Early in 1918, Thomas G. Moses
wrote, “We got a big contract for the Arena through Marshall Fields, but had to
drop it as we were $500.00 too high. The
party who took the contract, stole my idea and when he completed the job, he
found he stood good to lose at least $1,400.00, as the Arena was not good for
the amount as the work was done for a lease.” That’s Karma working for you!
There is no way to know the
exact event that Moses was referring to. However, I think it was the ice
carnival and fancy dress ball held at the Chicago Arena on March 16th.
Officers from Camp Grant, Camp Dodge, Camp Custer and Great Lakes were invited
to attend the event. The organization, the Satellites of Mars, was in charge of
the carnival. Members from the Satellites were managing the carnival for the
Fort Sheridan Association.
The Satellites of Mars at the Ice Carnival from the “Chicago Tribune,” March 17, 1918, page 3.
On March 17, 1918, the “Chicago
Tribune” reported, “Society Shines with Satellites at Arena Affair. Brilliant
Scenes Mark Function to Aid War” (page 3).
This may have been the event. The article continued, “Never has a
society function had a more effective setting than had the fancy dress ice
carnival and ball held last night at the Arena. The brilliant coloring of the
skater’s costumes, on which the spotlights played, glinted over the great area
of the skating hall, and from balconies and doorways hung fantastic lanterns
and draperies of red, white and blue. A band of jackies marked the rhythm of
the skating. The affair, patronized by almost all the people of fashion now in
the city was given by the Satellites of Mars, under the auspices of the Fort
Sheridan association, an organization which looks after the interests of
soldiers and sailors. There were many soldiers present and several jackies. The
proceeds, it is estimated, will amount to about $10,000.”
From the “Chicago Tribune,” March 17, 1918, page 7.
The Satellites of Mars was a
relatively new high-society group, formed for charity. For the ice carnival
event, Wallace C. Winter (219 South La Salle Street) was a member and managing
the carnival for the Fort Sheridan Association (Chicago Tribune, 7 March 1918,
page 15). It appears to have been short-lived, however, and primarily active
during the war years.
Interestingly, in 1877 Prof.
Hall of the National Observatory identified two extremely minute moons circling
Mars (New York Daily Herald, 23 Aug. 1877, page 3). The satellites of Mars appear
in the papers again in 1918; this time the term arises in conjunction with
those in the military. On March 27, 1918, the “San Francisco Examiner”
reported, “There should be, we think, a marked distinction between the uniforms
worn by men in the trenches and those worn by non-combatant officers. As the
former are inconspicuous, the latter should be vivid and slashing. A feature
might be a couple of red moons, emblematic of the satellites of Mars” (page 2).
This opinion appears in US newspaper across the country at the time.
In 1918, Thomas G. Moses wrote,
“Received a nice order from Harrison Company, operating the Redpath Lyceum
Bureau for their chatauqua work.” The
previous year. Sosman & Landis also delivered scenery for the Redpath
Chautauqua Circuit.
In 1918, “Trench and Camp”
reported:
“Mr. Marc Klaw was given the
task of organizing four companies to play light comedies and four companies of
vaudeville stars. ‘Turn to the Right,’ ‘Cheating Cheaters, ‘Here Comes the
Bridge,’ ‘Inside the Line’ and other popular plays will be presented in turn at
the various cantonments. The professional vaudeville companies will also make
the rounds and the theatres will be offered to the men for the production of
amateur dramatics or special moving pictures. There will be a small charge of
from 15 to 25 cents made for professional entertainments. I addition to these
theatres, and at both the National Army and National Guard camps, the Redpath
Lyceum furnished entertainment. The general direction of all paid
entertainments at the camps is in the hands of Mr. Harry P. Harrison, the
president and general manager of the Redpath Lyceum Bureau” (22 Jan. 1918, page
7).
Written by Raymond B. Fosdick,
Chairman of the Commission on Training Camp, the article explained, “Just after
the war was declared last April, the President and Secretary of War, having
these facts keenly in mind, asked me to assume the chairmanship of the newly
appointed Commission on Training Camp Activities. The main job of this
Commission is to apply the normal things of life to the hundreds of thousands
of men in training camps. Besides the chairman, the members of the Commission
are Lee F. Hanmer, of the Russell Sage Foundation; Thomas J. Howells, of
Pittsburgh; Marc Klaw, the well-known theatrical producer; Joseph Lee,
president of the Playground and Recreation Association of America; Malcolm L.
McBridge, the former Yale Football star; Dr. John R. Mott, well known as
General Secretary of the War Work Council of the Y.M.C.A; Charles P. Neill, of
Washington; Col. Palmer E. Pierce, U.S.A., and Dr. Joseph E. Raycroft, director
of physical education of Princeton University. It was our task, in the first
place, to see that the inside of sixty odd army-training camps furnished real
amusement and recreation and social life. In second place, we were to see to it
that the towns and cities near by the camps were organized to provide
recreation and social life to the soldiers who would flock there when on leave.
In short, the Government took the attitude and is holding to it all along:
‘Over a million men are training hard to fight for the Government; the
Government will give them, while they train, every possible opportunity for
education, amusement and social life.’”
On March 8, 1918, the “Green Bay
Press-Gazette” announced, “The work of entertaining the soldiers has been
consolidated under the ‘Military Entertainment Council,’ of which James Couzens,
of Detroit, is chairman; with Harry P. Harrison of Chicago, as chairman of the
executive committee. Under the Council, the Chautauqua tents and Marc Klaw
theaters all operate together, giving nightly entertainments. They will hereafter
be known as ‘Liberty Tents,’ ‘Liberty auditoriums’ and ‘Liberty theaters’”(Green
Bay, Wisconsin, page 13).
From the “Atlanta Constitution,” 11 Jan 1918 page 6.
The attached newspaper clipping
shows Camp Gordon’s Liberty Theater. Pictured upper left is Raymond B. Foswick
(chairman of the war commission on training camp activities, in charge of all
the theaters and director on the ‘off time’ of every sailor and soldier). Pictured upper right are Sam Harris and George
Cohan, partners in song-writing, who are working to making the programs of the
army circuit a success). In the lower left is E. F. Albee, manager of B. F.
