't  more  seas  to  wal- 
low through  and  more  lands  to  bury 
in.  Then  it  came.  We  removed  our 
rubbers  and  gave  solemn  thanks. 

The  San  Franciscan  is  hereon  bulle- 
tined to  leave  Lotta's  Fountain  De- 
cember 12,  1927,  on  a  non-stop  flight 
to  Jupiter  a  few  blocks  from  Neptune 
carrying  as  passengers  Angelica  and 
Aloysius  Garfunkle,  Progress  and 
events  of  flight  will   be  given  daily 


until  the  machine  crashes  and  they  all 
break  their  necks — in  line  with  the 
traditions  and  specifications  of  the 
National  Board  of  Non-Stop  Avia- 
tion. 

I    %    i 

THE  countenances  of  political 
brethren  rupturing  our  November 
City  brings  to  mind  a  sweetmeat 
properly  seasoned  with  age  and  de- 
lightfully droll  in  its  denouement. 
Calvin  Coolidge  had  just  been  made 
Vice  President  and  was  stopping  at 
our  Palace  Hotel.  From  the  foyer  to 
the  Vice  President's  suite  one  could 
not  sprinkle  a  violet  petal  between 
the  Secret  Service  men,  civic  and 
national  of^cials,  aides,  secretaries, 
physicians,  bellboys  and  a  few  hand- 
fuls  of  hotel  employees — not  to  speak 
of  the  Gentlemen  from  the  Press.  A 
very  important  and  very  busy  and 
very  quiet  and  very  efficient  time  was 
being  had  by  all.  And  in  the  midst  of 
it,  hurrying  from  one  officer  to  another, 


tripping  over  baskets  of  fruit,  and 
flowers,  frantic  to  gain  headway  and 
beginning  to  steam  lightly,  was  a 
charming  lady  interviewer  from  a 
popular  evening  paper  doing  what 
might  be  called  her  best  to  get  a  few 
words  from  the  popular  Vice  Presi- 
dent's wife.  She  had  been  told  this 
and  advised  that.  And  in  the  middle 
of  her  scampering,  while  little  rivers 
of  blood  were  commencing  a  rapid 
trot  about  her  brain,  she  was  very 
gently  told  by  a  most  insignificant 
person  who  smacked  of  the  guards- 
men, that  Mrs.  Coolidge  would  be 
fifteen  minutes  late — and  wouldn't 
she  be  seated,  please,  until  Mrs.  Cool- 
idge arrived?  Determined  not  to  be 
bored,  she  tossed  off  a  half  dozen 
warm  words  mentally,  turned  her 
back  on  the  fellow  and  flounced  down 
in  a  chair  with  a  handy  magazine  and 
much  suspended  silence.  Selecting  a 
nicely  budding  rose,  the  gentleman 
brought  it  to  her  with  a  bow:  "I'm 
sorry  she  is  late,"  he  said  gently,  "but 
won't  you  accept  a  rose  from  the  Vice 
President  of  the  United  States?" 


MARKET  Street  and  points  split 
therefrom  have  been  recently 
startled  by  the  latest  and  most  glor- 
ious week  of  them  all — Use  More  Ad- 
hesive Plaster  Week.  We  are  requested 
to  list  the  1001  uses  for  this  ribbon 
sticky,  and  to  buy  till  it  hurts.  Baby's 
ears,  the  adhesive  gentlemen  tell  us 
may  be  held  back  by  their  indispens- 
able product.  It  will  mend  galoshes. 
It  will  bandage  fallen  arches  and 
train  eyebrows,  remove  wrinkles  and 
repair  football  bladders.  Yea,  the 
error  is  not  designed  this  cunning 
little  roll  of  gue  will  not  banish.  One 
may  use  it  for  overcoming  a  double 
chin  as  well  as  to  cover  a  birthmark. 
Fancy  that!  It  becomes  a  "modesty 
tape"  and  replaces  the  sure  and  pes- 
tiferous brassiere.  It  may  be  used  to 
bandage  an  umbrella,  cracks  in  a  soul 
plate  and  downright  punctures  in 
junior's  rubber  panties.  Here  then, 
we  feel  is  not  the  puff  and  syrup  of  an 
ordinary  merchant  person,  but  the 
weeping  joy  of  a  Samaritan  who 
brings  a  burdened  people  something 
of  an  urgent  need  and  exquisite  sim- 
plicity. 

«    «    « 

THE  scene  is  Paris,  and  the  time  is 
probably  fluttering  into  dawn.  A 
handful  of  scribblers  idle  about  the 
buffet  bar  nibbling  champagne  cock- 
tails and  seventy  fives.  Gertrude 
Stein,  intellectual  exponent  of  the 
ultra-violet  bede  has  engaged  the 
attention  of  Master  Ernest  Heming- 
way, inventor  of  a  recent  print  ex- 
tolling the  virtues  of  sunrise  and 
bullfighting.  Gertrude  has  suggested 
in  a  definite  fashion  that  Master 
Ernest  wrote  nothing  short  of  a 
biography  of  himself  in  his  print  tomb. 
Ernest  doesn't  agree.  In  fact  HE  is 
slightly  pale  about  the  lips  and  ac- 
quiring a  glitter  in  the  region  of  the 
corneas.  He  bids  the  selected  group 
to  clear  a  circle,  and  with  no  further 


ado  proceeds  to  strip.  Needless  to  say 
that  Master  Ernest  proved  to  Ger- 
trude and  the  entire  company  that  his 
brilliant  novel  written  in  the  first 
person  was  NOT  a  biography. 


WE  are  come  into  a  blinding  cen- 
tury and  verily  the  gods  are 
falling.  Most  recent  among  them — 
and  a  hefty  god  indeed — is  our  play- 
boy of  the  Eastern  World,  Vanity 
Fair  A  recent  issue  reproduced  a 
photograph  of  the  apparent  heir  to 
the  British  throne.  The  caption  be- 
neath the  cut  was  perilously  near  the 
pale  borderland  of  street  vernacular 
and  tinted  vulgarity  We  believe  it 
represents  the  sort  of  line  one  might 
gather  in  around  West  T\\  elfth  street 


after  midnight.  "Let  us  line  up  all  the 
cameramen,"  coos  this  delicate  organ, 
and  cry:  Long  Live  Edward  Albert! 
Hats  off,  America,  to  the  Indestruc- 
tible, Dancing  Drinking  Tumbling 
Kissing  Walking  Talking  and  Sleep- 
ing Doll  of  the  British  Empire!"  We 
are  further  statisticised  by  this  un- 
wearying  phonograph  of  Prince 
Albert's  numerous  thousand  cabinet 
sized  photos  of  how  many  babies  the 
gentleman  has  kissed,  of  the  footage 
of  newsreel  he  has  allowed  to  celluloid 
his  person,  of  the  cornerstones  he  has 
made  definite  and  the  tens  of  thou- 
sands of  blondes  he  has  danced  with 
and  the  bottles  of  champagne  he  has 
drunk.  We  are  told  that  the  apparent 
frailty  of  this  young  man  is  thus  rup- 
tured and  he  is,  therelore.  indestruc- 
tible. Cultural  integrity,  as  H.  L.  M. 
would  list  it,  in  the  eminently  modish 
Vanity  Fair. 

«    «    « 

SURE  in  the  know  ledge  a  good  tale 
has  neither  locale  nor  language, 
and  desiring  only  to  give  our  custom- 
ers the  clearest  bede  of  humor,  we 
have  secured  the  following  brace  of 
symphonic  tremulos: 

Via  Western  Union,  New  York 
Vachel  Lindsey, 
Davenport  Hotel, 
Spokane,  Washington. 

May  we  have  your  permission  to 
include  your  two  poems  Heart  of 
God  and  Soul  of  the  Nity  in  an 
anthology  of  American  Mystical 
\'erse  stop  Appleton  is  publishing 
it  stop  Zona  Gale  is  w  riting  intro- 
duction stop  My  address  is  Cen- 
tral Theological  Seminary  New 
\'ork  stop  My  letters  to  you  went 
astray. 

Peter  R.  Farrow. 


Peter  R.  Farrow, 
Central  Theological  Seminary, 
New  York  City. 

If  I  wrote  the  Soul  of  the  Nightie 
it  was  under  circumstances  I  do 
not  remember  stop  Do  not  pub- 
lish my  Soul  of  the  Nightie  stop 
It  is  entirely  too  mystical  stop 
Appleton's  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  themselves  stop  Certainly  the 
Soul  of  the  Nightie  was  strictly 
for  private  circulation  stop  Zona 
Gale  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  her- 
self stop  Central  Theological  Sem- 
inary ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
itself  stop  No  wonder  your  letters 
v\ent  astray  stop  The  whole  Sem- 
inary seems  to  have  gone  astray 
stop  I  might  add  that  my  father 
wore  a  nightshirt  but  I  have  al- 
ways worn  pajamas  stop. 

\'achel  Lindsey 
And  to  cast  light  in  the  shadow,  to 
clear  the  mists  and  dissipate  confu- 
sion, let  it  be  further  recorded  the 
poem  in  question  is  titled  "The  Soul 
of  the  City." 

i    «    ? 

THE  rainy  days  are  with  us  and  we 
are   once   again   concerned   with 
the  vast  problem  of  keeping  Union 


Square  out  of  the  lobby  of  the  St. 
Francis.  There  ought  to  be  other 
places  to  go  besides  the  lobby  of  a 
more  or  less  respectable  hostelry.  The 
curious  gentlemen  and  ladies  who 
frequent  Union  Square  are  not  built 
to  fit  a  lobby  anyway.  Their  shoes  are 
too  flat  and  they  eat  bananas  in  pub- 
lic, not  to  speak  of  their  lavish  dis- 
regard for  the  wardrobe.  Or  their 
toothpicks.  Or  their  baggage.  We 
know  very  well  the  Socialists  won't 
be  happy  about  our  discrimination 
but  then  the  Stranger  in  our  Gates 
will  be  able  to  register  without  craw  I- 
ing  over  navy  persons  and  tin  foil 
collectors.  We  suggest  the  park  ha- 
bitues should  dig  little  caves  to  crawl 
into  when  it  rains.  They  could  rest 
there  as  well  as  in  a  lobby,  play  their 
harmonicas  and  eat  their  old  bananas. 

«    t    « 

MIXTURES  reported  by  our  Spe- 
cial Correspondent  from  the 
W.  C.  T.  U.  "Americana  Cocktail  " — 
equal  parts  gin,  Angostura  Bitters 
and  lemon  juice:  sweeten  with  sugar. 


The   San   Franciscan 

"The  Lone  Star" — two  parts  whiskey, 
one  part  lemon  juice,  one  part  maple 
syrup  (ser\e  very  cold).  Prices  for  the 
holiday  trade  (F.O.B.)  San  Fran- 
cisco. Canadian — champagne,  pearl 
#2,  12  qts.  @  $io.  sngl.,  $ioo.  per  cse. 
Champagne,  12  year  province  of 
Champagne,  Fr.,  #6,  12  qts.  @  $17. 
sngl.,  $175-  per  cse.  Whiskies — 
Cndian  Clb.,  MacDougal.,  Green 
River.,  Thompson's  e.xta.  dry,  Hen- 
nesy  #'s  i,  2,  3,  4,  Pontoon's  Golden 
Velvet,  Walker,  etc.,  etc.,  5  qts.  per 
sack;  $8.50  sngl.,  $35.  per  sack.  Gins 
— Booth's  Hind.,  Dutch  Silver.,  Gor- 
don exta.  dry.,  McPherson's  exta- 
exta  dry  #'s  467,  354,  Juno's  Hind., 
etc.,  etc.,  10  fifths  per  case;  $6.  sngl., 
$50.  per  cse.  Scotland:  Whiskies — 
MacDougal  in  wood;  Homers  clb. 
size  10  smrs;  River  of  Clyde,  qts.  only. 

i    i    « 

The  celluloid  bazaarsof  Hollywood 
have  sent  us  another.  This  time  a 
peddler  of  titles;  genuine  European 
lineage  w  rapped  and  delivered  to  San 
Franciscans — for  a  pittance  of,  lets 
say.  one  fifth  the  family  fortune  His 
pen  floweth  over  and  his  brain  bub- 
bleth  with  a  select  list  of  Counts, 
Barons,  Dukes,  Lords.  Earls,  Vis- 
counts— even  Princes!  If  one  is  prop- 
erly introduced  to  this  energetic  soul 
— and  has  the  necessary  capital — one 
may  conclude  business  with  a  few  sig- 
natures in  a  few  minutes  and  emerge 
— lo! — a  suddenly  discovered  relation 
of  some  poverty  stricken  nobleman. 
The  exquisite  nicety  of  it  all  is  that  a 
human  is  permitted  as  many  relatives 
as  he  desires.  A  Russian  exile — the 
Tsar's  cousin  and  know  n  as  the  Duke 
of  Siberia — may  wax  fat  o\ernight  by 
allow  ing  the  daily  press  to  record  that 
he  has  discovered  no  end  of  pork  pur- 
veyors and  butter  wrappers  are  his 
relatives!  And  the  siher  snatching, 
isn  t  all  for  the  peddler  and  his  herd 
of  coatless  nobles.  If  you  will  induce  a 
friend  to  consider  purchasing  a  title, 
the  gentleman  will  tender  you  a  com- 
mission, a  percentage  of  the  friend  s 
contribution     to     Europe's     hungry 


Lords  and  Ladies.  We  suggest  a  few 
of  our  more  enterprising  shops  look 
into  this  matter  with  the  idea  of  creat- 
ing a  title  counter  along  with  perfumes 
and  hardware. 

The  San  Franciscan. 


The   San   Franciscan 

I  10  1 


Many  Happy  Returns 

We  Are  Remembered  By  Our  Friends  On  Our  Day  of  Days 


October  17,  igi/ 
Joseph  Dyer,  Editor, 
San  Franciscan, 
San  Francisco,  Calif. 

I  ha\'e  read  your  magazine  with 
much  interest  and  congratulate  you  on 
the  fine  showing. 

Prince  William  of  Sweden 

October  i8lh,  igi/ 
Editor, 
The  San  Franciscan: 

Ail  good  wishes  for  our  most  artistic 
publication. 

Gertrude  Atherton 


September  i),  igi/ 
Editor,  The  San  Franciscan. 

The  San  Franciscan  is  per- 
fectly San  Franciskish.  What 
better  could  be  said?  What 
more  could  be  asked  ^ 

Rl'pert  Hughes 


October  21st,  igi/ 

Joseph  Dyer,  Editor, 
The  San  Franciscan, 
San  Francisco,  Calif. 

Congratulations  on  rounding  out 
your  first  year.  The  home  of  my  heart 
is  San  Francisco,  If  any  city  in  the 
world  should  have  its  own  magazine 
to  express  its  spirit  and  its  culture 
that  city  should  be  San  Francisco. 
Sincerely, 

Morris  Gest 


October  ig,  7927 
Mr.  Joseph  Dyer,  Editor, 
The  San  Franciscan. 
San  Francisco,  Calif. 
Dear  Mr.  Dyer: 

I  should  like  to  congratulate 
you  upon  the  first  birthday  of 
your  very  bright  and  interest- 
ing The  San  Franciscan.  I 
have  read  several  copies  of  the 
paper  and  have  always  found 
them  exceedingly  clever  and 
entertaining.  Your  selections 
have  been  excellent  and  far 
above  the  ordinary  run  of 
papers  of  that  character. 

