I was sitting in the projection room of the Universal Studios at Fort Lee with one of filmdom's pioneers, Julius Stern, producer of Ivanhoe, Absinthe and Traffic in Souls. Julius, the man who gave George Loan Tucker, Herbert Brennon and Allan Holubar their first opportunities to direct feature length pictures. Julius, whose aphorisms on folks and films are a tradition in the industry. We had just run three reels of Yellow and White cut into sequences without subtitles. Miss Greenberger, his secretary, an efficient and discerning young lady, was on the other side of him.
"What do you think of it?" I heard him ask her.
"Fine," she replied.
"For Christsake, you don't have to say it so loud," he said.
When the lights went on Julius looked very depressed. I watched him, waiting for him to speak.
"Is that all there is to it?" he said after a prolonged silence.
"That's all," I said.
"It's got no end," he said.
"I explained that to you before we put it on the machine," I said.
He got up with a very sad look and walked to the door. Miss Greenberger winked at me.
"You look swell on the screen," she said. "You ought to act."
"God forbid," I said. "I can find enough hams who photograph well without letting the world know I'm one myself."
"Mr. Stern needs a leading man for Violet Mersereau," she said.
"He don't need a director for her, by any chance?" I said.
We walked out in the hall together.
"Wait here a minute," she said.
I went to get my three reels of film. When I came back Miss Greenberger was waiting for me and said:
"Mr. Stern wants you to come back tomorrow morning and says will you leave your film here. He wants to run it again with Mr. Laemmlae."
I passed her the reels.
In the morning a fairhaired smiling girl passed me in the hall. She looked very hard at me and went in through a door. In a few minutes she came out and looked at me again. Her hair was bushy and bleached and she had mischievous starry blue eyes. She was very young, and engaging rather than pretty. When I returned her stare she lowered her eyes and began to wander about the entrance hall which was large and square. She appeared to be deeply engrossed in thought.
"Lost something?" I asked as she came my way again,
She looked up with a surprised expression, opening her eyes wide, and shook her head.
"Pardon me," I said. "I thought you were looking for something."
"I am," she said.
"What is it?" I asked. "Maybe I can help you."
"I think you can," she said." "But it isn't an it, it's a he."
"Who is it—he?" I said.
"I don't know yet," she said.
I looked at her a little suspiciously and said:
"Feeling quite all right?"
"Of course. What do you mean?" she said.
"You haven't been out in the sun or anything?" I said.
"Of course not" she said, looking very hard at me. "Why do you ask?"
"Just like that," I said...."Before I start looking for anything myself I generally know what it is."
"So do I," she said. "But I don't always know who it is."
"Are you Alice in Wonderland?" I said.
"I am not," she said, "Do I look like her?"
"You would if you combed your hair back straight, and you talk like some of her pals," I said.
"I do not," she said. "Alice's pals talked nonsense, and what I say is sense."
"How can you look for something if you don't know what it is?" I asked.
"I didnt say what, I said who," she said. "I'm looking for a leading man."
"Excuse me," I said.
"You don't happen to know of one?"
She looked up at me expectantly.
"How soon do you need him?"
"We're supposed to start shooting next Monday."
"Tuesday today. What type do you need?"
"Your type. Just your type."
She was looking me up and down. Biting a little at her nails.
"Don't do that to your nails," I said, "There was a juvenile leading man at the Vitagraph before my time. Everyone said I looked like him. His name was Powers. I'll call up Vic Smith and see if we can get hold of him."
I started for Miss Greenberger's office where there was a telephone.
"No, no, I've seen him on the screen," she said. "I don't like him at all."
"Thank you," I said.
"He's much littler and he really doesn't look like you," she said.
"I never saw him myself," I said. "I was just going on what other people told me. There's Walter Miller. At Edison they used to say I looked like him. But I think he's still tied up with D.W."
"He's too heavy," she said. "He's as big as King Baggot."
"Sorry I can't help you out," I said.
"Don't you play yourself?" she asked.
"No," I said.
"Funny. You look familiar to me," she murmured. "What are...do you...are you?"
"Author, director, scenarist," I said in the William Humphrey manner.
"What have you written?" she asked.
"Should a Mother Tell? for Betty Nansen," I said, "The Blindness of Devotion, for Robert Mantell. I wrote Nance O'Neil's last picture which isn't released yet, and two scripts for William Farnum. My last—"
"Oh, I saw Should a Mother Tell?" she said. "Mother and I loved it. Did you direct it too."
"Oh, practically," I replied modestly, unblushingly.
"And what else did you direct?
"Yellow and White."
"I haven't seen that."
"Not released yet," I said. "Want to see a couple of reels of it?"
"I'd love to," she said. I explained something of the story.
"What a pity you made it with Clara Kimball Young! I'd love to have made it."
"You can," I said. "I'm not going to finish it with Clara, and the rights belong to me."
"Oh? You didn't finish it—why?"
"Walked out on her," I said.
"And they say she's so nice," she said.
"She's all right," I said, "but she's tied up to a...well, anyway, if you like what I'm going to show you I can start it over again with you."
Together we ran the three cut sequences of Yellow and White.
"I think it will make a grand picture for me," she said, putting her hand on my arm. "We can play in it together."
"Nothing doing," I said.
"You can direct it too."