Keith’s circuit, who is sending a number of his best acts to the cantonment
circuit). In the lower center is Marc Klaw of Klaw and Erlanger bookers, who is
arranging the productions for the Liberty theaters, and who is now engaged in
training a number of comedy casts). Pictured lower right is Harry P. Harrison,
president of the Redpath Chautauqua, who is also giving his time attention and
performers to the entertainment of the national army men.”
In 1918, Mother’s
Day was officially five years old. Newspapers across the country recalled the
historic event, reporting, “On May 10, 1913, a resolution passed the United States
house of representatives and the senate commending Mother’s day for the
observance by the house and senate, the president of he United States and his
cabinet and other heads of government departments.” (Salt Lake Tribune, Salt
Lake City, UT, 10 May 1918, page 16). Another
two Mother’s Days would pass mothers were honored with the right to vote.
Passed by Congress June 4, 1919, and ratified on August 18, 1920, the 19th
amendment granted women the right to vote.
From the “Salt Lake Tribune,” Salt Lake City, UT, 10 May 1918, page 16.
In 1918, Thomas G. Moses wrote, “A big outdoor spectacle for Mrs. Jonathon Ogden Armour at her Lake Forest home took up some of our time in June. It proved to be a wonderfully effective show given by the Armour Company women employees.” The spectacle that Moses mentioned in 1918 took place at the country estate, Mellody farm, at Lake Forest. Of the estate, the “Chicago Tribune” reported, “ It was built as a veritable fairyland for their daughter Lolita, who was a cripple in her youth” (17 Aug. 1927, page 5). At the turn of the twentieth century, the Armours bought a thousand acres in Lake Forest and built a home that was a showplace – Mellody Farm. The estate was an escape for their physically handicapped daughter who had been born with dislocated hips at birth. Their property at Lake Forest was intended as a fairyland for their daughter at first. It would take two operations, specialist from Europe and a series of plaster casts, but Lolita fully recovered. Mellody Farm remained in all its glory with acres of gardens, artificial lakes and ponds, flowing streams, miniature forest, deer parks, sylvan pathways, and fountains. And then there were the buildings that included marble and plaster Italian villas situated amidst rose gardens and cypress-lined terraces. This is where the big outdoor spectacle for Armour employees occurred in 1918. The estate remained open until 1929 when the market crashed, changing many people’s fortunes.
Mellody Farm in Lake Forest, the Armour Estate.Mellody Farm. Image from Half Pudding Half Sauce Blog Spot (Feb 5, 2012).
Mrs. Lolita Sheldon Armour, was
the wife of well-know meat packer J. Ogden Armour. J. Ogden was the son of
Phillip D. Armour who founded Armour & Co. and Armour Institute of
Technology. He was born on November 11, 1863, the same year that his father
founded the Armour organization. The senior Armour joined the packing firm of
Plankington & Layton in Milwaukee and so thereafter the firm name was
changed to Plankington & Armour. The “Chicago Tribune” later reported, “the
growing city of Chicago appealed to Phillip Armour as the logical center of the
meat packing industry. It is said that his business partner did not entirely
accept this idea but agreed to establish a branch on Chicago. This branch was
started in 1867 under the name Armour & Co. J. Ogden Armour, the elder son
of Phillip D. Armour, gave up his senior year in Yale to join the Armour
organization in 1883. He was put into business, at the bottom, so to speak, and
learned it from the ground up. He was made a partner in the firm a year later.
As his father’s health declined, the son assumed larger direction of the
business. In 1900, his only brother, Phillip D. Armour, Jr., died, followed a
year later by his father’s death. Then the sole management fell on J. Ogden
Armour” (17 Aug 1927, page 5). The article noted, “O the hey-day of expansion
and prosperity of American meat packing. Mr. Armour won one of the great
personal fortunes in American industrial history. But in the period of post-war
adversity, that fortune dwindled amazingly. What remains of it cannot be
definitely estimated now” (17 August 1927, page 5).
Armour & Co. advertising postcard now for sale online.
He married Lolita Sheldon in
1891. Born in Suffield, Conn., she was the daughter of J. Sheldon. In her obituary,
the “St. Louis Post-Dispatch” reported, “For many years Mrs. Armour presided
over the family’s vast estate, Melody Farm, near Lake Forest. She was a patron
of the arts and made several gifts to the Chicago Art Institute” (7 Feb, 1953,
page 5). Mrs. Armour passed away at the
age of 83. At the businesses peak, Armour’s personal prosperity was
conservatively estimated at $200,000,000 – today’s approximate of over 3
trillion dollars.
Mrs. J. Ogden ArmourJ. Ogden Armour
As I read articles about the
Armours, it was the business practices of Mr. Armour that caught my attention. This
stands in stark contrast with how many packing plants are run, especially in
light of COVID-19 now. He followed the footsteps of his father, who made a
paint of being the first person in his office each morning and the last to
leave at night. He once explained, “I have no social ambitions. My ambition is
to run Armour & Co. successfully and give a great many young men a chance
to make their way in the world. My associates in the business are my close
friends. If it weren’t for fun there is in the working with them and being with
them I wouldn’t stay in business” (17 Aug. 1927, page 5). This mean that he
rarely accepted social invitations, even when it was his wife who hosted a
party at Mellody farm, or their summer camp on Long Lake in Michigan. Mrs.
Armour was reported to have entertained magnificently, “but when her husband
sees preparations going on for an ‘affair’ he scurries away to his club and
plays whist or pinochle until he feels that he can go home without risk of
meeting anyone loaded with small talk and fine clothes.”