It  seems  to  me  that  you  are 
heading  for  a  big  success.  I  cer- 
tainly hope  so. 

May  your  paper  have  many 
more  birthdays.      Sincerely, 

Fremont  Older 


San  FRA^■Clsco,G^Ll^^ 

October   leth,    1927. 

Jty  dear  ttr.   Dyeri 

Some  four  years  ago,    when  llr     Ray  Long,    the  editor  of 

The  Cosmopolitan,    put    Into  ny  hands   che   first  copy  of  The  Hew 

Yorker  and  asked  me  what   I  thou^t  of   it,    I  an  happy  to  remem- 

ber  that   I  predicted  for   It  a   long  and  flourishing  career.     So 

when  I  cake  up  a  copy  of  The  San  Prancleean  and  examine  it,    I 

feeX  Jaetifiec   in   tellln«  »«>>    that    r  beHere   it  naa  a  d-finit" 

Dlace    in  the  city  whose  name   11  bears,    «nd    that   It  jb   far  and 

awny  the  beet  weekly  devoted   to  the  Arts  ini^  topics   of   timely 

Interest   that  has  ever  been  published  herA,    Ann    further,    that 

tt  behnoTes   the   intelllKent  readare   of   Its   native  heath,—  and 

who   shall    eay  there  are  not  n  hundred  thoueam    aucbf — aro   the  far- 

aeeing  and  proicreeelTe  adTertlsere  of   this  city   to  support    it 

The   first  year  of  a  magaslne's    life    Is   toe  hardest,    but    I   believe 

that   in  the   flouriehing  ones  to  come,   you  will    look  back  on  the 

one  that  ends  with  this  Hovember,   ae    that  which  brou^t    you   the 

most  satisfaction.  Hy  felicitations  ! 

Sincerely, 
Ur   Joseph  Dyer, 

ncleco,  Calif 


a^^^^c^'^ 


October  ijth,  igiy 
Editors,  The  San  Franciscan, 
San  Francisco,  Calif. 
Gentlemen: 

I  have  read  The  San  Franciscan 
and  want  to  tell  you  how  delighted  I 
am  with  it.  Of  all  publications  which 
have  followed  the  trail  blazed  by  The 
New  Yorker,  yours  certainly  is  the 
most  convincing.  1 1  seems  to  represent 
a  very  intelligent  and  inquiring  civili- 
zation. California  should  be  more 
than  proud  of  The  San  Franciscan; 
it  should  patronize  it  limitlessly. 
James  Roth 


Joseph  Dyer,  October  zSth.  igij 

The  San  Franciscan, 
San  Francisco,  Calif. 

My  heartiest  congratulations  and 

best  wishes  for  your  continued  success. 

Herbert  Fleishhacker 

October  20th,  7927 
Dear  Mr.  Dyer: 

I  have  watched  The  San  Francis- 
can with  much  interest  the  past  year. 
Not  for  what  you  have  accomplished 
— that  is  still  in  the  balance — but  for 
what  you  have  attempted — I  congrat- 
ulate you.  Jim  Tullv 


October  24th,  igi? 
Joseph  Dyer: 

I  shall  begin  by  saying  quite  tritely 
that  it  scarcely  seems  possible  that  a 
year  has  passed  since  I  sat  down  to 
my  Corona  to  pound  out  an  article  on 
"Provincialism"  for  the  first  issue  of 
The  San  Franciscan.  But  that  is 
only  because  I  am  not  the  editor.  The 
editor  of  any  new-born  periodical  is 
bound  to  feel  the  full  weight  of  every 
thirty  days  in  the  entire  twelvemonth. 
But  the  first  twelve  months  are  al- 
ways the  hardest.  I  f  a  publication  can 
survive  them,  it  is  well  on  its 
way  to  being  in  the  same  case 
with  the  negro  who  remarked 
that  whenever  he  lived  through 
the  month  of  March  he  usually 
lived  through  the  rest  of  the 
year. 

It  is  a  tribute  to  the  growing 
excellence  of  The  San  Fran- 
ciscan that  it  has  survived 
this  figurative  March  of  storm 
and  stress.  More  particularly, 
as  San  Francisco  has  nothing 
on  the  little  tov\  n  of  Nazareth 
when  it  comes  to  denying  its 
prophets.  It  has  even  denied 
its  o.wn  wine  in  the  days  when 
Andrea  Sharbaro  shipped 
Chianti  back  to  Italy  so  that 
it  might  re-enter  the  haunts  of 
the  Connoisseur  bearing  a 
foreign  label.  But  San  Fran- 
cisco is  not  the  only  offender: 
Art  has  seldom  prospered  on 
its  ov\n  threshold  Only  two 
winters  ago  the  debut  of  a 
charming  New  York  girl  at  the 
Metropolitan  was  overlooked 
by  the  critics  who  were  then 
busily  engaged  in  wearing  out 
typewriter  ribbons  extolling 
the  mediocre  talents  of  a  young  miss 
from  Kansas  City. 

Which  might  all  be  in  the  way  of 
being  tedious  if  it  did  not  point  to  the 
superlative  achievement  of  the  staff 
of  The  San  Franciscan  in  planting 
its  feet  firmly  upon  the  shifting  favors 
of  its  own  home  town. 

Charles  Caldwell  Dobie 
October  26th,  igiC 
My  dear  Mr.  Dyer: 

George  Creel  joins  me  in  felicita- 
tions and  admiration  for  The  San 
Franciscan. 

Blanche  Bates  Creel 

Continued  on  Page  30 


The   San 


Franciscan 
11  1 


Te  Deum  Laudamus 


An  informal  flash  of  our  birthday  gambol  at  the  Mark  Hopkins; 
showing  besides  the  bun.  the  candle  and  the  sheriff's  daughter  in 
full  regalia,  the  following,  reading  from  left  to  right.  Bottom  Row: 
Elva  Williams  in  silent  prayer.  Mollie  Merrick  singing  spirituals. 
Joseph  Dyer  mumbling  "Curfew  Shall  Not  Ring  Tonight,  "  Anita 
Day  Hubbard  whistling  ditties  and  Rowena  Mason  shooting 


marbles.  Center  Row:  Charles  Dobie  meditating  the  Scriptures, 
Catti  designing  a  mustard  label.  George  Douglas  offering  incense 
and  Zoe  Battu  hypnotizing  the  cameraman.  Top  Row:  S.  Bert 
Cooksley  perpendicularly  paralyzed.  Idwal  Jones  lamefltiaaJlis 
lost  zyther.  Hagemeyer  anticipating  the  check.  andCSotornavon 
stuffing  olives.  Palms  and  chairs  from  the  Coroner's  olticc.  t-ood 
courtesy  of  the  Infant  Shelter. 


The   San   Franciscan 
f  121 


The  House  of  Bull 

An  Informal  Evening  With  The  Borgias 

By  Antonia  PiA 


Scene:  A  deep,  ceremonious,  din- 
ing salon  flanked  with  serving 
men  whose  complicated  liveries 
beipeak  the  pomp  and  splendor  of  the 
House  of  Borgia.  The  massive  dining 
table  covered  with  a  rich  brocade  flaunts 
its  high  estate.  Candelabras,  laden  with 
ornament,  vases,  wine  flagons  twisted 
in  exquisite  designs,  the  dim  voluptuous 
light,  the  heavy  atmosphere  of  solemnity 
and  sin.  this  is  the  dining  salon  of  His 
Holiness.  Pope  .Alexander  the  Sixth. 
His  Holiness  sits  at  the  head  of  the 
table,  looking  small  and  meek  and 
weary  under  the  weight  of  his  impor- 
tance. Lucrezia  Borgia  sits  near  him, 
insolently  beautiful,  in  a  violent  scarlet 
robe.  Cesare  Borgia,  her  brother,  with 
big  hazel  eyes  and  pallid  face,  is  at  the 
further  end  of  the  table,  looking  very 
bored. 

Lucrezia:  {after  a  long  silence).  You 
are  not  so  amusing  as  you  used  to 
be.  brother.  Can  you  find  nothing 
to  say? 

Cesare:  Nothing  that  could  interest 
your  feeble  brain,  sister. 

Lucrezia:  (ivith  a  shrug)  My  poor 
brain  has  become  feeble  denying 
your  sins. 

Alexander:  Ssh!  Ssh!  my  children. 
{He  makes  a  tired  gesture). 

Lucrezia  :  Yes  and  our  beloved  father 
is  weary  of  your  confessions.  {She 
giggles.) 

Cesare:  Our  beloved  father  knows 
about  my  triumphs  before  they  are 
committed. 

Alexander:  {whining)  Cesare! 

Cesare:  There  is  a  woman  called 
Colomba  who  thinks  she  performs 
miracles.  She  is  not  so  simple  as 
you,  my  sister. 

Alexander:  She  is  uncertain  in  the 
head.  I  have  sent  my  physician  to 
her. 

Cesare:  Our  father  does  not  believe 
in  miracles.  He  believes  in  medi- 
cine. Sceptic! 

Alexander:  The  woman  is  a  fakir, 
she  suffers  from  epilepsy,  I  have 
told  you.  Cease! 

Lucrezia:  She  has  not  failed  com- 
pletely. She  is  not  unknown  to  our 
father  and  my  illustrious  brother 
speaks  of  her. 

Cesare:  I  shall  never  live  that  down, 
however  great  I  may  become. 

Alexander:  Live  what  down? 


Cesare:  Being  the  brother  of  Lu- 
crezia. 

Lucrezia:  You  are  trying  very  hard 
to  live  up  to  it. 

Alexander:  {irritated).  Do  you  quar- 
rel for  pleasure^  It  seems  so. 

Lucrezia:  We  are  so  civilized,  we  are 
weary  of  love.  It  is  a  milksop.  We 
find  hate  much  more  amusing. 

Alexander:  Your  wit  is  strained- 
Some  vulgar  poet  has  taught  you 
an  idea  and  you  sport  it  unceasingly . 

Cesare:  The  female  mind  is  a  parrot. 

Lucrezia:  {with  a  sigh).  I  wish  I  were 
not  so  important  then  I  should  be 
able  to  speak  without  always  being 
analyzed. 

Alexander:  Important^ 

Cesare:  To  whom? 

Lucrezia:  To  history. 

Alexander:  Important'  I  have  made 
you.  I  shall  be  known  to  history. 

Cesare:  Pardon!  Through  my  clev- 
erness. 

Lucrezia:  Your  histories  shall  be 
made  glamorous  by  me. 

Alexander:  {screeching).  You  mean 
nothing  to  the  Church,  my  daugh- 
ter. 

Lucrezia:  Nothing  to  the  Church, 
eh!  I  married  a  Duke  and  a  fat  one 
to  get  a  province  for  the  Church. 

Cesare:  You  haggle  over  glory  like  a 
fishmonger's  wife  over  a  mackerel. 

Alexander:  Cease!  Cease!  {plain- 
tively) What  have  I  done  to  deserve 
such  offspring.  I  should  rather  be  a 
poor  man  with  a  pasture — andsome 
sheep. 

Lucrezia:  Fancy  me  a  shepherdess. 

Alexander:  You  two  are  just  like 
your  mother.  Noisy,  loud,  quarrel- 
some, ungrateful.  I  have  made  you 
what  you  are  and  what  thanks'  do 
I  get? 

Cesare:  What  we  are.  What  are  we'' 
My  beloved  sister,  a  harlot  and  I, 
your  henchman  working  in  dark- 
ness. We  have  done  your  dirty  work. 
You  wish  us  to  be  devils  to  the 
world  and  seraphs  to  you.  You 
want  too  much. 
Alexander:  {trembling  with  anger). 
Stop!  Stop!  I  shall  leave  you.  An 
old  man  driven  from  his  table  by 
two  vipers  of  children.  I  do  not 
trust  you,  either  of  you.  The  bread 
I  eat  in  the  House  of  God  I  fear 
because  of  you.  Now  you  know  it. 
You — you — you —  {he  rises). 


Cesare:  Afraid,  dear  Father,  of  us? 

Oooh! 
Alexander:   {leaving,  a  pack  of  at- 
tendants appearing).  Out,  out.  Bit- 
terness,  {he  ivhines.   Tottering  with 
rage.  His  Holiness  retires.) 
Lucrezia:  I  shall  waste  no  time.  You 
must  abduct  the  mistress  of  Gio- 
vanni Riaro,  leaving  notice  of  her 
elopement    with   somebody — any- 
one. Get  rid  of  her.  I  want  him. 
Cesare:  Want  him  for  what^" 
Lucrezia:  For  a  time. 
Cesare:  I  am  not  your  pander. 
Lucrezia:  You  will  do  this,  at  once. 
Cesare:  Do  you  command  me? 
Lucrezia:  It  seems  so. 
Cesare:  I  decline.  I  loathe  seeing  you 
want  something   you   cannot   get, 
sister.  But  I  haven't  the  time  to 
get  it  for  you. 
Lucrezia:   Abduct   the    woman,    at 

once. 
Cesare:  You  are  ridiculous. 
Lucrezia:  And  you  poisonous. 
Cesare:  {with  a  loud  guffaw).  What 

do  you  mean? 
Lucrezia:  You  know.   Poisonous  is 
the  only  adjective  that  can  be  used. 
Do  you  hear  well? 
Cesare:  ^'ou  play  a  role,  a  ridiculous 

one 
Lucrezia:  And  you  a  bloody  one. 
Cesare:  Talk,  prattle.  I  shall  kill  you 

just  to  cease  that  prattle. 
Lucrezia:  Aye!  Aye!  The  Duke  of 

Gandia  is  dead. 
Cesare:  {narrowing  his  eyes).  What? 
Lucrezia:  Our  brother,  the  Duke  of 
Gandia  is  dead.  Did  you  not  know- 
it;'  You  were  last  with  him. 
Cesare:  {shaking  his  head).  You  are 

worse  than  I. 
Lucrezia:  Now,  you  will  abduct  this 
woman.    Poison    her  if  necessary. 
That  is  simple  and  you  are  prac- 
ticed at  those  simple  things. 
Cesare:  Why  should  I  do  this:' 
Lucrezia:  ^'ou  are  afraid  of  me. 
Cesare:    I    am    afraid    of    neither 

Heaven  nor  Hell. 
Lucrezia:  Courageous!  But  you  are 
afraid  of  our  Father.  {A  silence,  then 
slyly).  He  loved  Gandia. 
Cesare  :  Idiot !  What  pleasure  is  there 
in  having  a  lover  who  thinks  of 
another  while  caressing  you,  who 
does  not  think,  has  never  thought 
of  you  ? 

(Continued  on  Page  35) 


The   San   Franciscan 

f  131 


Allen  Vincent 


Portrait  by  De  Forest 


In  a  sophisticated  plav  written  by  a  brilliant  ultra  sophisticated  playwright  and 
played  in  a  modern  manner,  Allen  Vincent  gives  a  characterization  as  fine  as 
anything  seen  in  San  Francisco.  Mr.  Vincent  is  an  authentic  actor  and  his  work 
has  the  finish,  distinction  and  quality  of  sincerity  which  places  him  as  one  of  the 
leading  young  actors  of  the  stage  today. 