"Nothing doing," I repeated. "I've learned one thing: A director is just looking for trouble when he plays in his own pictures."
"Well, I'll borrow King Baggot's director and we'll play in it together."
"No," I said emphatically. "I'm going to direct it, and I'm not going to play in it."
"I'm going to see Mr. Stern," she said.
"You haven't told me your name," I said.
"Oh," she said, "then you didn't recognize me?"
"I've only seen two Universal pictures," I said, "Traffic in Souls and a King Baggot film, Ivanhoe. You weren't in either of them."
"Naturally not. I'm a star!...And you really don't know who I am?"
Her eyes were wide open.
"I'll be darned if I do," I said.
"Well, for that I'm not going to tell you," she said and got up.
At the door she turned back pointing her finger at me.
"Stay where you are. I'll come right back when I've seen Mr. Stern."
After a while a director came into the projection room and I had to get out. In the hall, Miss Greenberger beckoned to me from behind the bars of her teller's window.
"Will you step in," she said. "Mr. Stern wants to ask you something before you go away."
Julius Stern, very small and important in his big swivel chair, was fumbling with papers in an engrossed manner when I came in. He appeared not to have noticed my entrance, though his office was not large. I could see he was not reading anything. Some of the papers were upside down. After a minute or two I forced him to look up by addressing him directly.
"Got a match?"
"I got a part for you to play opposite Mary Fuller," he said pivoting his swivel chair around with his toes on the floor.
"Got a match?" I said.
He gave me one and I lit a cigarette and sat down, but made no comment.
"You didn't answer my q'vestion," he said presently.
"You didn't ask me one," I said.
"What's the matter with you, deaf?" he said. "I got a part for you with Mary Fuller."
I kept on smoking.
"Say something," he said. "What's the matter with you?"
"What do you want me to say?" I said. "We went into all that before we ran my film. I told you I want to direct, not act."
On the wall behind him was a poster of my blond friend. The riddle of her identity was solved. Julius saw me looking, and said:
"Huh, you sooner play with Violet Mersereau, huh?"
"I've a story I can make with her," I said.
"Is it any good ?"
"You just saw three reels of it."
"It's got no end," he said. "How much you want for it?"
I held up the fingers of one hand.
"Five bucks?" he said, and paused to reflect before making an offer.
"Five hundred," I said.
"You crazy?" he said looking surprised.
"Five hundred for the story, and two hundred a week to direct it."
"You crazy?"
The door opened and Miss Mersereau fluttered in to collect a forgotten handbag.
"This guy's crazy," said Julius.
"Then he must be a good director. You said yesterday why were good directors all crazy," she said, opening her eyes at me.
"Is that picture of his any good?" asked Julius.
"You told me yourself five minutes ago it was fine."
"You crazy," said Julius, "I said no such thing. And you got to go to work. What you getting paid for?"
He began to make some calculations on a slip of paper.
"It's not my fault if you haven't found a story and a director," said Miss Mersereau leaving with her handbag.
Julius handed me the paper. On it was marked $450. "All right," I said. "I accept your offer."
"Who's making you an offer?" he said very startled, grabbing the paper from me. "That's what Mersereau's been paid in three weeks and she hasn't turned a crank. If she don't start Monday, Mr. Laemmlae'll go crazy."
"Then he can direct her himself," I said.
"Listen," said Julius. "I give you a hundred bucks a week to direct Mersereau, and I give you two hundred bucks for the story, which is a lot of dough."
I put on my hat and started out.
"Hey, where you going what's your hurry?" said Julius. "I raise you to a hundred and fifty bucks, and you give me the story for nothing."
"Tell your secretary to give me back those bobbins of film," I said.
"How much you want, anyway?" said Julius.
"I told you," I said: "Five and two."
"Didn't I tell you Mersereau's already cashed four hundred and fifty bucks without turning a crank?"
"No fault of mine," I said.
"It's charged up to her next picture," said Julius.
"Two hundred is my salary," I said.
"And if you make a lousy picture?" said Julius.
"If I do, you can have back every nickel I get for story and direction," I said.
"You're not kidding?" said Julius getting up, his face very happy.
"I'm not," I said.
"Ah, but you might have spent it!" he said sitting down again dejectedly.
"I know I'll make a good picture," I said, "so here's what I'll do: I'll produce it and you don't pay me a cent until it's cut and titled. If Mr. Laemmlae likes it you pay me $500. for the story, and back salary at the rate of $200, a week."
"Now you're talking," he said, "—and you got to make it in three weeks."
"Want to put it in writing?" I said.
"What for?" he said. "You can remember it, can't you?"
"What about you?" I said, thinking of Hoffman and Jimmy Young.
"We shake hands on it. What more you want—you got no confidence?" he asked, looking hurt.
He opened the door. Miss Greenberger was in the outer office.
"Shake hands with me in front of Miss Greenberger," he said...."Are you satisfied now?...Miss Greenberger you saw me shake hands with him?"
Miss Greenberger smiled and nodded.
"It might be a good idea to tell her why," I said. "You're sure a superspicious guy," he said.
When he told her and I told her and she had typed it we both wrote our names on it.
"Don't worry," she said smiling at me and locking one copy of it away in the drawer of her desk.
"Tell Mersereau I want her," said Julius. "We got to start shooting Monday or Mr. Laemmlae'll go crazy."