In 1927, his employees recalled of Mr. Armour’s kindness to his employees. The “Chicago Tribune” reported “One of these related to a man who was discharged after fifteen years of service be a department head who said he was incompetent. The case was taken to Mr. Armour, who put the employee back in his old place. ‘If it took fifteen years to find out he was incompetent, you’ll have to worry along with home for the rest of his life,’ he asserted. In another instance accountants complained that an old packing house foreman refused to keep any books. Mr. Armour was asked to discharge the old-timer. ‘No,’ he said. ‘That foreman taught me all I know about his branch of business. If you can’t get figures some other way, you’ll have to do without them.’” It is the respect and loyalty that seems to have been in many businesses; large plants with no connection to the packing employees. The 1918 spectacle thrown by Mrs. Armour was for the Armour Company employees. That same year, the “Buffalo Enquirer” reported, “When the United States entered the European war, Mr. Armour promptly urged that all his dealings in food-stuffs should be taken under control by the government, an unselfish attitude which caused critics of all capitalists to alter their views. Mr. Armour’s action has convincingly demonstrated that it is possible to be both a packer and a patriot. To tell adequately of the benefactions of the Armour family would require endless space. For years the Armours have spent a vast fortune on this kind of work, and the present Mr. Armour has continued giving millions of dollars to worthy causes. Loved by all his employees for what he has done for them, J. Ogden Armour is the type of American of which we are all proud” (The Buffalo Enquirer, 31 May 1918, page 10).
This is a long and contemplative post, so my apologies in
advance. Quarantine is providing me with a little too much time to think, hence
why I am painting so much; it silences the internal dialogue.
In 1918, Thomas G. Moses wrote, “Pitt and Stella dropped in
on us from Trenton on my 62nd birthday on the 21st, and
we all enjoyed their surprise and their visit.” Pitt was Moses’ eldest son who
lived in New Jersey. Today, Moses may be considered three years away from retirement.
In 1918, he was mid-career with no retirement in sight. What were the physical
barriers of a scenic artist working in the early-twentieth century versus now?
There are a few things to consider about the careers of
scenic artists during the early twentieth century. The first is that they were
not working on the floor, most painted on a vertical frame, one that moved up
and down. Aged scenic artists didn’t have to crawl around on the floor to tack
down a drop, or bend over to paint some little detail. They did not spend a
lifetime having to suddenly drop to the floor or kneel for extended periods of
time.
Thomas G. Moses working at Less Lash Studios in New York, ca. 1910.
How long could scenic artists work during the
late-nineteenth and early twentieth century? Until death. If you don’t have to
kneel down, and the painting was at a comfortable height, why stop working? With
no social security net, stopping work at any point might not be an option. Take
away the physical obstacles and you could paint as long as your mind stayed
sharp.
It’s pretty simple if you deconstruct the early-twentieth
century painting process. What are the greatest obstacles that an older artist
may encounter in a shop if they are above the age of 60? Kneeling, crouching
and climbing. I am almost fifty-one years old and consider myself in pretty
good shape. I am overweight, but I have remained active my whole life and spent
hours working on the floor. Starting out as a dancer, the flexibility remains
with me – so far. That being said, I can no longer crawl around on my hands and
knees for extended periods of time anymore, without suffering the next day. I
had a big epiphany a few months ago when I was painting an ad drop on a
motorized paint frame at the University of Minnesota, Duluth. I was putting in
an ungodly amount of hours, all by myself, yet did not feel the strain. Although
I enjoyed what I was doing, the key for me was painting on a vertical paint
frame. At every step of the process, my painting was at the perfect
height. No over-reaching, no crouching
and no straining. Why would I need to ever retire if I could physically do the
work I love?
There is another thing to keep in mind about the early-twentieth
century American scenic studio that is really important– journeyman artists had
assistants. That is not the case with every journeyman artist now, especially
if you freelance and do not enjoy a permanent position. These young assistants,
“pot-boys” (for filling pots of paint), would tack up the drop on a vertical
frame, prime it and possibly base-coat many of the basic colors. If you were at
the top of your profession, you may only need to show up to paint the complex part
of scene, adding in flourishes to add dimension and sparkle. There are pros and
cons to our industry at every step it seems.
The industry really began to change in the 1920s – and then
completely shifted in the 1930s during the Great Depression. Scenic artists noted the shift in their
memoirs and in newspaper articles. Those who recalled the changing times at the
end of their life detailed the cause of change in scenic art. A few years back,
I read a series of letters between John Hanny and Dr. John Rothgeb from 1979.
They are now part of the Rothgeb collection at the University of Texas, Austin.
Hanny was hired at Sosman & Landis by Thomas G. Moses in 1906; he was 16
years old at the time and earning $6 a week. Although his salary increased
five-fold in six years, by 1920, he and four other artists left to form Chicago
Service Studios. That business only lasted six years. In 1926 Art Oberbeck of
ACME studios of Chicago bought the studio. Hanny’s scenic art career was
tumultuous at best beginning in the mid-1920s.
When asked by Dr. Rothgeb in 1979 to describe the era from
1900 to 1929, Hanny wrote the following:
“The depression of 1929 just about stopped the production of
stage scenery – at least in Chicago. Road shows, musicals, etc. if any were
being produced in New York and Hollywood. At this point all the studios
disappeared but the scene painter just couldn’t disappear and had to become
freelancers. There was no such thing as a steady job and the boys were hard put
to find a day’s pay. Most of the following 10 years were really tough and 1929
proved to be a big change in our business, in purpose, in design, paint and
other materials.” Hanny goes onto describe the emergence of a new theatrical
supplier: “These were not Scenic Studios but rather combinations of carpenter
and machine shops equipped to turn out booths, revolving turn tables,
electrical effects and so on. The art was done in any available loft or vacant
store space.”
This is when scenic art shifts from an art, to a craft; no
longer does painted illusion drive the industry, it almost becomes an after
thought of the production process. Yes, there are exceptions.
Hanny continues, “The biggest change to us painters was our
paints. Luminal Casein was pretty well established as a very practical and
useful medium so, it, and show card color was the norm. So – no more ‘dry’
colors – no more soup bowls or hot size, and of course no more paint frames.
Drops, if any were painted on the floor.” THIS is a turning point in American
scenic art. We abandon something that worked incredibly well for over a century.
Not everyone transitions to floor painting, and pockets remain with scenic
artists continuing to paint on vertical frames – just look at Hollywood. Scene
painting continues to thrive there more so than anywhere else in the United
States.