The   San   Franciscan 
f  141 


The  Fair  Art  of  Criticism 

Showing  that  Critical  Judgment  of  Musical  Values  is  Perilously  Uncertain 

By  Lee  S.  Gunter 


HAS  musical  criticism  any  ac- 
tual function  or  justifica- 
tion 1 

Granted  without  argument  that  it 
is  the  most  uncertain  of  all  criticism, 
that  it  has  a  tradition  of  appalling 
misjudgments  in  high  places,  and  that 
it  has  as  yet  approximated  no  Dide- 
rot or  Sainte-Beuve,  it  still  must  be 
evident  that  criticism  of  music  is  far 
more  vitally  necessary  than  criticism 
of  literature  or  representative  art. 

Music  in  its  present  form — as  I 
may  have  said  elsewhere — is  an  infant 
in  time  and  space.  The  magnitude  of 
its  potential  value,  its  power,  its  ap- 
peal, may  be  sensed;  but  its  language 
is  not  the  language  of  the  plain  man; 
for  him  it  is  in  constant  need  of  glos- 
sary and  exegesis.  No  art,  no  thing, 
can  maintain  a  healthy,  long  con- 
tinued existence  in  a  state  of  essential 
isolation.  It  is  the  high  office  of  the 
critic  and  the  critical  reviewer  to 
stand  like  Aaron  between  the  living 
splendor  of  the  noblest  of  the  arts  and 
the — if  not  dead,  at  least  but  partially 
awakened  public,  and  with  faith  and 
zeal,  and  the  warmth  of  intelligent 
enthusiasm,  interpret  this  splendor 
and  correlate  it  with  something  that 
an  ordinary  human  can  grasp.  Be- 
cause if  the  non-technical  hearer  can- 
not connect  up  what  he  hears  with 
any  experience  of  his  own  life  he  will 
never  become  a  true  devotee  of  music. 

The  function  of  musical  criticism 
in  the  present  is  to  educate;  to  teach 
discrimination,  to  foster  intelligent 
enthusiasm,  to  encourage  that  great 
expectation  which  is  the  parent  of 
noble  achievement.  Therefore,  not 
only  to  admit,  but  to  assert,  that  an 
imperfect  performance  is  imperfect, 
is  a  sacred  duty  which  the  critic  owes 
on  the  one  hand  to  the  public,  and  on 
the  other,  to  the  professional  musi- 
cian. 

As  regards  the  public,  few  listeners 
indeed  have  an  inherent  standard  as 
to  the  '"rightness"  or  the  "wrongness" 
of  any  composition,  interpretation  or 
performance.  Far  more  than  one  would 
like  to  believe,  the  average  concert- 
goer  depends  upon  his  critic  to  decide 
for  him  the  artistic  value  of  any  opus 
and  of  its  performance.  If  the  critic 
pronounces  some  ephemeral  composi- 
tion or  mediocre  performance  to  be  in 
the  highest  degree  excellent,  the  hearer 


is  constrained  to  set  up  these  imper- 
fections as  standards  by  which  to 
measure,  and  thus  is  given  a  serious 
and  generally  irretrievable  injury. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  professional 
musician,  like  the  rest  of  us,  is  entirely 
human.  If  he  is  assured  continually 
that  his  work  is  perfect  and  altogether 
satisfactory,  he  would  be  more  than 
human  to  strive  for  an  ideal  he  is  said 
already  to  have  attained. 

No  value  of  musical  criticism,  how- 
ever, either  to  the  public  or  to  the 
profession,  can  justify  the  arrogance 
of  those  critics  who  assume  the  atti- 
tude of  ill-bred  children  in  possession 
of  some  twopenny  secret.  Real  musi- 
cians are  nearly  always  very  simple 
people  who  make  no  mystery  what- 
ever of  their  calling,  but  the  class  of 
critic  referred  to  would  convince  the 
public  that  the  appreciation  and  un- 
derstanding of  music  belong  to  a 
closed  and  sternly  limited  cult,  and 
that  the  only  duty  of  the  common 
man,  in  addition  to  financial  support, 
is  to  believe  what  he  is  told,  and  be 
content  to  remain  in  his  present  state, 
world  w.ithout  end.  Until  very  recently, 
this  type  was  wont  to  embellish  his 
writings  richly  with  technical  phrases 
and  esoteric  terms  calculated  to  im- 
press the  neophyte,  after  the  manner 
of  the  fledgling  doctor  in  a  small  town 
but  at  the  moment,  happily,  this  prac- 
tice has  a  little  gone  out  of  fashion. 

A  more  harmless  type  likes  to  bol- 
ster up  the  critical  authority  he  doubts 
himself  to  possess  by  quotations  from 
the  private  conversation  of  this  or 
that  Mr.  Eminent  So-and-So.  It  must 
be  obvious  that  musical  criticism  re- 
duced to  the  basis  of  "he  says  to  me 
says  he"  is  undignified  and  ridiculous. 
«     «     Sf 

To  compare  the  present  unfavor- 
ably with  the  past  is  a  cherished 
device  of  the  aged  in  particular  and 
critics  in  general.  Comparisons  may 
or  may  not  be  odious,  but  they  are 
legitimate  only  where  they  are  open 
to  proof.  If  I  say  that  the  voice  of 
Miss  Marion  Talley  is  not  as  beautiful 
as  the  voice  of  Jenny  Lind;  or  if  I  say 
that  the  planet  Venus  is  inhabited  by 
a  race  of  men  having  green  hair,  no 
one  can  successfully  dispute  me,  be- 
cause such  statements  are  not  suscep- 
tible of  proof.  The  first  assertion  will, 
undoubtedly,  be  received  with  a  yawn, 


and  the  second,  perhaps,  with  a  smile 
but  both  assertions  will  have  equal 
value  as  musical  criticism. 

The  astonishing  stupidities  histori- 
cally recorded  of  noted  critics  are  not 
strictures  upon  musical  criticism,  or 
even  commentaries  upon  the  fallibility 
of  human  judgment.  They  came  as 
results  from  tying  up  with  particular 
schools  or  individuals  and  failure  to 
keep  an  open  mind.  There  is  no  case 
on  record  of  any  musical  genius  who 
has  not  been  recognized  by  the  major- 
ity of  critics  of  his  own  day  and  coun- 
try. A  Hanslick,  fanatically  committed 
to  a  Brahms,  may  be  egregiously 
wrong  as  to  a  Wagner.  But  even  a 
Hanslick  was  right  about  Brahms; 
and  he  was  right  about  any  number 
of  near-geniuses  of  his  time,  whom  he 
rated  quite  correctly  as  unimportant. 
But  where  a  Hanslick  has  gone  spec- 
tacularly wrong,  the  rank  and  file  of 
critics,  men  and  women  who  retained 
a  decent  humility  of  spirit  and  a  rea- 
sonable openmindedness,  who  had  no 
axe  to  grind  of  blind  loyalty  to  any 
school  or  individual,  have  alw  ays  kept 
the  balance  and  saved  the  day,  both 
for  genius  and  for  common  sense. 

Music  can,  properly,  be  divided 
into  two  classes  only:  Good  and  bad. 
Bad  music  may  be  found  in  a  goo-ey 
balladorsilly  religious  song ;  in  cacoph- 
onous jazz,  or  in  pretentious,  empty 
symphonic  or  operatic  writing.  Bad 
music  is  confined  to  no  country,  period 
or  form.  Any  more  than  good  music  is 
so  confined.  Bad  music  is  bad  because 
it  is  empty  and  trivial.  Its  danger  lies 
in  the  fact  that  its  continued  hearing 
and  acceptance  fixes  the  emotional 
percipience  on  so  low  a  plane  that 
when  good  music  is  heard  it  is  rejected 
by  a  vitiated  aural  palate.  Precisely 
as  in  the  case  of  literature  or  repre- 
sentative art.  The  individual  who 
exists  for  any  length  of  time  on  an 
aesthetic  diet  of  chromos  and  the 
writings  of  Mr.  Harold  Bell  Wright 
will  be  excessively  unlikely  to  under- 
stand and  enjoy  Rembrandt  and 
Balzac. 

The  popularization  of  bad  music  is 
a  triumph  of  class  distinction  propa- 
ganda. It  has  been  "sold"  to  the  pub- 
lic as  typical  of  and  belonging  to  the 
proletariat,  as  distinguished  from 
good  music,  which  is  represented  as 

(Continued  on  Page  28) 


The   San   Franciscan 

f  15  1 


Literary  Linguistics 


Proving  That  Very  Modern  Fiction  Writers  Are  Not  Dreaming 

B\  Arnold  Spence 


PUNCTURING  cliches,  smash- 
ing the  corrupt  citadels  of 
trite  imagery,  nostalgic  ro- 
manticisms,grimy  realisms,  and 
academic  mots  Justes  the  young 
authors  fought  battles  of  their 
own  more  important  to  us  now 
than  all  the  pitiful  Ypres  and 
V'erduns.  It  is  a  happy  moment 
to  look  about  and  try  to  deter- 
mine the  salutary  effect  of  these 
verbal  conquests.  We  are  not 
yet  distracted  by  the  offensives 
of  new  men  striking  further  to 
the  left,  and  are  no  longer  daz- 
zled by  the  heresiesof  the  bright 
multi-colored,  little  columns 
which  for  several  years  have 
been  flickering  before  our  eyes 
like  Armistice  Day  confetti. 
The  frantic  reforms  of  a  de- 
railed generation  preoccupied 
with  extracting  a  certain  in- 
ebriated hilarity  from  its  own 
disenchantment  are  gradually 
becoming  as  historic  as  the 
Battle  of  the  Marne,  and  the 
fiction  writers,  perhaps  the 
most  frantic  of  the  lot,  are  get- 
ting bald,  putting  their  money 
in  General  Motors  and  secretly 
planning  to  die  sane. 

The  Papas  have  long  ceased 
to  count.  Marcel  Proust  died 
leaving  one  last  neurotic  plea 
for  survival  in  "Le  Temps  Re- 
trouve,"  the  stillborn  infant  of 
an  aged  Casanova.  No  doubt 
there  is  already  a  Proust  So- 
ciety whose  tomes  have  begun 
to  collect  dust  in  the  St.  Gene- 
vieve Library  alongside  Pales- 
trina,  Pascal,  Poussin,  Prevost 
....  James  Joyce,  "sitting"  for  re- 
formed cubists,  ignorantly  worshipped 
by  dissipated  American  surrealistes, 
lives  on  in  Paris,  established,  unread, 
and  going  blind;  a  sort  of  twentieth 
century  Milton 

The  children  have  either  fallen  out 
or  taken  to  imitating  themselves  and 
each  other  ....  Katherine  Mansfield 
and  Ronald  Firbank  are  in  Purgatory 
chatting  perhaps  with  Eric  Satie. 
Paul  Morand  and  Aldous  Huxley  in  a 
final  courageous  effort  to  recapture 
their  originality  took  world  tours. 
For  them  only  the  moon  is  left.  When 
Morand  hoped  in  his  latest  work  that 


From  a  painltng  hy  Joscf^li  Stella 

ARMOURED  GLANCES 
By  Mary  Avis  Blavker 

No  alien  of  the  sea  are  you,  who  wear 
Yourself  upon  a  luminous  instrument 
Of  silver,  wrought  in  rythms,  beauty  blent. 

With  sound  of  flashing  armour  against  the  air. 

But  alien  to  me,  quite  unaware — 

^'our  thoughts  as  silver  as  your  bones  and  sent 
.As  lightly  over  this,  my  frail  torment 

As  were  I  so  devised  the  moon  to  snare! 

She  strangely  latticed  for  the  winds'  delight. 
As  is  the  quivering  sea,  lies  deep  with  moan 

A  lair  of  loveliness  for  trembling  night — 

A  far  out  dream  that  could  almost  he  blown 

Under  your  glance,  green  shoaled,  a  silver  flight- 
Take  care!  her  sidelong  glances  are  vour  own. 


after  his  death  his  hide  would  be 
turned  into  a  valise  it  sounded  like  a 
cry  of  despair  rather  than  an  effort  to 
be  witty.  Carl  Van  Vechten  has  de- 
serted Harlem  for  Hollywood  where 
he  writes  precious  "little  middle 
articles "  about  the  .Ambassador  door- 
man and  Clara  Bow's  knees.  Elinor 
Wylie  and  Sherwood  .Anderson  have 
buried  themselves;  she  under  a  pile  of 
exotic  art  objects,  and  he  in  a  hazy 
cloud  of  personal  reminiscence.  Dor- 
othy Richardson,  Jean  Giraudoux, 
D.  H.  Law  rence,  Virginia  Woolf,  Louis 
Aragon,  Gertrude  Stein  and  Phillipe 
Soupault  ha\'e  given  much  but,  alas, 


they  all  seem  to  have  stopped 
growing  considerably  short  of 
maturity. 

There  is  still  hope  Ernest 
Hemingw.ay,  Jacques  Sindral, 
Glenway  Wescott,  Thornton 
\\  ilder,  and  Thomas  Mann  are 
promising  grandchildren  hut  .  . 
«    «    « 

NOT  only  dreams  but  all  the 
sacrosanct  phraseology 
of  Pre-Raphaelitic,  Symbolis- 
tic and  Naturalistic  days.  The 
new  writers  (vaguely  post — 
1Q14)  found  that  when  you 
had  rung  up  the  cheese  cloth 
curtain  and  pulled  Melisande 
out  near  the  footlights  she  had 
a  lifted  face  and  a  permanent 
w  ave.  Romantic  love  and  Ren- 
aissance death  suggested  noth- 
ing so  much  as  cheap  magazines 
and  movie  subtitles.  .Nine  ref- 
erences to  sunset,  waterfalls, 
eyes  or  complexion  out  of  ten 
made  you  think  of  flushed  post- 
cards of  the  Cote  D'Azur  and 
burnished  collar  and  soap  post- 
ers. Something  had  to  be  done 
about  it  and  the  young  writer, 
what  with  the  press  daily 
showering  the  world  with  sev- 
eral billion  cliches,  realized  the 
necessity  of  a  new  originality 
of  language  and  to  that  end  a 
thorough  renoN'ation  of  the  old. 
Joyce  as  a  kind  of  primitive 
of  the  school  exposed  the  grow- 
ing rottenness  of  language  by 
writing  "Ulysses  "  partly  in  the 
style  of  Snappy  Stories,  news- 
papers and  chemistry  text- 
books, and  partly  in  the  styles 
of  the  certain  great  English 
authors  from  Chaucer  to  Pater  but 
his  own  experiments  were  too  eccentric 
or  too  personal  for  imitation.  After 
him  the  arena  of  literature  was  still 
open  to  contestants.  Proust  stepped 
bravely  forth  and  harangued  the  mul- 
titude in  a  mass  of  parentheses  and 
relative  clauses  that  put  to  sleep  all 
who  were  not  in  the  front  row  ,  but  he 
talked  so  long  that  they  finally  awoke 
and  listed  in  spite  of  themselves. 

All  sorts  of  extravagant  iconoclasts 
followed.  Jean  Cocteau  called  Venice 
at  night,  "a  negro  courtesan  dead  in 
her  bath  with  all  her  paste  jewels  on." 

(Ojtuinucd  on  Page  ly) 


The   San   Franciscan 

f  16  1 


Etude  In  Ugliness 

We  Continue  the  Tragical  Epic  of  a  Very  Young  Man 

By  Elva  Williams 


STEPHEN  grew  accustomed  to  the 
Home  and  as  the  years  passed 
the  place  grew  more  and  more 
tolerable.  Sometimes  in  the  cold  win- 
ter twilight  as  he  lingered  near  a  win- 
dow and  watched  the  shadows  gather 
about  the  familiar  grey  buildings  he 
was  quite  satisfied.  At  the  twilight 
hour  the  place  took  on  a  sombre  dig- 
nity that  was  somehow  pleasing.  He 
watched  the  children  passing  in  the 
courtyard  and  he  thought  how  much 
better  it  was  to  have  no  one  to  love. 
Then  one  did  not  care  who  was  sick 
and  did  not  have  to  watch  anybody 
die.  It  was  better  to  have  no  one.  Still 
it  would  have  been  nice  if  someone 
would  kiss  one's  cheek  and  say  one's 
very  own  name. 

Lessons  grew  more  interesting. 
There  was  a  man  called  Julius  Caesar 
who  went  to  war.  There  was  a  man 
called  Hannibal  who  was  most  aw- 
fully unlucky.  Sometimes  Stephen 
cried  over  Hannibal  because  he  was 
so  unlucky.  But  the  greatest  man  of 
all  was  called  Julian.  Stephen  could 
not  understand  just  what  Julian  did 
to  be  so  great.  But,  at  any  rate,  the 
important  thing  was  that  Julian 
seemed  somehow  like  himself,  alone. 

There  was  a  woman  called  Joan  of 
Arc.  Stephen  did  not  like  her.  There 
was  Queen  Guinevere,  and  Vivien, 
the  enchantress,  both  of  whom  were 
very  beautiful.  But  Elaine,  he  loved 
Elaine.  If  he  might  see  but  for  a 
moment  the  white  and  gold  Elaine. 
He  prayed  earnestly  for  a  dream  of 
her  and  he  grew  pale  with  the  effort 
to  bring  forth  a  vision  of  her.  He 
knew  full  well  there  was  no  Elaine, 
alive  or  dead,  in  the  present  or  the 
past.  Women  were  not  beautiful. 
Books  were  full  of  lies.  But  it  was 
better  to  have  the  books.  It  was  bet- 
ter to  be  lied  to. 

The  time  had  come  to  leave.  Ignore 
it,  forget  about  it,  still  the  time  had 
come  to  work.  A  present  misery  is 
always  preferable  to  a  new  one. 
Stephen  knew  this  and  was  loath  to 
leave  the  Home.  Work  on  a  farm  was 
healthy,  they  said.  One  worked  with 
strong  men  who  helped  a  boy  to 
become  strong  as  they  were.  A  strong 
man  had  hairy  arms  and  big  feet.  Work 
hard  and  after  a  time  a  woman  would 
appear  and  Stephen  would  love  her, 
the  matron  had  said.  They  would  be 
married,  raise  children  and  if  Stephen 


was  honest  and  worked  very  hard  they 
might  own  a  farm  of  their  own. 
?    ?    * 

STEPHEN  went  to  a  farm  to  work. 
The  farm  was  big  and  dusty. 
There  was  the  farmer,  his  wife,  his 
two  daughters  and  four  strong  men 
and  a  great  lot  of  work,  work  w  ithout 
end.  Even  the  younger  daughter  of 
the  farmer,  who  was  very  pale  and 
quiet,  worked.  The  dogs  appeared  to 
be  busy.  Stephen  shared  a  room  with 
the  four  strong  men,  who  were  very 
kind  to  him  in  their  rough  bovine  way. 
Stephen  was  so  tired  at  night  that  he 
found  no  time  to  dream  of  Elaine  and 
her  barge  of  death  or  Hannibal  and 
his  tragic  failure.  He  found  no  time  to 
think  of  anything.  He  found  to  do, 
this  or  that,  fetch  this,  move  that,  eat, 
sleep.  Life  grew  to  greater  propor- 
tions of  misery.  But  misery  must  not 
be  talked  about.  Perhaps  all  of  the  four 
men  felt  as  he  did  and  dared  not  speak 
of  it.  If  one  talked  of  it  something 
would  happen.  If  one  spoke  of  it  one 
couldn't  bear  it  anymore.  Maybe  the 
pale  daughter  of  the  farmer  called 
Eva  was  unhappy  too  but  did  not 
speak  of  it.  Maybe  the  whole  world 
was  miserable  and  kep  silent  about  it. 
Stephen  grew  feverish. 

Occasionally  the  four  men  took 
Stephen  with  them  when  they  went 
riding  in  the  battered  automobile. 
They  grew  restless  after  dinner  and  if 
the  moon  was  bright,  were  loath  to  go 
to  bed.  They  would  linger  about  and 
finally  decide  to  ride.  It  was  pleasant 
to  ride  down  the  road  and  watch  the 
moon,  the  quiet  fields  and  the  mys- 
terious patches  of  dark  shadows.  He 
was  bathed  in  light  airy  fancies  as  the 
road  was  bathed  in  moonlight.  After 
a  few  of  these  evenings,  Stephen  de- 
veloped a  burning  hatred  of  the  sun. 
The  sun  was  synonymous  with  work. 
In  the  moonlight  Elaine  came  trip- 
ping forth  from  the  shadowy  bushes 
along  the  river  and  he  rode  past  her 
in  a  chariot  drawn  by  three  enormous 
horses.  One  evening  he  grew  tired  of 
passing  Elaine.  He  permitted  her  a 
place  at  his  side.  She  called  him 
Launcelot.  His  eyes  rested  on  her 
mouth,  a  breathless  flower  with  lips 
half-open.  He  closed  her  lips  with  his 
own.  Something  hitherto  undreamed 
of  had  happened.  He  had  kissed  her. 

"What  in  hell's  the  matter?  a 
coarse  voice  asked  from  the  back  of 


the    automobile.     "Are    you    sick?"' 

Stephen  shook  himself.  "No." 
"What   did   you   moan   for,   then? 
Are  you  daffy?  " 

'"Did  I  moan?"  Stephen  was  un- 
reasonably happy. 

Watching  the  four  men  bathe  was  a 
continual  source  of  displeasure  to 
Stephen.  They  gathered  about  a  wash- 
tub  in  the  center  of  the  room  and  went 
about  the  business  of  keeping  clean 
with  a  vigor  that  was  astonishing. 
They  drew  off  their  shirts  and  dis- 
played their  hairy  arms,  hairy  chests, 
and  protuberant  bellies.  Stephen  en- 
deavored to  be  away  at  the  hour  of 
these  balneal  performances,  but  often 
it  was  impossible.  He  was  forced  to 
sit  in  the  room  and  pretend  indiffer- 
ence. He  would  catch  glimpses  of  their 
graceless  bodies  in  spite  of  himself 
and  his  face  would  twitch  with  dis- 
gust. Strange  ugly  ideas  crept  into  his 
mind,  prompted  by  the  knowledge  the 
men  had  given  to  him  in  little  hints 
and  insinuations.  The  men  were 
aware  of  his  agony  of  shyness,  made 
sport  of  it,  and  forced  their  nudity 
upon  him. 

"What"s  the  matter,  kid?  What  are 
you  ashamed  of?"   they  demanded. 

Shrunken  and  pale  he  answered 
them.  "Tm  ashamed  because  you"re 
so  ugly."" 

«    «    « 

JULIA,  the  elder  daughter  of  the 
farmer,  was  nicknamed  Little 
Beauty.  Everyone  spoke  of  Little 
Beauty  and  one  saw  her  everywhere. 
She  dashed  about  from  one  place  to 
another,  laughing,  talking  and  receiv- 
ing tokens  of  admiration.  She  wore 
red  ribbons  on  her  hair  and  had  black 
eyes  that  sparkled  diabolically.  She 
was  a  favorite  with  the  four  men.  To 
Eva,  her  sister,  they  rarely  addressed 
a  word.  Eva  was  silent  and  pale  and 
in  her  fair  plaited  hair  there  was  a 
quiet  sorrow.  She  had  a  thin  fragile 
figure  and  a  long  white  neck.  Stephen 
thought  of  her  a  good  deal.  I  f  he  were 
Julian,  the  Emperor,  he  would  never 
think  of  her.  She  had  drooping  shoul- 
ders and  drooping  shoulders  made 
one  sad.  If  he  were  Julian  he  would 
say  to  her:  "I  like  you  You  please 
me.  But  your  shoulders  made  me  sad. 
You  must  leave  me  for  I  w  ant  to  be 
gay."  But  he  was  not  Julian,  he  re- 

(Continued  on  Page  ib) 


The  San 


Franciscan 

171 


DETAIL  OF  A  FRESCO 

By  DIEGO  RIVERA 

In  the  mural  illustrated  is 
shown  the  effect  of  union,  the 
holy  strength  of  a  people  whose 
fruits  nourish  youth  and  whose 
flowers  shall  crown  the  next  gene- 
ration. Above,  the  mechanic,  the 
agriculturist  and  thesoldierstand 
united.  Below,  the  city  woman 
gives  flowers  to  peasant  children 
typifying  social  as  well  as  econo- 
mic and  political  union. 


The  San  Franciscan 

118  1 


Mrs.  Howard  Park 
President  of  the  San  Francisco  Junior  League 


Photogratyh  by  Drake.  Chicago 


The   San 


The  Reigning  Dynasty 


Franciscan 
19  1 


THE  debutantes  have  it '  We  pre- 
sent to  them  the  season  which 
rises  sparkling  and  brilliant  on 
an  Aladdinish  salver  to  be  made  the 
most  of  as  only  young,  sweet  things 
are  able.' .  .  .  Not  that  we  intend  to 
relinquish  all  claim,  for  although  we 
humbly  bow  our  way  back  we  are  con- 
tent, for  a  gay  debutante  season  gives 
life  to  the  entire  winter  and  provides 
innumerable  festivities,  the  warmth 
of  which  illuminates  every  nook  and 
corner  in  the  social  world.  Already 
Mariana  Casserly  has  started  the 
gayety  by  making  her  bow  at  a  large 
reception  in  San  Mateo  which  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  dinner  dance  for  the 
younger  group.  This  mode  seems  to 
have  met  with  much  favor  for  Eleanor 
Weir  will  be  introduced  byher  mother, 
Mrs.  William  Weir,  on  November 
twelfth  at  a  similar  affair.  California 
Breuner,  the  lovely  daughter  of  the 
John  Breuners  (California  Cluff,  a 
great  beauty  in  her  deb  days)  will 
come  out  the  end  of  November  at  one 
of  those  over-grown  tea  parties  with 
the  evening  reserved  for  those  slightly 
more  youthful  as  to  years  and  infin- 
itely more  hilarious  as  to  "spirits," 
On  the  same  day  her  cousin,  Mabel 
Wilson,  who  is  the  daughter  of  Mrs. 
Arthur  Comstock  (Mabel  Cluff)  of 
New  York,  will  make  her  debut  at  the 
inevitable  Sherrys.  Both  debutantes 
spent  the  year  in  Europe  together 
and  give  every  promise  of  being  suc- 
cesses in  their  respective  climes. 

There  is  something  about  the 
breathless  excitement  of  a  debut  ball, 
however,  we  thoroughly  advocate. 
No  matter  how  very  swank  the  gar- 
den party  or  reception,  it  lacks  the 
picturesque  beauty  of  the  time  hon- 
ored "bal.  From  the  days  of  the  car- 
riage callers,  when  prancing  horses 
deposited  the  lovely  ladies  and  mel- 
ancholy youths  to  the  present  day  of 
limousines  and  roadsters  and  their 
modern  cargo,  one  finds  the  same 
thrilling  gayness  connected  to  the  all 
night  emerging  of  a  young  damozel 
into  the  sublime  circle.  November 
17th  and  the  much  coveted  bits  of 
cardboard  bearing  that  date  which 
will  be  sprinkled  among  the  Reigning 
Dynasty  will  of  course  bring  us  again 
for  the  third  time  to  El  Palomar,  when 
Mrs.  Tobin  Clark  will  present  her 
daughter  Agnes  to  the  expectant 
world.  The  Clark  debuts  manage  al- 
ways to  have  an  international  snack, 
for  in  the  case  of  Mary  and  Patricia 
the  first  two  recruits  and  now  in  the 
case  of  Agnes  the  youngest,  Richard 
Tobin,  Esq.  has  come  from  The  Hague 


for  the  express  purpose  of  being  at  the 
ball  and  remaining  long  enough  to 
give  a  very  smart  dance  at  the  Bo- 
hemian Club  before  departing,  there- 
by launching  the  host  of  parties  that 
ensue  in  honor  of  the  deb  In  like  man- 
ner their  aunt,  Vlrs.  Charles  Raoul- 
Duval  and  cousin  Madeline  Raoul- 
Duval  come  from  Paris  and  from  New 
York  come  Mrs.  Clement  Tobin  and 
her  daughter  Aileen.  For  the  brief 
hours  of  one  fleeting  night  these  dis- 
tances seem  perhaps  rather  great  but 
the  prevailing  charm  and  distinction 
Mrs.  Clark  achieves  in  debuts  make 
it  worth  while.  A  large  pavilion  is 
used  for  the  dancing,  one  time,  with 
its  canopy  of  stars  made  to  represent 
a  Persian  garden  and  another  time 
with  cypress  trees,  fountains  and 
strings  of  jeweled  lights,  it  is  reminis- 
cent of  a  Venetian  fete.    .   .   . 

ONE  wonders  as  one  views  the  very 
soigne  figureof  Mrs.  Harry  Hill, 
lunching  and  dining,  here  and  there, 
with  Mrs.  Frederick  Peabody  (Gladys 
Quarre)  which  is  the  aunt  and  which 
is  the  niece?  Each  time  Mrs.  Hill  re- 
turns from  Europe,  as  she  did  recently, 
she  appears  with  even  more  of  the 
subtle  French  distinction  in  the  way 
of  dress.  As  her  trips  to  Europe  are 
unending,  her  chic  has  arrived  to  the 
point  there  "isn't  any  more."  The 
Peabodys  are  Mrs.  Hill's  house  guests 
at  the  moment  and  much  entertaining 
is  taking  place  for  them.  It  was  in 
Mrs.  Hill  s  exquisite  French  salon 
that  the  former  Gladys  Quarre  and 
Fred  Peabody  were  married  last  year. 
t    t    \ 

THE  first  of  the  Junior  League 
fashion  shows  took  place  at  the 
Mark  Hopkins  recently  and  the  tea 
tables  were  filled  with  smart  numbers 
of  the  Reigning  Dynasty,  who  lent  as 
much  atmosphere  with  their  delight- 
ful costumes  as  the  models  w  ho  tripped 
the  boards.  Mrs.  Henry  Monteagle, 
Mrs.  Henry  Stevenson,  Mrs.  David 
Conrad,  Mrs.  George  Hearst.  Miss 
Doris  Schmieden,  Miss  Barbara  Bal- 
lou.  Miss  Harriet  Wirtner,  Miss 
Helene  Lundborg  and  Mrs.  Jerd  Sul- 
livan were  the  models.  The  latter  is 
as  aristocratic  and  distinguished  as 
she  gracefully  drifts  across  the  room 
as — shall  we  say  a  professional.  For 
indeed  those  of  the  latter  category 
many  times  succeed,  where  the  origi- 
nal fails.  The  new  hotel  on  the  hill 
continues  to  gain  in  popularity  with 
the  dynasty  who  are  using  its  facil- 
ities more  and  more  for  their  formal 
and  informal  functions. 