With the shift from painting on a vertical frame to the
floor for live theatre and industrial shows, standard techniques and tools also
changed. Hanny recalled, “The house painter’s sash brush came into use and many
of the former ‘tools’ such as snappers and center-poles and others were no
longer needed. The folding 2 ft. brass bound rule gave way to the yard stick.”
When this industry wide change occurred, Hanny was in his
forties and Moses was at the end of his career. I cannot imagine watching my
entire life’s work be condemned as “old fashioned” as much pictorial realism
went out of vogue. Think of the theatre world that Moses entered in 1873. He
was from the generation of scenic artists who chummed together on sketching
trips to gather resources. The generation who took art classes together at fine
art academies and garnered some of the top salaries in the theatre profession.
This was all ending, faster than any of them realized.
We talk about evolution in the theater industry;
technological innovations that herald change and produce ever-better products.
Sometimes the only way to forge ahead is to forget the past. If we don’t look back, we can’t lament what
is lost. Such was the case when the golden age of American scenic art came to
an end. 1880 to 1914 is what I consider the golden age of scenic art. Yes, I am
sure there are many who disagree with those dates. Much scenic art training simultaneously shifted
to academic institutions around this same time. This created a very different
atmosphere, a departure from scenic studios that began training sixteen-year-old
boys.
As with everything, a massive shift in any industry affects
the accepted standards. What we consider “beautiful” or even “acceptable” is
sometimes based on the lowest common denominator. As with many things,
“quality” work is relative to accepted industry standards and the times.
Yesterday’s
post concerned studio founder Gerald V. Cannon and his recruiting of scenic
artists for the war department in 1918. He was part of a countrywide plan to
mobilize scenic artists to paint camouflage for war purposes. WWI
signaled a new era of concealing military vehicles and weapons with paint. Some
artists’ ideas included sky to blend with the horizon and fake waves on a
traditionally gray battleship. Other artists specialized in dazzling camouflage,
or a disruptive pattern that concealed the outline and form of a camouflaged
object. WWI camouflage artists designed patterns that would make it more
difficult to figure out a ship’s size, speed, distance and direction. Each
country approached camouflage from a slightly different angle, relying on
artists to create effective camouflage painting.
British warships used dazzling camouflage, an approach developed by Norman Wilkinson.Dazzle-ships used a disruptive pattern that concealed the outline and form of the camouflaged object.A French tank painted with a camouflage pattern. Image posted at warhistoryonline.com.Image posted at warhistoryonline.com.
On April 4, 1918, “The Courier” reported, “Many American
artists, following the sacrifice of their brothers across the sea have enlisted
in this extraordinary service and joined the ranks of camoufleurs to help win
the war. Appraised of the secrets of their European brothers and possessing no
small genius of their own, our American camoufleurs are at work in Europe to
fool the Hun as he has never been fooled before, and their secret is not yet
out” (Asheboro, NC, 4 April 1918, page 7).
From the “Tampa Tribune, 27 Jan, 1918 page 36.From the “Tampa Tribune, 27 Jan, 1918 page 36.From the “Tampa Tribune, 27 Jan, 1918 page 36.From the “Tampa Tribune, 27 Jan, 1918 page 36.From the “Tampa Tribune, 27 Jan, 1918 page 36.
The was an interesting
article published in “Trench and Camp” on Feb. 9, 1918, that I am including in
today’s post entitled, “The ‘Real’ Camouflage’” (Fort Riley, Kansas, page 2):
“At first, camouflage was the clumsy emulation of nature.
Boughs of trees, the thatch of houses and the beams of deserted buildings were
used to shelter guns. But soon the fields were swept so clean that every tree
became suspicious and every wreck of a house was bombarded by artillery and
bombed by aviators.
Then came the camouflage that made the word familiar with
a new and finely-descriptive word. Sign-painters and house-daubers were called
to paint canvas in the colors of the earth. As this proved successful, scenic
artists were assigned the task. Artists’ corps were mobilized and the work
thoroughly organized until, final, it became practicable for an artillery
officer to procure any camouflage he might desire upon a few hours’ notice.
All this called for counter-efforts, as interesting and
as ingenious as the camouflage itself. How was an aviator to tell whether the
ground below them was a deserted field or was canvas and framework concealing
hundreds of guns? How could the artillerist known when he was wasting shell on
a mound of earth of was shattering guns that had been the death of thousands?
Something could be learned, of course, by careful observation and by ceaseless
scrutiny of the front. Gradually, however, the armies have come to rely for the
penetration of camouflage on the work of the aviators and of the mathematicians
who study shell trajectories.
As the system is now developed, all armies have trained
aviators who go up regularly with convoying battle planes to take pictures of
the enemy positions. Their negatives, developed, enlarged and printed, are gone
over microscopically by men whose proficiency in reading photographs is
positively uncanny. We know it sounds unbelievable but here is an example of
what numerous British map readers can do with these photographs: an aviator may
come back with a picture taken at 20,000 feet. On the print the map readers
know there is a hidden battery. They search for it vainly. At length they see
on the print, by the aid of powerful magnifying glasses and infinitely small
tracks. By following the course of these tracks, trained men figure that horses
from the battery have been led to water, and they know that where the tracks
end, elsewhere that by the watercourse, a battery may be concealed. They
report. Guns are trained accordingly. The next day’s photograph may show a
ruined battery. It seems a fairy tale, does it not, that the tracks of horses
will show on a photograph taken from an aeroplane which is itself a scarcely
discernible spot in the heavens?
But there were there were thousands of instances where
neither horse tracks nor any other evidence of camouflage could be seen. Then
it was that the British and French devised a trick which may now be described,
inasmuch as it has been discovered by Germans. It occurred to a clever aviator
that perhaps the Germans might be painting their camouflage with the naked eye
and might not be using effects that would withstand a color screen. Accordingly
some of the aviators made observations with different color screens before
their lenses and were delighted to find that, in accordance with laws familiar
to all photographers, the yellows or the greens had been “filtered out.” The
result showed plainly where the German guns were hidden and led to an
eye-opening bombardment. It was some days before the Germans found out what was
happening and why their faithful camouflage had suddenly become so useless. But
when they discovered the reason, the Germans very promptly countered by a
device as simple as that British were employing: where an artist desired to get
a general yellow effect on camouflage, he merely put on yellow glasses. The
color that then appeared yellow to him was hideous to the naked eye, but it
defied the color screen of the camera. This accounts for the curious futurist
color effects scene in photographs of camouflaged tanks.
Now both sides paint and photograph through color
screens, and a new method of camouflage will have to be developed.”
A while back I explored the career of Gerald V. Cannon, of Joy and Cannon Scenic Studio in St. Paul, Minnesota. Although the life of the firm was brief, each co-founder certainly made his mark on the world. At the time that I was researching Cannon’s life, I stumbled across multiple references to his military career and work for the US marines. Cannon organized the first unit to specialize in the brand new art of camouflage in 1918. He gathered together a group of scenic artists and once they learned the painting procedure, they were split up among the services. Cannon chose the marines.
Artists were tasked with painting large camouflage canopies during WWI.
Here is a 1918 article about Cannon’s project that I came across this
week:
On February
27, 1918, the “Los Angeles Evening Express” reported “Scenic Artists to
Mobilize as U. S. Aid in World Conflict” (page 12). Here is the article:
“Scenic
artists in Southern California theaters are included in a country-wide plan to
mobilize all of their craft in this country for war purposes. The scheme is
being worked out by G. V. Cannon – appropriate name – of St. Paul, Minn., and
is understood to have the sanction of the war department. The plan is explained
in the following letter from Mr. Cannon, which has been received by attaches of
local theaters:
‘The
English and French governments have organized the artists of the countries,
especially the scenic artists, to work in naval yards, as well as in the fields
with regular army, for the purpose of painting large tarpaulins and canvas covers
to mask field guns, and they grasped the value of the scenic artist, with his
experience, with his wide experience and talent and reproduction and color. They
have taken these artists with their various color schemes and composition to
completely mask a series of field guns, or paint the sides of a battleship in
nature’s true colors and the ocean and waves, so that it has completely baffled
the enemy’s submarines to as near as half mile, and, at that distance, in many
cases, they have made such poor targets that the submarine has had to maneuver
around until it was detected and fired upon. This plan applies to transports on
which the American government will have to spend every effort available to
guard the loves of its men. Another feature of painting boats is in the
painting of a huge wave on the bow of a battleship, this is being the chief
method of judging the speed that a boat is traveling. This gives the enemy the
impression that the boa is traveling at half speed. There are possibilities too
numerous to mention on the value of scenic backgrounds, or fooling the enemy
with paint. This plan is being put up to the war department by some of our
leading artists and naval men. Among some of the nation’s leading advocates is
Joe Cannon, former speaker of the house representatives, who in past years was
a decorator and who realizes the value of the work. He is at present working in
our interests as a personal favor to myself. So let us hear from all scenic
artists who are interested in helping Uncle Sam down the Kaiser, by sending
their name, address and age along with past experience and ability to me. – G.
V. Cannon, 378 South Wabasha street, St. Paul, Minn.’”
In 1950, Cannon was featured in the “Star Tribune” article, “Minnesota’s
‘Little Marine’ Just Keeps Growing” (5 Nov. 1950, page 21). I am also including
this article in its entirety for context.
From the “Star Tribune,” 5 Nov. 1950, page 21.
“There’s a line in one of the censored verse of ‘Mademoiselle From
Armentieres’ which goes ‘The little marine he grew and grew.’
The boys hereabouts seem to think that if a line ever applied to anybody
in real life, it applies to Jerry Cannon.
More sedately, he’s Gerald V. Cannon, a scenic artist by profession who
still makes up an occasional Marine Corps float or a spectacular sign. Its come
to be a habit through 33 years of association with the corps.
Cannon will be present at the corps 175th anniversary dinner
Friday night at the Nicollet hotel. Governor Youngdahl, Mayors Hoyer of
Minneapolis and Delaney of St. Paul and various other functionaries also will
attend, along with wives and mothers of marines now in service.
He now is national service officer for the Marine Corps league, the only
veterans’ organization incorporated by act of congress. He is also state
service officer under the auspices of the department of veteran’s affairs.
In that job, he is but carrying on a practice built up on his own time
between two wars. Cannon was a marine in World War I. Prior to that he had been
called upon to organize the first unit to specialize in the brand new art of
camouflage. Cannon gathered together a half gross of scenic artists. When they
had learned what they had to know, they were split up among the services.
Cannon chose the marines and began an extra-curricular career from which he
never since has been separated for long.
After the war he helped found three marine groups, each of which perished
through inaction. But Cannon made it his business to keep in touch with marines
and marine veterans and to pull what wires were necessary to help them.
He became a sort of special in veterans’ rights and made up for his small
stature by fast talk and aggressiveness.
When World War II came along, Cannon had retired from the reserve as a
captain with 100 per cent disability because of a heart condition. He went
right back in, as a staff sergeant attached to the When Cannon enlisted in WWI he
listed a health concern, there was foul-up; he got orders to report to Parris
Island for boot training. A few days nearly did him in. Representative Melvin
Maas rescued him by getting the orders changed and Cannon was shipped back to
Minneapolis.
During the subsequent years, he indulged in his hobby of helping out
marines and ex-marines. After being discharged he went to the Marine Corps
league as a service officer.
His years of association with the marines have been a great help in
cutting red tape. On his frequent trips to Washington, Cannon first-names big
brass and walks right into offices which would be at least temporarily
off-limits to almost anyone else.
Cannon through the years has loaded himself with Marine Corps lore, and
documented a good bit of it by collecting relics.
He was a scene designer, for instance, for an Otis Skinner touring
company of ‘Kismet.” Among the props was a handsome ivory-handled knife – no
stage piece but a real article from Tripoli, dating back to their time the
marines made their historic landing there in 1803.
After the tour ended, the knife was presented to Canon. He now keeps its
tip sheathed in tape because it’s supposed to be made of poisoned steel.
The knife gave him some anxious moments a few years ago, when he was
running a restaurant in the Midway district and had it on display with other
relics.