WITH  very  little  ado  the  Daniel 
JacklingsandtheJohnMcGees 
decided  to  venture  forth  to  see  the 
world.  They  had  been  home  for  sev- 
eral weeks,  and,  well,  that  palls  on 
every  one  in  time.  Mr.  Raymond 
Armsby  and  Mr.  Charles  Hayden 
have  joined  them  and  the  entire  group 
sailed  for  the  Orient  where  they  will 
loiter  and  stroll,  arriving  in  India  for 
Christmas.  Eventually  they  will  reach 
Paris  and  then  on  to  the  Riviera 
where  all  the  smart  New  York  and 
Continental  world  is  summering. 
«    «    « 

THERE  have  been  several  betroth- 
als of  great  importance  which 
have  momentarily  snatched  from  the 
debs  the  entire  spotlight.  Lovely,  pa- 
trician Harriet  W'irtner,  who  is  noted 
in  society  for  her  gracious  charm,  will 
become  the  bride  of  Noble  Hueter  in 
the  spring,  and  Phyllis  Fay  announced 
her  betrothal  the  same  week  to  Arthur 
Stevenson.  One  blonde,  the  other 
brunette;  both  are  among  the  Junior 
League's  most  beautiful  girls,  and  of 
course  the  tea  cups  have  been  buzzing 
with  excitement  ever  since.  Another 
engagement  of  interest  was  that  of 
Helen  Foster  to  Mr.  Hans  Koebig,  of 
Los  Angeles.  A  quiet  wedding  in  De- 
cember will  take  place  owing  to  the 
recent  death  of  Mrs.  Walter  Foster. 
The  bride-elect  is  the  sister  of  that 
exceedingly  attractive  person,  Blair 
Foster,  who  with  his  charming  bride 
(Edna  Christenson)  returned  from 
honeymooning  in  Europe  a  few  months 
ago  and  has  now  moved  to  Burlin- 
gamf'. 

«    «    « 

MISS  Barbara  Harrison,  who 
is  visiting  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Robert 
Henderson  in  Burlingame,  was  the 
guest  of  honor  at  a  dinner  given  re- 
cently by  Mrs.  Irwin  Crocker  at  her 
apartment  at  the  Hotel  St.  Francis. 
Miss  Harrison  will  be  here  only  for  a 
short  time,  and  then  will  return  to 
Washington  to  join  her  sister,  Mrs. 
Christian  Gross,  and  Mr.  Gross.  Miss 
Harrison  has  lived  in  Paris  for  the  last 
few  years  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gross 
have  also  made  their  home  there. 
They  recently  returned  to  Washing- 
ton. Miss  Harrison  passed  the  greater 
part  of  her  childhood  in  California 
following  the  death  of  her  mother,  the 
former  Miss  Mary  Crocker.  She  is  a 
niece  of  Mr.  Templeton  Crocker,  and 
is  a  granddaughter  of  the  late  Colonel 
and  Mrs.  Fred  Crocker.  The  guests  at 
the  dinner  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John 

(O)ntinucd  on  Page  ji) 


The   San   Franciscan 

120  1 


As  Seen  By  Her 

Casual  Explorations  Mainly  in  the  Shops 


HERE  it  is  only  the  first  of  No- 
vember with  the  Big  Game 
yet  two  weeks  away  ....  and 
why  should  I  be  thinking  of  Christ- 
mas doodads  and  what  to  give  father 
and  mother  ....  when  I  never  do  my 
Christmas  shopping  until  twenty- 
four  hours  before  it  happens.  It  must 
be  the  subtle  influence  of  good  show- 
manship. What  with  the  White  House 
displaying  the  grandest  gifts  from 
"six  continents  and  seven  seas"  and 
Shreves,  with  its  chaste  suggestion 
"that  orders  for  greeting  cards  should 
be  placed  at  once,"  ....  no  wonder 
my  casual  explorations  turned  into  a 
search  for  holiaay  exchanges. 
%    i    t 

THE  question  is,  which  you  would 
rather  have  first  ....  the  places 
directly  downtown  where  I  made  some 
of  my  best  discoveries  or  those  which 
were  more  difficult  to  reach  but  were 
well  worth  the  trouble  of  ferreting 
out.  The  Swedish  Applied  Arts,  for 
instance.  It  is  located  in  an  old  house 
at  2519  Webster  near  Jackson  under 
under  the  direction  of  Axel  Gravan- 
der.  The  large  living  room  on  the 
second  floor  is  devoted  to  the  shop. 
What  took  my  special  fancy  among 
the  many  things  displayed  in  the 
cases,  were  the  droll  wood  carvings 
done  by  Trigger  of  the  Swedish  fisher 
folk  and  coast  farmers.  Mr.  Gravan- 
der  said  that  whenever  he  feels  blue 
he  looks  at  these  little  figures  and 
they  cheer  him  wonderfully.  Certainly 
they  seemed  thejolliest  sort  of  remedy 
to  me.  There  are,  too,  some  very  beau- 
tiful Swedish  smoked  glass,  bottles, 
goblets,  vases  and  what  not ;  a  vast 
amount  of  lovely  linens,  all  of  course, 
hand-woven,  and  an  enchanting  dis- 
play of  Swedish  and  Danish  pewter 
and  brass,  at  prices  which  are  ab- 
surdly low. 

WHY  I  should  have  picked  lamp 
shades  out  of  all  the  hundreds 
and  hundreds  of  beautiful  things  the 
City  of  Paris  is  showing  would  be  dif- 
ficult to  answer.  For  one  thing  it  must 
have  been  the  clever  way  they  were 
displayed.  I  thought  at  first  the  shades 
were  made  of  a  new  batik  paper  .... 
but,  no,  on  closer  inspection  the  ma- 
terial proved  to  be  a  w  axed  linen.  The 
effect  of  the  gay  floral  patterns  under 
light  is  delightful,  especially  against  a 
neutral  wall.  The  shades  are  eight  and 
twelve  inches  high,   priced  at   $4.50 


By  Soigne 

and  $7.50,  fold  very  compactly  into  a 
small   box   and   make   an   admirable 
gift  for  a  person  who  travels  much,  or 
a  girl  who  is  away  at  school. 
«    t    \ 

NOT  so  far  out  and  quite  easy  of 
access,  is  the  Peasant  Cottage 
at  1428  Polk  Street.  There  was  a  fire 
basket  in  the  window  which  1  thought 
a  lovely  color  and  so  sturdy,  as  a  fire 
basket  ought  to  be,  which  proved  to 
be  the  handicraft  of  the  North  Caro- 
lina mountaineers.  There  are  two 
shapes,  both  made  of  split  oak  and 
are  priced  from  $4.00  up.  The  master 
of  the  cottage  also  confided  that  he 
had  a  shipment  of  cunning  footstools 
on  the  U'ay  from  North  Carolina.  Odd 
pieces  of  hooked  rugs  are  gathered  up 
in  the  mountain  homes  and  the  stools 
are  made  to  fit  the  top.  The  Peasant 
Cottage  had  a  few  of  them  earlier  this 
year,  which  customers  snapped  up 
immediately.  They  vary  in  price  from 
$4.00  to  $10.00. 

STILL  on  the  subject  of  wood  bas- 
kets, I  found  a  stunning  one  at 
Harry  Dixon's.  He  has  taken  the  large 
split  bamboo  baskets  and  had  them 
colored  with  analine  dyes.  The  one  he 
showed  me  was  a  glorious  Padre 
brown  interspersed  with  shadings  of 
the  natural  bamboo.  Then  to  make 
the  basket  both  utilitarian  and  dec- 
orative ....  he  has  added  feet,  cor- 
ners and  handles  of  hammered  cop- 
per. The  basket  is  not  as  heavy  as  an 
all  metal  one  and  easily  carried. 

Next  door  to  Harry  Dixon's  is  the 
Junior  League  Shop.  For  those  who 
would  like  greeting  cards  this  year 
which  are  more  friendly  than  the 
usual  printed-to-pattern  kind,  there 
is  an  excellent  collection  of  California 
etchings  by  John  StoU. 
«    «    « 

What's  most  amusing  and  de- 
lightful about  exploring  is  tea 
along  about  four  o'clock.  The  diffi- 
culty is  to  decide  whether  one  should 
go  smart  and  have  it  on  top  of  the  hill 
at  the  Mark  Hopkins,  where  you  can 
watch  the  twilight  slip  down  over  the 
city,  or  go  Bohemian  on  the  lesser 
levels.  The  Gypsy  Tea  Room  at  41 
Grant  Avenue  was  suggested  for  the 
latter.  The  lure  here  is  having  your 
fortune  told  in  tea  leaves.  This  1 
found  not  so  impressive,  not  nearly  so 
much  so  as,  since  I  had  come  off  with- 


out cigarettes,  I  found  a  box  of  my 
particular  brand  on  the  table  to  greet 
me.  t    t    "i 

AND  why  haven't  I  ever  discov- 
ered before  that  as  a  raconteur 
of  droll  stories,  Mr.  George,  the  dec- 
orator, is  simply  priceless.  It  must  be 
such  fun  to  have  him  do  a  house.  Mr. 
Jones,  the  other  half  of  the  firm  of 
Jones  and  George,  is  now  in  the  East 
superintending  the  shipment  of 
antiques,  while  Mr.  George  stays  at 
home  and  wonders  what  he  will  do 
with  them  when  they  reach  here  .... 
the  firm  being  badly  in  need  of  more 
space.  There  will  be  thrilling  discov- 
eries in  store  for  you  when  they  arrive ; 
old  Dutch  silver,  old  glass  and  rare 
pieces  of  furniture  which  have  been 
in  the  possession  of  Pennsylvania- 
Dutch  farmers  these  many  genera- 
tions. 

Old  glass  and  replicas  of  old  glass 
are  everywhere,  but  none  more  lovely 
than  the  Venetian  glass  I  found  at 
Old  Venice.  I  love  glass,  but  I'm  such 
a  dud  about  it.  I  couldn't  possibly 
have  told  you  before  the  difference 
between  French,  Spanish  and  Italian. 
Venetian  Glass,  I  discovered  is  con- 
sidered a  peer  among  peers.  It  is  so 
beautifully  thin  and  translucent. 

Now  for  two  discoveries  made  in 
the  realm  of  man.  There  are 
two  shops  devoted  entirely  to  their 
welfare  which  seem  to  me  ought  to 
prove  veritable  treasure  sources  to 
sweethearts,  wives  and  mothers. 

Booker  and  Petermann,  who  have 
recently  opened  a  shoe  shop  at  352 
Post  Street  are  showing  house  sandals 
called  Samarkand,  which  certainly 
look  both  smart  and  comfortable. 
They  are  made  of  laced  leatherthongs. 
a  la  the  French  sandal  so  popular  this 
summer.  These  have  a  stout  leather 
sole,  come  in  sizes  for  both  men  and 
women  and  are  only  $5.00. 

Pete  Burn's  shop  on  the  second 
floor  at  1 0 1  Post  Street  is  proof  of  the 
old  adage  that  if  you  have  "it  "  the 
world  will  make  tracks  to  your  door. 
Pete  Burns  has  successfully  catered 
to  the  college  youth  over  in  Berkeley 
for  several  years,  and  within  the  last 
year  in  this  shop  to  the  alumni.  If  the 
women  haven't  found  this  lair  yet, 
they  should  immediately.  For  those 
who  like  scarfs  tailored,  he  has  a 
simply  swell  collection,  hot  from 
Engand  and  Scotland. 


The   San   Franciscan 

f  21  I 


fVU4M<3UMV^YS^Vttv> 


DINNER  DANCE 
By  Challis  Silvay. 

Ha! 

And  here  are 

the  incorrigible  rumps 

of  the  nouveau  riche 

gesturing 

in  ecstatic  devotion 

to  the  bewildered  spirit 

of  Terpsichore !  .   .   .   . 

Once  more  is  Corot 

marred  by  Cezanne !  .  .  .  . 


The   San   Franciscan 

ff  22  1 


Books  of  the  Month 

Some  Critical  Comment  on  Recent  Publications 


PROBABLY  Chaliapin's  greatest 
secret  as  an  artist  of  singing  and 
acting  is  liis  ability  to  limit  power 
with  subtlety.  For  years  he  has  been 
accused  of  losing  his  voice  simply 
because  he  did  not  bellow  at  the  top 
of  it.  Such  misunderstanding  is  merely 
the  price  of  genius.  Even  today  no- 
body can  touch  him  for  vocal  power, 
as  is  seen  in  certain  of  his  concerts 
when  he  lets  himself  go,  but  in  his 
great  operatic  characterisation  he 
has  learned  that  artistic  restraint 
without  which  he  would  merely  be  a 
man  with  a  loud  voice. 

In  his  autobiography,  Pages  From 
My  Life,  the  man  with  the  loud  voice 
and  the  great  artist  are  both  present. 
After  we  had  taken  into  account  that 
famous  myth,  Russian  frankness, 
which  per  se  is  no  more  significant 
than  English  reserve,  we  had  the  un- 
comfortable feeling  that  Chaliapin's 
descriptions  of  his  life  and  conquests 
were  just  about  the  sort  of  thing  one 
would  expect  from  Henry  Ford,  the 
Prince  of  Wales  or  any  other  mate- 
rially successful  man.  There  seemed  a 
great  many  facts  and  very  little  re- 
flection of  reality,  quite  the  opposite 
from  Stanislavsky's  sensitive  account 
of  his  life  as  an  artist.  Not  that  the 
facts  are  uninteresting.  On  the  con- 
trary they  provide  fascinatingglimpses 
of  the  great  baritone's  varied  career, 
and  you  can  argue  that  he  does  not 
need  to  expose  the  secrets  of  his  life 
when  his  actions  proclaim  them  so 
eloquently.  After  all  what  we  value 
even  in  Rousseau's  Confessions  is  not 
his  explanations  of  himself  but  his 
description  of  the  actions  that  caused 
them. 

Just  the  same  we  hoped  to  discover 
in  Pages  From  My  Life  a  fragment  of 
Chaliapin's  genius  and  argued  some- 
what ingenuously  that  being  a  great 
actor  he  should  also  be  a  great  writer. 
That  he  did  not  fail  us  seems  to  prove 
that  dreams  come  true  after  all.  Cer- 
tain pages  are  as  profound  as  one 
could  wish  from  the  creator  of  Boris 
Goudonov  or  Mefistofele,  and  the 
book  ends  with  a  disturbingly  beauti- 
ful passage  in  which  the  man  and  the 
artist  has  let  loose  his  splendid  re- 
serves of  venom  and  praise,  despair 
and  hope,  power  and  subtlety. 
Paces  From  My  Life 
by  Feodor  Ivanovitch  Chaliapin. 
(Harpers.  $^.oo) 


By  Joseph  Henderson 

}UST  when  we  were  thinking  of  com- 
posing a  very  nice  little  essay  for 
the  Atlantic  Monthly  on  the  recent 
decline  of  American  criticism,  Mr. 
Elmer  Davis  published  Show  Win- 
dow, an  anthology  of  his  latest  articles, 
and  changed  our  plans  abruptly. 
Furthermore  we  suspect  that  our  very 
nice  little  essay  will  never  be  written 
during  Mr.  Davis'  lifetime.  Like  H. 
L.  Mencken  his  criticism  is  the  elastic 
kind  which  covers  politics,  literature, 
religion  and  the  American  Scene  in 
general,  but  he  would  be  dreadfully 
shocked  to  hear  himself  compared  in 
any  way  with  the  writer  of  Prejudices. 
In  his  own  words,  "I  am  as  unable  to 
believe  in  the  verbal  inspiration  of 
H.  L.  Mencken  as  in  that  of  Calvin 
Coolidge.  "  In  other  words  he  is  un- 
orthodox any  way  you  look  at  it. 

In  spite  of  this  very  welcome  eman- 
cipation Mr.  Davis  has  a  few  prej- 
udices of  his  own,  notably  contem- 
porary literature,  Mayor  Thompson, 
Indiana,  and  Bishop  Manning.  The 
Age  of  Impotence  is  an  extremely  bril- 
liant attack  on  literature  of  the  James 
Joyce-AldousHuxely  schools.  It  con- 
tains, at  its  best,  the  very  last  word  in 
literary  criticism  and,  at  its  worst,  is 
a  little  too  facilely  general.  It  de- 
serves the  attention  if  not  the  belief 
of  every  astute  reader.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  is  impossible  not  to  believe 
Have  Faith  in  Indiana,  Portrait  of  a 
Cleric,  and  Portrait  of  an  Elected  Per- 
son. Of  their  kind  they  are  simply 
perfect.  With  a  remarkable  propen- 
sity for  antithesis,  observation,  eru- 
dition and  wit,  Mr.  Davis  has  deliv- 
ered a  magnificently  subtle  wallop 
(but  nevertheless  a  wallop)  at  several 
very  prominent  American  persons 
and  institutions. 

There  are  other  essays,  some  a  little 
too  anxious  to  please  or  instruct,  and 
others  which  smell  rather  strongly  of 
nevxspaper  ink,  but  we  recommend 
them  all  if  only  for  the  salutary  effect 
they  ought  to  have  on  dinner-table 
conversation  this  winter. 
Show    Window,    by    Elmer    Davis 

(Dav.  $2. so). 

«    «    « 

INTELLECTUAL  and  artistic  fashions, 
however  widely  spread,  are  at  bot- 
tom racial  or  national.  Bolshevism 
belongs  to  Russia,  Symbolistic  poetry 
to  France,  Christian  Science  to 
America  and,  in  spite  of  its  thousands 
of  votaries  all  over  the  world,  psycho- 


analysis, as  originally  propounded  by 
Freud  and  Jung,  is  basically  German. 
It  follows  somewhat  logically,  per- 
haps, that  the  finest  examples  of 
Freudian  literature  should  come  from 
German  and  Austrian  writers,  but 
logical  or  not  it  seems  to  us  to  be  the 
case.  Thomas  Mann  and  Arthur 
Schnitzler  have  already  indicated  this 
and  Stefan  Zweig  confirms  it  as  much 
as  they. 

Mr.  Zweig's  Conflicts  is  a  volume  of 
three  short  stories,  each  one  based  on 
a  case  of  abnormal  psychology.  That 
sounds  forbidding  as  usual  but  we 
assure  you  that  these  stories  are 
naturally  conceived,  beautifully  done 
and  interesting  to  read.  What  differ- 
entiates Mr.  Zweig  from  most  of  his 
American,  French  and  English  con- 
temporaries is  that  he  has  fearlessly 
observed  and  recreated  certain  un- 
usual manifestations  of  life  whereas 
they  have  spent  their  time  reading 
Freud's  text  books.  As  a  result,  the 
three  stories  in  Conflicts  have  nothing 
to  analyze,  instruct,  praise  or  deplore. 
They  are  merely  superb  fiction. 
Conflicts,  by  Stefan  Zweig.  (Viking 

Press) . 

WE  expended  considerable  effort 
and  exhausted  the  patience  of 
every  bookseller  in  town  trying  to 
find  a  smart,  worldly,  amusing  (and 
intelligent)  little  novel  to  pass  on  to 
our  readers.  Alas  we  were  unsuccess- 
ful, and  when  this  issue  goes  to  press 
Hemingway's  The  Sun  Also  Rises, 
Giradoux's  Bella,  and  Pettit  s  Son  of 
the  Grand  Eunuch  are  still  the  best  of 
their  kind  the  year  has  produced.  By 
next  month  we  promise  to  round  up  a 
new  bit  of  worthwhile  sophistication; 
but  in  the  meantime,  just  to  be  per- 
verse, we  are  going  to  recommend  the 
most  naive,  pastoral  book  that  has 
come  out  of  France  since  George 
Sand  quit  writing.  It  is  called  The 
End  of  a  World  and  Claude  Anet  is  its 
author.  It  is  the  simple  story  of  a 
Cro-Magnon  youth  (of  course  you 
knew  that  the  Cro-Magnons  lived  at 
the  end  of  the  Reindeer  Age)  who 
comes  up  against  the  forward  march 
of  evolution  with  a  loud  impact. 
Although  there  is  plenty  of  very  nice 
romance  and  sex,  M.  Anet's  real 
object  is  to  recreate  imaginatively 
the  superior  life  and  culture  of  an 
extinct  race  of  men.  With  the  help  of 
Sir  James  Frazer,  Freud,  archeology 

'Continued  on  Page  17) 


The   San    Franciscan 

123  1 


Greta  Garbo 


Photograph  by  Arnold  Ccnthe,  N.  Y. 


Norse  beauty  of  the  screen,  who  has  recently  completed  her  portrayal  of  Anna 
Karenina  in  the  picturization  of  Tolstoy's  classic  which  will  be  presented  to  the 
moving  picture  public  as  "Love." 


The   San   Franciscan 

[24] 


Titans 

The  Powers  That  Direct  the  Destiny  of  San  Francisco 

Charles  Peter  Weeks 


B\  ZoE  A.  Battu 


UPON  these  pages  have  been 
sung  the  praises  of  captains 
of  industry,  of  hankers,  ship- 
ping men,  manufacturers,  the  heads 
of  great  corporations.  Splendid  men 
they  are,  whose  financial  vision  and 
commercial  acumen  are  broadening 
and  strengthening  the  foundations 
upon  which  a  great  city  may  rise  to 
further  greatness. 

Now  we  come  to  tell  the  tale  of 
quite  a  different  sort  of  man.  of  one. 
Charles  Peter  Weeks,  the  architect. 
Other  men  deal  in  steel  and  stone, 
cargoes  and  ships,  dollars  and  com- 
modities largely  to  the  end  of  build- 
ing an  empire  and  great  enterprises 
that  contribute  to  the  wealth  of  the 
people.  Charles  Peter  W  eeks  deals  in 
steel  and  stone  primarily,  that  the  San 
Francisco  tradition  of  a  proud  and 
beautiful  city  may  be  preserved  and 
given  new  vitality. 

And  surely  this  is  an  end  worthy  to 
be  noted,  when  it  has  to  do  w ith  the 
things  that  have  made  San  Francisco 
a  city  loved  by  all  w  ho  have  no  ear  for 
the  platitudes  of  standardization,  but 
a  sensitive  ear  and  fluent  tongue  for 
the  fine  language  of  beauty  and  the 
exquisite  art  of  good  living.  Does  not 
the  charm  of  this  city  lie.  to  a  great 
extent  in  her  hills,  crow  ned  by  homes 
and  buildings  of  benign  and  lordly 
majesty  We  are  an  hospitable,  gay 
and  pleasure  loving  people,  but  these 
traits  come  with  easy  and  lovely  non- 
chalance to  those  who  dwell  upon 
such  hills  above  such  a  glorious  bay 

And  w  hat  shall  it  profit  this  city,  if 
in  becoming  great  in  the  w  ays  of  uni- 
formity and  modernity,  she  loses  the 
gracious  dignity  of  an  indi\iduality 
that  is  infinitely  beyond  and  above 
the  delusion  of  mere  quantity  Noth- 
ing— nothing!  But  she  shall  not  lose 
it — at  least  not  w  hile  we  have  in  our 
midst  such  men  as  Charles  Peter 
Weeks.  Let  us  do  our  architects  honor. 

Charles  Peter  tells  us.  by  way  of 
details,  that  he  w  as  not  born  in  San 
Francisco,  but  in  Ohio.  This  circum- 
stance of  his  birth  w  as,  of  course  more 
or  less  of  a  social  error,  for  w  hich  he 
cannot  be  held  entirely  responsible. 
He  makes  amends  for  it  by  being  a 
graduate  of  L'Ecole  des  Beaux  Arts 
Paris  and  through  the  fact  that  he  has 


lived  and  worked  among  us  for  some 
twenty-seven  years.  It  can  also  be 
noted  to  Week's  vast  credit  that  a 
hobby  from  which  he  derives  great 
enjoyment  is  that  of  sketching. 

He  tells  us  also  that  he  came  to 
California  originally  as  the  associate 
and  chief  designer  of  John  Galen 
Howard,  who  had  been  called  to  the 
University  of  California  to  supervise 
the  architectural  development  of  its 
campus  and  head  its  school  of  Archi- 
tecture. \\  eeks  continued  for  several 
years  as  the  associate  of  Howard  and 
thus  is  identified  with  the  planning 
and  construction  of  the  more  impor- 
tant uni\ersity  buildings,  built  from 
the  Hearst  endow  ments.  In  a  compe- 
tition held  some  years  ago  for  designs 
on  the  State  Library  Building  and  a 
state  office  building  in  Sacramento, 
\V  eeks  produced  the  chosen  designs. 
These  competitions  w  ere  nation  w  ide. 
attracting  the  finest  architectural  skill 
of  the  country.  He  likewise  was  the 
w  inner  of  the  competition  for  the  Aus- 
tralian Parliament  Building. 


CHARLES  Peter  Weeks  runs  true 
to  the  form  of  the  architectural 
profession  in  that  he  has  no  end  of 
ideas  on  city  planning,  the  proper  pro- 
visions for  and  suitable  disposal  of 
park  and  playground  space,  monu- 
ments, museums,  public  buildings 
and  such  like  heritages  to  future  gen- 
erations It  would  take  considerably 
more  space  than  we  have  here  to  go 
into  all  these  things,  but  let  it  be  said 
in  the  interests  of  proper  presenta- 
tion of  opera,  that  Weeks  considers  a 
new  opera  house  something  in  the 
nature  of  an  imperative  necessity, 
rather  than  a  questionable  luxury  to 
be  procrastinated  over. 

i    i    « 

Within  the  last  dozen  years  or  so. 
Weeks  has  been  identified  in  shaping 
the  course  of  new  tide  that  has  def- 
initely set  in  upon  the  hills  in  the 
northwestern  part  of  the  city  and  the 
Pacific  Heights  area.  This  district  so 
long  given  over  to  the  homes  of  those 
w ho  ha\e  headed  the  destinies  of  San 
Francisco — financial,  commercial,  ar- 


tistic and  otherwise,  becomes  with 
the  increase  of  population  more  valu- 
able. Individual  building  lots,  com- 
manding a  marine  view  are  worth  the 
proverbial  kings  ransom.  It  is  far  too 
costly  for  one  family  to  occupy  one 
lone  house  upon  them — a  lamentable 
fact  in  one  light,  since  it  marks  the 
passing  of  a  glamorous  era. 

W  e  must,  however,  bow  to  the  in- 
evitability of  time  and  change  But 
what  is  happening  now?  Walking 
about  Nob  Hill,  we  see  upon  one  cor- 
ner, opposite  a  famous  hotel,  the  tow- 
ering mass  of  an  apartment  house; 
upon  another  corner  is  a  recently 
completed  hotel ;  farther  up  the  street 
are  two  more  apartment  houses.  Pro- 
ceeding along  California  Street.  Wash- 
ington, Green,  Pacific,  there  are  more 
of  these  structures,  containing  not  the 
home  of  one  family  but  of  many.  How 
they  change  the  skyline  of  San  Fran- 
cisco! Seen  from  a  ship,  entering  the 
harbor,  they  seem  to  spring  from  the 
hills,  to  rise  in  lithe  strength  like  sheer 
slender  shafts.  There  is  something 
haughty  about  them,  something  mys- 
tical, even  as  they  stand  swathed  in 
fogs,  or  etched  sharply  against  the 
skies, in  crystal  sunlight. 

;    i    i 

THESE  proud  and  stately  towers 
are  the  work  of  Charles  \\  eeks. 
He  might  have  built  them  square, 
squat,  prosaic  masses  Instead  he 
builds  them  in  the  graceful  fashion  of 
young  giants.  This  is  his  contribution 
to  the  end  that  a  city  so  long  noted 
for  its  beauty,  may  still  have  a  com- 
manding beauty  even  though  an  ol 
order  passes  and  is  no  more. 

Looking  into  the  future,  for  every 
architect  is  a  fantastical  futurist, 
whose  visions  run  to  cities  of  fearful 
beauty.  Weeks  prophesies  the  day 
when  San  Francisco's  hills  will  be 
completely  covered  w  ith  these  shafts 
of  steel  and  stone.  What  a  city  to 
come  upon'  The  skyline  of  New  "'I'ork 
w  ith  its  masses  upon  masses  of  sky- 
scrapers. London  Paris — impressive, 
yes.  But  San  Francisco,  ah — a  city  of 
great  hills,  topped  by  towers  that 
speak  with  the  sun  and  the  clouds. 
This  is  the  vision  of  a  city  mighty, 
terrible,  magnificent! 


The   San   Franciscan 

{2M 


Alta  Street,  San  Francisco,  By  Howard  Simon 


The   San 


Franciscan 

[26  1 


Etude  In  Ugliness 

(Continued  from  Page  16) 

fleeted,  and  he  could  not  help  think- 
ing of  her. 

One  afternoon  Stephen  encountered 
Eva  at  the  rain  barrel. 

"I  dropped  my  ring  in  the  barrel," 
she  said  pressing  against  the  lilac 
bushes. 

'Til  get  it  out  for  you,"  he  offered. 
"Will  you?"  Her  eyes  fluttered."! 
got  to  get  it." 

"Sure.  I'll  fish  it  out." 

"Will  you  get  it  now?"  she  asked 
shyly. 

"I'll  get  it  some  time  today  and 
give  it  to  you  tomorrow." 

"Thanks  ever  so  much.  " 

"You're  welcome.  " 

She  hesitated.  "I'm  sorry  to  trouble 
you" 

Stephen  mumbled  something  in 
answer  and  watched  her  disappear 
around  the  corner  of  the  house. 

Rain  barrels  suddenly  became  sig- 
nificantly romantic  and  beautiful  in 
Stephen's  eyes.  That  same  evening  he 
stood  on  the  hallowed  spot  tremul- 
ously happy  and  expectant.  Eva's 
ring  was  clasped  tight  in  his  palm. 
The  damp  wood  of  the  barrel  smelled 
innocently  sweet  and  the  perfume  of 
the  lilacs  was  a  delicate  pain.  As  he 
tried  to  define  just  what  it  was  in  the 
perfume  of  the  lilacs  that  made  him 
feel  so  strange  he  saw  a  white 
figure  approaching.  His  heart  pounded 
heavily,  painfully.  It  was  Eva. 

"Did  you  get  it?  "  she  asked  ner- 
vously. 

"Yes.  Here  it  is.  "  He  dropped  the 
ring  into  her  extended  palm. 

"1  thought  it  was  better  to  get  it 
tonight.  If  my  mother  knew  I  lost  it 
she  would  scold  me.  " 

Stephen  eyed  her  suspiciously. 
"Maybe  you  came  tonight  because 
you  were  afraid  I'd  keep  the  ring. 
Maybe  you  thought  I'd,"  he  choked. 
"I'd  steal  it." 