Someone broke into the place and took, among other things, the knife.
Both because it was a valuable souvenir and a dangerous weapon as well, Cannon
left no stone unturned to get it back.
At length he and the police tracked it down. A bunch of kids were playing
with it, using it in a game of cops and robbers. (The knife will be on display
at the State Theater when the movie ‘Tripoli,’ depicting the Tripoli incident
opens there Friday. The timing of the picture and the dinner is purely
coincidental.”
An avid collector, Cannon often picked up books and relics in his travels
as a scenic artist. In an old history of the Civil war he found a penciled map
indicating a gunroom at old Fort Jackson, at the mouth of the Mississippi, had
been sealed up.
He got a government commission to open it and dug through three feet of
cement. In the room he found many rare pieces including a dozen large lamps.
One of them, given him by the government adorns his home at Cleveland Avenue
and Ramsey county road B. The house is li furnished with similar items.
Among them are a couple of hand-wrought nails from the home of Betsy
Ross. A marine happened to be guarding the place when Cannon visited as it was
being repaired, and a wink from one marine to another seems to mean something.
Busy as he has been, Cannon foresees an even busier time ahead. For one
thing, veterans are in a peculiar position, as far as their rights are
concerned; while theoretically convened by provisions involving ‘hazardous duty’
or ‘simulated warfare,’ the United States is not actually at was. This, he
thinks, will affect claims coming out of Korea.
The men who appeal to him for help, however, are confident of his
ability. The little marine, they think, grew until he knows as much about the Marine
Corps and its procedures as anybody up or down the line.”
I have explored the Gerald V. Cannon of Joy & Cannon studios in the past. For more information, see past posts 797-800.
page 5.Studio stencil for Joy & Cannon Scenic Co. on the back of a picture sheet at Triune Lodge in St. Paul, Minnesota.
When there is a major disruption in production, industries
change for the better or worse. WWI, the measles epidemic, the Spanish flu and
the 1920-1921 recession all hit in a relatively short period of time. Factor in
prohibition and it may have seemed like the end of the world. Many studios did
not weather these storms. One dying company could fuel another in times of
trouble, and such was the case when five Sosman & Landis employees left to
form Chicago Service Studios in 1920. Troubles began with Thomas G. Moses
resigned as President of Sosman & Landis to work for New York Studios
during the fall of 1918. He wrote, “September 1st, I resigned as
President of the Sosman and Landis Company which severs my connection with the
firm after thirty-eight years of service.
I joined the New York Studios and expect to get a studio and an office
to do business.” This must have signaled
the end for his fellow scenic artists at the firm.
Service Studios was initially located at the corner of State
and 20th street in Chicago in a building that was previously known
as the Marshall Field Store. The firm soon moved to 2919 W. Van Buren and set
up an impressive space after when the Mashall Field estate sold the building.
On June 26, 1921, the “Chicago Tribune” reported: “Old Time Marshall Field
Store Building is Sold. The Marshall Field estate has sold the southwest corner
of State and 20th. 155×120, to L. R. Warshawsky, for $75,000. After
the Chicago Fire Marshal Field & Co., then Field, Leiter & Co., used
part of the property for their retail store for some time. Later they used it
for wholesale purposes. It is now used for a scenic studio by the Chicago
Service Studios. The property is improved with a four story building contains
eight stores and eighteen flats with a two story building on the rear. Mr.
Warshawsky intends to make extensive alterations and will use a portion for his
automobile accessory business. S. C. Iverson of Hubbard Porter & Brother,
represented both parties” (June 26, 1921, page 26). The scenic studio in the
old Marshall Field Store, must have been a temporary situation as the new
studio was prepared in 1920.
Design by John Hanny for the Chicago Service Studios.Design by John Hanny for the Chicago Service Studios.Back of design by Design by John Hanny for the Chicago Service Studios.
Much of what we know about the founding of Service Studios
was recounted by scenic artist John Hanny decades later. Hanny was one of the
firm’s five founders. Originally a Sosman & Landis artist, Moses hired
Hanny in 1906 at the age of 16. Near the end of his life, Hanny would write,
“As I look back over the years, I now realize that I have had a full and
exciting life – hopefully a productive one – and have known and rubbed elbows
with some wonderful generous people including Tom Moses and Wm. Nutzhorn for
which I am most grateful.”
In six years, from 1906 until 1912, Hanny progressed at Sosman
& Landis’ to become one of their journeymen painters, going from a salary
of $6 to $35 a week. Hanny recalled, “Came up the line by painting tormentors
and grand drapery border, AD curtains – lettering excepted, surroundings for
Front Curtains, Streets, and Olios, etc. Later complete Front Curtains surroundings
and picture – figures excepted.”
Hanny wrote a brief biography of his career when asked about his experiences in 1979. On October 8, 1979, he wrote a letter to Dr. John Rothgeb, stating, “I stayed with Sosman & Landis until 1920 when four other men and myself decided to go it on our own and formed the Service Studios. We remodeled – with borrowed money, a Jewel Tea Co. barn of 18 horse stalls into a studio of five 24’ x 48’ and one 24’ x 38’ paint frames, plus floor space of 50’ x 50’ – This was the best equipped studio in Chicago – Sosman & Landis excepted.” Hanny’s mention of the remodeled space would have been the Marshall Field space described in the aforementioned “Chicago Tribune” article. Hanny went on to write, “We rented several frames to Hoyland and Lemle company on which to paint their Ad Curtains.” In 1924, the Hoyland-Lemle business address was listed as 6751 Sheridan Road in Chicago, the address as William Lemle’s residence (certified List of Domestic and Foreign Corporations for the year 1924). Hoyland and Lemle would continue to rent frames after Service Studios closed in 1926.
By 1926, the demand for painted scenery was beginning to
wane and the firm was struggling. Service Studios sold out to Art Oberbeck of
ACME Studios. Oberbeck had also started as a young artist at Sosman &
Landis, two years before Hanny in 1904. In 1926 Oberbeck moved ACME Studios from
36 West Randolph Street to the Service Studios at Van Buren and Sacramento
Street (2919 W. Van Buren).
Sales book page with both Service Studios and ACME studios stamp. ACME purchased Service Studios in 1926. Private collection.Sales book page with both Service Studios and ACME studios stamp. ACME purchased Service Studios in 1926. Private collection.
On April 8, 1928, the “Indianapolis Star” included an
advertisement about ACME Studios, noting, “Handling the largest amount of
scenic work in Chicago and the United States, the ACME Studios products must
necessarily reflect quality and completeness. The advertisement added, “All
work is personally supervised by A. W. Overbeck [sic.], himself a scenic artist
of ability who has spent more than twenty years in the profession. The firm
delivered “stage dressings” for the new Granada Theatre of the U. I. Theatre
Circuit, Inc. The company was credited with executing stage scenery and
draperies for the U. I. Circuit, Inc., and furnishing stage settings and
draperies for “numerous other large photoplay and legitimate theatres, such as
Balaban & Katz, Marks Bros. and others” (page 74). ACME Studios was still
located at 2919-23 Wes Van Buren St. in Chicago.
In 1918, Thomas G. Moses went on
an auto trip to South Bend, Indiana. He was accompanied by Lester and Jessie
Landis. Of the experience, he wrote, “July 2nd, Lester, his wife and
myself started for Battle Creek by the way of South Bend in his auto. We had a delightful trip, spending the 4th
of July in South Bend and coming away with a $1,200.00 contract.” Earlier that
spring, Moses recorded that the studio “Did considerable work for South Bend in
April.”
When Joseph S. Sosman passed away in 1915, stockholders elected
Moses as president of the Sosman and Landis Company, Sosman’s stepson Arthur as
vice-president and Landis’s son P. Lester Landis as secretary and treasurer. This
occurred only two months after Lester married Jessie Medbury. By the end of the
1915, Moses wrote, “I hope within a year that Lester will get into the office
work so I will not have much of that to do.”
It should have read Mrs. Jessie Royce Landis, from the “Chicago Tribune,” 21 April 1920, page 17.
Lester was slow to take on the
company reigns for a couple of factors. The first being his recent marriage to
actress Jessie Medbury in summer. At the same time, Arthur Sosman did not
success in the role of vice president.
By 1916, his mother replaced him in the role. On October 10,1916,
Moses was re-elected president of the company, with Mrs. Sosman as vice
president and Lester Landis as the secretary and treasurer. This was the same
year that Lester and Jessie’s son was born with downs syndrome. The company is
still in turmoil from Sosman’s passing, each family is struggling with their
individual problems and America enters the was.
Now throw in clients not paying their bills, or delaying payments; it
was a rough period, but Lester remains in the position of secretary and
treasurer.
Jessie Royce Landis was the daughter-in-law of Perry Landis, of Sosman & Landis. She married P. Lester Landis. From the “Indianapolis Star,” 26 March 1922, page 80.
By 1918, Lester is more active
in his role, and Moses even mentions his success in collecting overdue payments
for some projects, but the company is still faltering. By that fall, Moses
decided to leave, writing, “September 1st, I resigned as President
of the Sosman and Landis Company which severs my connection with the firm after
thirty-eight years of service. I joined
the New York Studios and expect to get a studio and an office to do business.
The Sosman and Landis Company have only done $85,000.00 worth of work for the
past year. We should have done about
$116,000.00 worth to make money.” Lester stays and soon becomes company
president. He was never a painter, never had the same connections as his
father, or really understood how the business was run. This had to have been an
extremely difficult time for Lester, especially as he and Jessie disagreed on
how to raise a child with special needs.
Although Moses resigned as President of Sosman & Landis
in 1918, he would sporadically work with Lester, mentioning him again 1922.
That year they pitched a new design for the Scottish Rite Valley of Little
Rock, Arkansas. However, Sosman & Landis was preparing to fold and the
vultures were waiting in the wings to grab what was left.
In 1923, Moses and Fred Megan purchased the name of Sosman
& Landis. Megan was previously associated with the Kansas City scenic Co.,
but had subcontracted work to Sosman & Landis over the years. The pair
would try to convince Lester to work with them again in 1925 after successfully
purchasing the name and reorganizing Sosman & Landis. In short, Moses seems to have genuinely liked
Lester to have made the offer. This may have been the turning point for Lester
when he declined the position, as he didn’t remain with the theatre industry
long after that. Although he was listed in the Evanston Directory as a salesman
for theatrical supplies in Chicago in 1931, by 1935 he was a salesman for North
Shore Buick Co. He would remain an
automobile salesman until his passing twenty years later.
Lester and his wife add an interesting twist to the overall
story of Sosman & Landis, as well as the life and times of Thomas G. Moses.
I am going to take a moment to focus on the Landis family.
Perry “Lester” Landis was born on October 25, 1892. He was
the son of Perry and Nora Landis. His father, Perry, co-founded Sosman &
Landis with Joseph S. Sosman in 1877. The Landis family was theatrical one,
with two of Perry’s brothers being well-known minstrel performers during the
late nineteenth century.
Perry and Nora were married in 1881 and the couple
celebrated the birth of only two children: Viola E. Landis (1885) and P. Lester
(1893). By 1899, the family moved from Chicago to Evanston, Illinois, when
Perry was listed as a co-founder and “scenic artist” at Sosman & Landis.
Despite the success of the studio, the Landis family experienced quite a bit of
sorrow over the years, as father Perry and daughter Viola dies within six
months of each other; Perry died in 1905. Lester’s son also died in 1928 from
the flu. Perry had been extremely sick for three years before his passing.
During the 1920s, however, everything also goes wrong for
his son Lester. The loss of his son to influenza in 1928 immediately led to the
loss of his wife. They had struggled for years concerning the care of their son
and her desire to have a career. Jessie Royce Landis would eventually find success
as an actress and film star and publish her autobiography, “You Won’t Be So
Pretty (But You’ll Know More)” in 1954. I have been trying to get my hands on a
copy for quite some time now, as I only have a few Xeroxed pages that were
tucked away in the John H. Rothgeb papers at the University of Texas, Austin.