"Gee,  no.  You're  crazy.  I  kneu'  you 
wouldn't.  " 

"How  did  you  know  I  wouldn't^  ' 
he  asked  gloomily. 

"Because — I  don't  know — because 
I  like  you.  Everybody  likes  you,"  she 
continued. 

"Your  father  thinks  I'm  lazy."  He 
shuffled  his  feet. 

"He  thinks  everybody  is  lazy,"  she 
assured  him. 

"Nobody  likes  me,  but  so  long  as 
you  like  me  it's  alright."  He  hesitated 
and  fastened  his  eyes  on  her  fair 
bowed  head.  "Cause  I  like  you,  see. 

She  drew  nearer  to  him.  "I  like  to 
play  with  the  water,  don't  you?"  She 


dipped  her  fingers  into  the  rain  barrel. 
Stephen  did  likewise.  She  was  dan- 
gerously near.  She  came  nearer. 
Stephen  turned  his  face  away  and  a 
light  chaste  kiss  meant  for  his  lips  fell 
on  his  throat.  He  shuddered  and 
turned  to  her  but  she  eluded  him  and 
vanished  around  a  corner  of  the  house. 
«    «    « 

SEVERAL  evenings  later  Stephen  sat 
disconsolately  on  a  box  in  the 
bunkhouse,  watching  the  four  men 
who  were  busy  at  cards.  Stephen  s 
brain  was  whirling  with  thoughts  of 
Eva — Elaine,  Eva  and  other  women, 
women  in  books,  in  pictures,  in 
dreams,  women  without  end.  He  was 
restless  and  confused. 

"What  are  you  thinking  about, 
kid?"  one  of  the  men  asked. 

"Nothing."  He  shook  his  head. 
"Just  nothing.  " 

"Aw,  come  on,  tell  us  about  it," 
they  urged. 

"Jesus,  I'm  not  happy.  That's  what 
I  was  thinking  about.  I'm  not  happy" 

The  men  grimaced.  They  did  not 
answer  him.  They  did  not  know  what 
to  say. 

"Tell  me  about  the  city,  will  you?" 
Stephen  asked. 

"What  do  you  want  to  know?  " 

"Everything.  " 

"Well,"  one  of  them  began  awk- 
wardly, "it's  a  big  place.  There's  a 
lot  of  noise,  roaring  streets  and  clang- 
ing cars,  thousands  of  automobiles, 
tall  buildings,  stores,  whole  streets 
full  of  stores.  There's  trains  rushing  in 
and  out  all  day  and  all  night.  People 
rush  about  like  it  was  a  matter  of  life 
or  death.  There's  parks  where  beggars 
sit  and  kids  go  to  get  a  breath  of  fresh 
air,  and  there's  hospitals.  Say  you 
oughta  see  the  new  county  hospital 
they've  got.  It's  just  one  building 
after  another  all  attached  together, 
with  glass  halls  so  the  nurses  and  doc- 
tors can  run  to  and  fro  without  hav- 
ing to  go  out  in  the  air.  God,  there's 
thousands  of  rooms  in  it  filled  with 
the  sick  and  dying  paupers." 

Stephen  shivered. 

"You  better  get  that  city  idea  out 
of  your  head.  It's  no  place  for  a  kid 
like  you." 

"But  I  can't  stand  it  here — always." 

The  men  shrugged  their  shoulders 
and  went  back  to  their  cards,  while 
Stephen  again  fell  into  the  gloomy 
morass  of  his  thoughts. 

There  was  an  inner  voice  that  cried 
to  Stephen  in  ahighhysterical  tone:"I 
don't  want  to  work — I  don't  want  to 
work  hard — I  don't  want  to  work  at 
all.  There's  a  rusty  rifle  in  the  corner. 
Maybe  one  works  in  the  grave  fight- 
ing off  the  worms.  There's  no  use 
working.  There's  no  use  trying.  Isn't 


the  ugliest  thing  in  the  w  rold  always 
waiting  at  the  end^  "Your  mother 
died,  so  you  know  how  it  is.  Die  now 
and  get  it  over  with.  The  rest  of  the 
people  are  crazy.  They  forget  they 
have  to  die.  Eva  is  crazy.  She  worries 
about  a  ring.  She  forgets  she  has  to 
die.  The  world  is  funny.  It  is.  not 
good,  no,  it  is  not  good." 
«    ?    ¥ 

MORNiNG,  day,  night.  Rising, 
working,  sleeping.  The  season 
was  passing  but  it  would  come  again. 
A  huge  misery  w.as  swell ing  and  swell- 
ing within  Stephen's  head.  The  road 
was  thick  with  red  dust.  It  would  be 
good  to  walk  down  the  road  and  never 
turn  back,  to  quit  this  part  of  the 
country  for  good.  It  w,ould  be  good  to 
walk  straight  ahead — let  everything 
go — scream  to  the  hills,  roll  in  the 
thick  red  dust  and  never  return.  Take 
the  rusty  rifle  and  be  strong.  Face 
everything  right  away  and  get  it  over 
with.  The  world  would  not  care.  The 
world  was  too  big  and  solemn  to  trifle 
with. 

A  delirium  of  doubt  and  the  dusty 
road  ever  inviting  him.  The  purple 
hills  were  big,  quiet  and  menacing. 
Eva  was  amusing  but  she  was  not 
amusing  enough  to  make  one  forget 
the  rifle  and  the  road.  Besides,  she 
had  a  sore  foot.  Her  shoe  was  cut 
because  her  foot  was  sore  and  swol- 
len. It  was  not  pretty. 

Which  day  should  it  be? 

At  last  the  twilight  road  and  the 
darkness  gathering  fast.  The  autum- 
nal darkness.  Curious  shadows  lurked 
behind  each  bush  and  tree.  Behind 
the  purple  hills  the  sky  was  gloriously 
crimson.  The  rusty  rifle  gritted  un- 
pleasantly against  theskin  of  Stephen's 
hand.  It  was  heavy.  It  would  be  good 
to  run  fast  and  to  scream,  louder  and 
louder,  as  one  ran. 

But  it  was  so  quiet.  It  was  better 
not  to  scream  for  fear  of  waking  some- 
thing. A  distant  cow-bell  sent  shivers 
of  lonesomeness  through  one  s  soul. 
Desolate.  The  w.ord  "desolate."  Just 
that  word  was  enough  to  make  life 
miserable.  How  often  he  had  heard  his 
mother  use  the  word  "desolate.  "Where 
had  she  learned  it?  She  had  never 
gone  to  school.  It  seemed  to  Stephen 
if  his  mother  had  never  used  the  word 
"desolate  "  he  would  have  been  like 
other  people. 

The  dust  was  heavy  about  his  feet. 
His  shoes  were  grey  with  it  and  the 
skin  of  his  face  was  cracked  with  dust 
and  fever  and  tears.  His  eyes  throbbed 
in  their  sockets  and  seemed  to  grow 
larger  and  larger.  There  was  no  re- 
turning and  there  was  no  new  place 
to  go.  The  muteness  of  the  landscape 
infuriated  him.  Still  he  was  glad  of 


The   San   Franciscan 

I  27  1 


the  silence.  The  moment  had  come.  It 
was  getting  dark.  If  it  was  too  dark 
he  would  run  and  go  back  and  they 
would  cry:  "Lazy.  All  women  are  the 
same.  Three  cards.  Little  Beauty. 
Eva.  Fish  my  ring  out,  my  ring,  my 
ring.  Dunce,  what  are  you  ashamed 
of?"  Elaine.  There  was  no  Elaine. 
There  was  only  a  cut  shoe  with  a 
hideous  bandag«;d  toe  bulging  out. 
The  cities  were  made  of  hospitals  and 
parks  where  beggars  sat.  The  mo- 
ment had  come! 

The  sound  of  a  discharged  rifle  dis- 
turbed the  calm  of  the  twilight  but 
the  low  purple  hills  were  not  pricked 
into  sentience  by  it. 


Books  of  the  Month 

(Continued  from  Page  zi) 

and  his  ov\n  gracious  style,  he  has 
done  extraordinarily  well  and  the 
volume  is  charmingly  decorated  with 
reproductions  of  primitive  drawings 
and  sculpture.  It  is  a  nice  book  to 
have  lying  around  even  if  you  havn't 
time  to  read  it. 

The  End  of  a  World,  by  Claude 
Anet.  (Alferd  Knopf.  $j.oo). 

i    i    « 
The  follow  ing  recent  books  are  also 

recommended: 

FICTION 

Black  Stream,  by  Nathalie  Colby. 
{Harcourt,  Brace). 

The  American  Caravan,  a  year 
book  of  American  literature.  (Mac- 
auly). 

Three  Wives,  by  Beatrice  Kean 
Seymour.  (Knof)/). 

Strange  Woman,  by  Elmer  Davis. 
(McBride). 

The  Lordly  Ones,  by  B.  H.  Leh- 
man. {Harper). 

Death  Comes  for  the  Archbishop, 
by  Willa  Cather.(KnOib/). 

The  Grandmothers,  by  Glenuay 
W'escott.  (Harpers). 

Dusty  Answer,  by  Rosamond  Leh- 
man. (Holt). 

A  Good  Woman, 
(Stokes). 

Blue   Voyage, 
(Scribner). 

GENERAL 
The  President's  Daughter,  by  Nan 

Britton.  (Elizabeth  Ann  Guild). 
Journal  of  Katherine  Mansfield. 

(Knopf). 
Land  of  the  Pilgrim's  Pride,  by 

George  Jean  Nathan. (KnOjb/). 
Circus  Parade,  bv  |im  Tullv  (A.  6" 

C.  Boni). 
Napoleon,  by  Emil  Ludwig.  (Little, 

Brown  &  Co.) 


by  Louis  Bromfield. 
bv    Conrad    Aiken. 


Sail  to  Ne%u  York 


tZ!^.^-.^-'ff- 


SISTER  SHIPS 


SS  VENEZUELA 
SS  COLOMBIA 
SS  ECUADOR 


See  MEXICO,   CENTRAL  AMERICA,  PANAMA  CANAL 
and  GAY  HAVANA,  en  route 

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there  is  a  comfortable  lower  bed  for  every  passenger.  There  is  an  orchestra  for  dancing;  deck 
games  and  sports  and  salt  water  swimming  tank. 

Costs  Less  Than  $9  a  Day 

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meals  on  steamer.  Go  East  by  Panama  Mail  and  return  by  rail  (or  the  reverse  routing  for 
$380)  for  as  little  as  J350.  (This  price  does  not  include  berth  and  meals  on  trains.)  Panama 
Mail  liners  leave  San  Francisco,  Los  .Angeles  and  New  York  approximately  every  ai  days. 
Next  sailings  from  San  Francisco:  SS  COLOMBIA,  Nov.  26;  SS  VENEZUELA,  Dec.  17. 
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For  illuslrated  booklets  andjurther  details  ask  any  steamship  or 
ticket  agen/j  or  write  to 

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The   San   Franciscan 

f  28  1 

The  Fair  Art  of  Criticism 

(Continued  from  Page  14) 

characteristic  of  wealth  and  aristoc- 
racy. Of  all  the  arts,  music  might 
oftenest  pray  to  be  delivered  from  its 
friends,  for  they  are  the  people  who 
most  misrepresent  it  in  speech  and 
writing. 

t    »    « 

IT  cannot  be  too  frequently  or  too 
urgently  repeated  that  there  is  no 
intellectual  or  class  reason  why  the 
man  who  likes  ""The  Rosary  "  and  the 
productions  of  Mr.  Irving  Berlin, 
should  not  equally  well  comprehend 
and  enjoy  Bach  and  Beethoven;  and 
any  one  who  can  find  meaning  and 
pleasure  in  jazz  can  find  meaning  and 
pleasure  in  the  best  of  Stravinsky  and 
Schonberg.  The  only  genuine  difficulty 
encountered  by  the  plain  man  who 
would  understand  and  enjoy  good 
music  is  that  it  so  often  is  recom- 
mended by  disagreeable  people  who 
assert  violently  in  one  breath  that  it 
can  never,  never  have  any  meaning  in 
the  sense  that  a  story  or  poem  has 
meaning,  and  that  it  is  the  only  thing 
that  any  one  has  any  right  to  like. 

Granting,  then,  that  criticism  is  not 
necessarily  condemnation;  that  there 
is  a  difference  between  good  music 
and  bad;  and  that  critics  are  needed; 
What  goes  to  make  a  musical  critic, 
and  on  what  shall  he  base  his  judg- 
ment of  musical  values' 

The  critical  faculty  is  innate  in  an 
individual,  or  it  is  not.  If  it  is  not,  no 
knowledge,  experience,  training,  or 
taking  of  thought  can  achieve  it.  But 
where  it  is  present,  if  there  is  also  a 
wide  knowledge  of  music,  musicians 
and  performances,  there  is  at  least  the 
foundation  on  which  may  be  built  a 
critical  career.  If  such  an  individual 
will  resolutely  keep  his  mind  both 
open  and  humble,  he  can  judge  with 
reasonable  accuracy  as  to  the  true 
value  of  any  given  composition  no 
matter  how  strange  it  may  appear  at 
first,  and  of  any  performance  or  per- 
former. 

No  judgment  can  be  legitimate,  or 
is  worth  a  picayune,  except  of  music 
as  music,  and  of  musicians  as  musi- 
cians. Wordsworth  says  somewhere 
that  poets  do  not  write  for  poets  but 
for  men.  If  the  critic  can  remember  at 
all  times  that  he  is  writing,  not  for 
musicians,  not  for  technicians,  not  for 
devotees,  but  for  men;  and  that  he  is 
judging,  not  deviations  and  idiosyn- 
cracies  and  curiosities,  but  music  as 
music,  there  will  result  an  instant  and 
blessed  simplification  of  his  task. 

A  composition  or  a  performance  is 


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The   San   Franciscan 

129  1 


not  good  or  bad  because  it  adheres  to 
or  deviates  from  some  canonized  set 
of  rules.  Any  mere  strangeness  will 
change  all  too  quickly  by  familiarity 
to  pure  commonplace.  Has  the  per- 
formance or  the  collection  of  sounds 
presented — vitality?  is  it  alive  in  its 
own  right ^  Has  it  originality?  does  it 
stand  on  its  own  feet,  or  is  it  a  rehash 
of  old  material  and  old  effects,  how- 
ever cleverly  contrived  or  offered^  Is 
it  music?  By  this  trinity,  and  by  this 
trinity  alone,  shall  any  composition 
or  performance  ultimately  stand  or 
fall. 


Literary  Linguistics 

(Continued  from  Page  15) 

A  little  dragged  in  by  the  hair  but  de- 
cidedly better  than  the  usual  Venice, 
"bride  of  the  Adriatic"  or  "fairest 
flower  of  the  Renaissance." 

Meanwhile,  sound  workmen  simpli- 
fying the  previous  linguistic  simpli- 
fications were  obtaining  beautiful 
results.  Katherine  Mansfield's  lan- 
guage is  an  artistic  translation  oi 
what  her  characters  (for  the  most  part 
doudy  English  suburbans)  would  find 
natural  to  use.  and  her  images  grow 
out  of  and  explain  her  characters  psy- 
chologically. In  "A  Married  Man's 
Story"  a  druggist  has  poisoned  his 
wife.  Thus  the  description  of  the 
druggist  dressed  for  the  funeral :  "That 
tall  hat  so  gleaming  black  and  round 
was  covered  with  black  sealing-wax 
and  the  rest  of  him  w,as  awfully  like  a 
bottle  with  his  face  for  the  label  "Deacf/y 
Poison."  Morand,  writing  of  febrile 
twentieth  century  continentals,  pep- 
pers his  pages  with  adroit  references 
to  express  trains,  Picasso  drawings, 
Jazz,  and  Freudian  discoveries,  creat- 
ing a  sublimated  modern  world  of  his 
own  for  his  characters  to  inhabit. 
Sherwood  Anderson,  by  a  calculated 
repetition  of  common  American  words, 
sound  and  images  recreates  for  us  the 
interminable  monotony  of  the  slug- 
gish rivers,  vast  plains  and  drab  cities 
of  the  Middle  West. 

«    «    « 

FROM  the  glorious  towers  of  Joyce 
and  Proust  to  the  charming  man- 
sards of  Firbank  and  Mansfield  with 
all  the  little  Van  Vechtens,  Morleys 
and  Wylies  on  the  doorstep  there  is  a 
conscious  devotion  to  craft  from  which 
has  emerged  a  new  literary  freedom 
of  speech  adapted  to  an  age  of  movie 
reels,  ineffectual  royalty,  high  power 
evangelism  and  symphony  concerts 
plus.  Sophisticated  and  eclectic,  if 
you  like,  but  what  school  of  w riting  is 
not '}  Romantic  poetry,  Greek  Drama, 

(Cilontinued  on  page  jo) 


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The   San   Franciscan 
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Phone  P.  A.  1960 

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Headquarters  in  the  Film 

Capital  of  the  World 

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time — a  luxurious  sleeping  quarter  at  night. 
In-a-door  Beds  make  this  possible. 

Strange  people,  exotic  sights,  theatres, 
and  entertainment  are  hut  a  step  away  from 
the  door  of  this  famous  hostelry. 

Write  or  wire  us  for  reservations  in  ad- 
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quarters while  in  Southern  California. 
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HOTEL 

Hui.i.vwooo,  California 


Literary  Linguistics 

(Continued  from  Page  29) 

the  Realistic  Novel  all  are  esoteric 
products  of  a  few  chosen  artists. 

Above  all.  the  element  variety  shouts 
for  recognition.  From  this  noisy  Babel 
we  can  catch  every  kind  of  voice  from 
the  sharp  witty  accents  of  French  dip- 
lomats in  their  rococo  embassies  to 
the  richly  monotonous  r's  and  a's  of 
Americans  born  to  a  life  of  the  soil  or 
the  skyscraper,  and  they  have  all 
learned  to  use  a  miraculous  twentieth 
century  megaphone  designed  to  carry 
their  Words  above  the  infantile 
cacophony  of  radios  on  one  hand  and 
the  senile  chanting  of  baroque  papcies 
on  the  other. 

What  they  really  have  to  say  is  not 
for  me  to  discuss,  but  I  promise  in  ad- 
vance that  although  they  talk  of  most 
everything  in  the  world  including 
dreams  (Freud  is  godfather  to  them 
all)  they  will  never,  no  never,  say 
"dream." 


Many  Happy  Returns 

(Continued  from  Page  lo) 

Cable, 
October  21st. 
Joseph  Dyer, 
The  San  Franciscan, 
San  Francisco,  Calif. 

Best  of  all  wishes  on  first  birthday. 
You  should  have  at  least  hundred 
more  stop  I  mean  your  magazine  stop 
The  San  Franciscan  is  not  only 
needed  but  indispensible  to  western 
and  literary  art. 

Idwal  Jones 

«    «    « 

October  26th,  7927 
Mr.  Joseph  Dyer,  Editor, 
The  San  Franciscan, 
San  Francisco,  Calif. 
Dear  Mr.  Dyer: 

The  San  Franciscan  has  demon- 
strated that  it  is  a  clever  publication, 
published  by  clever  people,  for  clever 
people.  Can  I  say  more? 
Yours  truly, 

Paul  Shoup 

%    i    t 

October  21,  7927 
Editor,  The  San  Franciscan, 
San  Francisco,  Calif. 

Permit  me  on  your  anniversary  to 
cheer  you  on  to  many  years  of  sym- 
pathetic and  pugnacious  interpreta- 
tion of  traditional  and  contemporary 
culture  of  Northern  California. 

Oliver  M.  Sayler 


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The   San   Franciscan 

131  1 


The  Reigning  Dynasty 

(Continued  Irom  Page  ig) 

B.  Casserly,  Jr.,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robert 
Gay  Hooker,  Jr.,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  How- 
ard Spreckels,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kenneth 
Walsh,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bliss  Rucker. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  James  Davies,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  William  A.  Magee,  Jr.,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Robert  Henderson,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Jerd  Sullivan,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Alfred  Hendrickson,  Missjanet  Whit- 
man, Miss  Mary  Clark,  Miss  Ynez 
Mejia,  Miss  Claudine  Spreckels,  Mr. 
George  Pope,  Jr  ,  Mr.  John  Hooker, 
Mr.  Frank  Drum,  Mr.  Covington 
Janin,  Mr.  George  Montgomery  and 
Mr.  Gordon  Johnson. 
«    i    « 

INVITATIONS  have  been  received  for 
the  wedding  of  Idabelle  Wheaton 
and  young  George  Tallant,  of  Santa 
Barbara,  for  November  1  5th.  The  days 
seem  entirely  filled  w  ith  a  "number  of 
things"  in  the  intervening  time.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Charles  Oelrichs  Martin 
gave  a  dinner  recently  in  their  honor 
and  Mrs.  John  Johnston  gave  a  large 
tea,  and  on  Sunday,  Mary  Clark  ga\'e 
a  buffet  supper  at  El  Palomar.  Her 
guests  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Warren 
Clark,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Blair  Foster, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  George  Thierbach,  Miss 
Mariana  Casserly,  Miss  Agnes  Clark, 
Miss  Inez  Mejia,  Mr.  Jerome  Kuhn, 
Mr.  Fenton  Kuhn,  Mr.  William  Kuhn, 
Jr.,  Mr.  Richard  Hunt  Goldsmith, 
Mr.  Augustus  Taylor  and  Mr.  Thomas 
Breeze,  Jr. 

«    «    « 

ALL  the  world  and  his  wife  de- 
parted to  the  Southland  for  the 
University  of  California  and  the 
use.  game  at  the  Hollywood  Bowl. 
For  the  entire  week  previous  it  was  a 
matter  of  all  roads  leading  to  Rome  or 
Hollywood  and  the  Biltmore  and  Am- 
bassador Hotels  were  really  quiteSan 
Franciscan  in  fla\or.  Among  the  dyn- 
asty to  motor  down  were  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Alfred  Hendrickson,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Kenneth  Walsh,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Bliss  Rucker,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jerd  Sul- 
livan, Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kenneth  Mont- 
eagle.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  George  Hearst, 
Miss  Claudine  Spreckels.  Miss  Alice 
Moffitt,  Mr.  Leon  Walker  and  Mr. 
Edward  Pond. 

<f    i    « 

GENERAL  George  A.  L  Dl  rant, 
the  military  attache  of  the 
French  Embassy  in  Washington,  has 
arrived  in  California  where  he  will 
spend  a  week  or  so  before  going  to  the 
Orient,  He  and  his  family  were  guests 
of  the  Georges  de  Latours  last  year 
when  they  were  visiting  in  San  Fran- 
cisco. 

(Continued  on  next  Page) 


At  11 
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9  Frances  Alda 

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The  Reigning  Dynasty 

(Continued  from  prcceeding  page) 

SOMEHOW  one  does  not  say  "Miss" 
Helen  Wills.  There  are  those  in 
every  generation  who  arise  above  pre- 
fixes and  the  gorgeous  Helen  Wills  is 
one  of  them.  At  the  dinner  dance  ten- 
dered her  at  the  Bohemian  Club  by 
James  D.  Phelan,  Charles  Bulotti 
sang  a  paraphrase  of  the  old  Victorian 
song,  "Who  is  Sylvia,"  substituting 
the  name  "Helen  "  It  is  safe  to  pre- 
sume that  every  person  present  either 
consciously  or  sub-consciously  quoted 
the  lovely  lines  of  Poe,  "Helen,  thy 
beauty  is  to  me  like  those  Nicean 
barks  of  yore."  There  was  much  dis- 
cussion, riot  within  her  hearing,  of 
course,  as  to  the  quality  of  her  beauty. 
Whether  or  not  "beauty"  or  "charm" 
or  "loveliness"  were  the  word  to 
define  her  attractiveness.  Her  features 
are  as  perfect  as  those  of  the  lady  in 
the  Phrygian  cap  of  the  American  dol- 
lar, and  her  eyes  are  pools  of  mystery 
and  lure.  She  wears  her  hair  in  a 
classic  fashion,  coifed  to  reveal  her 
shapely  head,  and  certainly  she  has 
distinction,  that  imponderable,  inde- 
finable thing  that  makes  a  whole  as- 
semblage feel  the  presence  of  indivi- 
dual the  moment  he  enters  a  room. 
She  did  not  speak  at  the  Phelan  din- 
ner and  when  she  arose  to  acknowledge 
the  toast  drunk  to  her  she  seemed  as 
shy  as  an  ingenue.  She  wore  a  gown 
of  girlish  simplicity,  flesh-colored 
satin,  devoid  of  trimming,  and  she 
wore  no  jewel.  Tall,  almost  Junoesque 
in  build,  yet  not  athletic,  she  satisfied 
every  imagination  as  splendid  type  of 
American  girlhood,  and  she  danced 
divinely.  The  guests  were  seated  at 
several  tables  in  the  spacious  jinks  of 
agate  mystery.  "Poker  Face"  de- 
scribes an  attribute  and  not  her  fea- 
tures as  they  have  been  immortalized 
by  Haig  Patigian  in  a  bust  which 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room  at  the 
party,  a  thing  of  beauty  and  joy  for- 
ever, with  a  great  vxreath  of  laurel  at 
the  base  of  the  fluted  column  on  which 
it  rested.  Opposite  to  the  table  at 
which  the  host  and  his  young  guest  of 
honor  were  seated  was  another  at 
which  the  very  young  guests  sat  and 
frankly  adored  Helen.  In  the  group 
was  Fred  Moody,  whose  suit  for  her 
hand  has  been  going  on  for  several 
years.  But  the  only  answer  is  another 
facet  of  the  poker  face. 


Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wm.  Hendrickson 
have  recently  returned  from  a  several 
weeks,  trip  to  New  York.  They  went 
East  by  way  of  the  Panama  Canal. 


T^Wi^ 


Frank  Carroll  GifFen 

Teacher  of  Singing 

976  CHESTNUT  STREET 
SAN  FRANCISCO 


Telephone  Gravstone  3320 
By  Appointment  Only 


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The   San   Franciscan 

133  1 


(^0 

(L/2dvertisers 


The  literary  context  of  The  San 
Franciscan  is  calculated  to  ap- 
peal to  the  intellect  ...  to  the 
aristocratic  intelligence  Like- 
wise the  advertisements . 

The  readers  of  this  magazine 
(who  are,  incidentally,  the  one 
cultured  audience)  do  not  take 
its  advertising  for  granted. 

It  is  not  only  read — it  is  remem- 
bered! 


PETER  D.  CONLEY 

BOX  OFFICE       SHERMAN,  CLAY  &  CO. 

San  Francisco  Symphony 
Elwyn  Artist  Series 
Municipal  Concerts 
Persinger  String  Quartet 


Dorothy  Moore 

PHOTOGRAPHER 

P! 

STUDIO 

and 
HOME 
Portraits 

Telephone 
Kearny  2'5'3 

1 27  GRANT  AVENUE - 

San  Francisco 

AN  interesting  visitor  in  San  Fran- 
cisco is  Princess  Dimitry  Goiit- 
zine  of  London,  who  is  on  an  extended 
tour  of  California.  At  Chicago  she 
was  joined  by  her  mother,  Mrs. 
Arthur  Oxley  Probst,  now  in  Los  An- 
geles. Prince  and  Princess  Golitzine 
were  last  in  San  Francisco  en  route  to 
Vladivostok,  where  the  prince  as- 
sumed a  naval  command.  He  is  the 
son  of  the  late  Prince  Nicholas,  Rus- 
sia's last  prime  minister,  and  is  now 
in  southern  France.  He  saw  service  in 
the  Russo-Japanese  War,  the  World 
War  and  the  Russian  Revolution. 

*       «       « 

ACHiLLE  Angeli,  who  recently 
arrived  from  Italy  to  direct  the 
decoration  of  Mrs.  Helene  Irwin 
Crocker's  new  Byzantine  villa  at 
Pebble  Beach,  will  be  engaged  on  the 
job  one  year.  Angeli  and  his  brother 
were  in  California  a  few  years  ago  and 
designed  and  decorated  a  new  ball- 
room for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  William  H. 
Crocker  at  their  home,  "New  place," 
in  Burlingame.  Mrs.  Helene  Crocker 
this  summer  purchased  the  William 
Van  Antwerp  house  in  Burlingame,  a 
notably  attractive  place,  and  will 
divide  her  time  until  the  completion 
of  the  Pebble  Beach  residence  be- 
tween the  Burlingame  home  and  her 
apartment  at  the  St.  Francis  Hotel. 


MR.  and  Mrs.  Charles  Blyth  were 
hosts  at  a  dinner  given  at  their 
home  in  San  Mateo  in  honor  of  Count 
and  Countess  Wurmbrand,  the  latter 
of  whom  was  Miss  Lawton  Filer. 


The  House  of  Bull 

(Continued  from  Page  iz) 

Lucrezia:  I  care  not  what  he  thinks. 

I  care  only  for  what  1  feel. 
Cesare:  You  are  worse  than  I. 
Lucrezia:  You  do  me  great  credit, 

brother. 
Cesare:   Let   him   have   his   blonde 

woman. 
Lucrezia:  You  do  not  want  her  to 

leave    because    you    are    yourself 

thinking  of  her. 
Cesare:    Perhaps.    {He   fingers    his 

emerald.) 
Lucrezia:  We  agree.  You  will  do  it. 

Splendid! 
Cesare:  Ah!  What  a  bother.  Let  us 

drink.  {He  fills  the  wine  glasses  and 

offers  Lucrezia  a  glass). 
Lucrezia:    {suspicious,    refuses    her 

glass).  Taste  it  first.  Sweeten  my 

cup  for  me,  beloved  brother.  (T/iey 

laugh  loudly  and  with  great  merri- 
ment). 


The  Smart  Stores  of  the  Peninsula 


0 


urs,  IS 
no  mean 
Conquest 
Young  -Cfldy, 


said  the  gay  Tinker  to  the  French 
doll,  beautiful  but  dumb  We're 
giving  the  youngsters  a  g-r-a-n-d 
time,  this  Christmas. 

Two  Wonderful  Toy  Towns 

LEVY  BROS. 


SAN  MATEO 

BURLINGAME 


Our  Shopfying  .Accounts  are  Your  Convenience 


CTDHOTOGRAPHS 

^     FOR  .CHRISTMAS. 

t 

By 
Dorothy  M.  Crawford 


at  .  the  .  studio  .  shop  .  of 

Tialph&T>orothyCrdwford 

BURLINGAME        <>        CALIFORNIA 


NEiW:/IMAif.l.iR|SS^P0'5'f , 


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The    San   Frb  n"c  i  s  c  a  n 

134  1    " 


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