In her book, Jessie describes the early years of her
marriage and the birth of her son. She married Lester on June 7, 1915, and the couple
celebrate the birth of a son in 1916. Medbury Perry Landis was named after his
two grandfathers – Medbury for her father and Perry for Lester’s.
Medbury was born with down’s syndrome. Of her son’s early
years, Jessie wrote, “Meddie was a beautiful baby and almost too good to
believe. He seldom cried. During the first two years of his life everything
went wrong in the Landis home. The business from which they derived their
incomes began to fail and it was disclosed for many years the dividends had
been paid out of capital. Lester tried to nurse it back, but he knew nothing
about the business and it was all pretty hopeless. The family had never had to
economize and couldn’t believe that it was necessary to do so now. ‘It will
turn out right somehow,’ Mother Landis would say and they continued to live as
they had always lived. I, who had known the ups and downs of fortune, seemed to
be the only one to worry.”
It was during this time of extreme financial difficulties
that Jessie returns to acting for additional income. After a series of
charitable performances, she begins working as an actor and director for the
North Shore Players. By 1926 she was performing on Broadway, with her last
Broadway show, “Roar Like a Dove,” in 1964. As with many performer, love
theatre was her first love, even after appearing on the big screen. In the
1920s, Jessie was touring on the road, her son was enrolled in a special school,
and her husband was struggling with his own career. By 1928, their son had
passed away from influenza, Sosman & Landis had closed and then reopened
under the management of Moses, and Jessie’s career took off. Too many factors
for their marriage to survive.
Jessie Royce Landis picture in 1938. She was cast the “The Millionairess.”
Although Jessie was married two more times, she retained
Landis as her stage name. From 1937-1944
she was married to Rex Smith, and in 1956 she married US Army Major General
John F. R. “Jeff” Seitz. In hindsight, keeping the Landis name it may have been
a strategic move, as the Landis family was well-known for their theatrical
connections also across the country.
Jessie Royce Landis is worthy of mention in her own right. She was born Jessie Medbury on Nov. 25, 1896. “Royce”
was not her original middle name, only “T” or “J” are listed as middle initials
in census reports. Later in life, Jessie described her childhood as the
daughter of a symphonic musician, explaining “a hankering for the stage since
childhood” (Stars and Stripes Newsletter, August 6, 1961). She continued, “When
other children were playing with their dolls, I would be playing theater. I do
remember I used to put on little shows in the backyard.” As a 14 year old,
Jessie had received a scholarship to attend the Hinshaw Dramatic School. She
also recalled additional studies as a pianist at the Chicago Conservatory of
Music. She met her husband while
performing with the Evanston Stock Comedy. The Landis’ were a big name in
Evanston and the theatre industry. Their marriage must have seemed like a
perfect fit, and it was for a very brief while.
Lester’s WWI draft record described him as medium height and
medium build with brown hair and brown eyes. At the time, his present
occupation was listed as a manufacturer of stage scenery at Sosman & Landis.
The couple celebrated the birth of their son Medbury in 1921, Sosman &
Landis is liquidated in 1923, and Jessie returned to the stage in 1924. That
year, newspapers noted that she was both acting and directing with the North
Shore Players, going on tour with a production of “The Highwayman.” This is
when her career begins to take off – immediately after the collapse of Sosman
& Landis. By the 1950s she begins appearing in movies, including “To Catch
a Thief” (1955), “The Swan” (1956) and “North by Northwest” (1959). In “North
By Northwest,” she plays Cary Grant’s mother.
Jessie Royce Landis (right) in the movie “To Catch a Thief.”Jessie Royce Landis (left) in the film “North by Northwest.”
The same year that Jessie married Rex Smith, Lester also
remarried. On October 2, 1937, Lester married Mrs. Elsie C. Karger; the couple
stayed together until his passing. Lester passed away at the age of 62 in 1955.
At the end of his life he was still an automobile salesman, living in
Belleville with his second wife. He had been in the town for four years, having
moved from O’Fallon. Both his wife and stepdaughter Jacqueline (Mrs. Charles
Schultz) of Columbia, Illinois were listed in his obituary.
In 1918, Thomas G. Moses wrote, “The Majestic Theatre and
Palace Music Hall had us all do their work as usual, but not very much new
work.” “But not very much new work” is
very telling. The industry was in a state of turmoil and business was becoming
erratic for scenic artists. They could
no longer anticipate a steady stream of work; it was as if someone had turned down
the valve and projects were now slowly trickling out.
There were some supply shortages too, with elevated prices due
to war rationing. By late spring, Moses wrote, “Our business is not good – far
from it. Raw material has advanced so
rapidly that we are unable to keep up with it, and I am very much worried about
the outcome.” The studio did not have enough work to keep Moses on full-time,
and he was the president of the company.
By summer Moses noted, “June business had a slump, so I took a little
time to plant our first garden, and we had some garden. It was a little hard at
first, but soon I got used to it and rather liked it. My neighbors insisted on making fun of me as
they claimed that was the first real work they ever saw me do. I wish they could see me lay in a big wood
drop on a hot summer’s day. I think they
would change their minds about my easy work.”
In addition to the decline of work, scarcity of materials
due to the war, there was another obstacle that was forever growing bigger –
the popularity of movies. In 1918, Moses wrote, “Mama and I have become movie
fans. Many of the pictures are very
good, while some are far from it.” The rise of movie fans reflected a shift in
audience expectations. By fall, Moses would resign as the president of Sosman
& Landis, hoping for greener pastures with New York Studios.
But a new threat was on the horizon for Moses and many
theaters employees; one that would throw another wrench into the works – the
Spanish Flu – and it hit theaters hard. Moses possibly picked the worst time to
leave Sosman & Landis.
From the “Chicago Tribune, 10 Oct 1918, page 14
On Oct. 27, 1918, “The Des Moines Register” reported,
“Appetites of Movie Fans, Whetted by Lack of Shows, Manager Says” (page 27). The
article announced, “Local Film Houses Expect Big Rush of Business As Soon As
Quarantine for Flu is Lifted.” Here is the article:
“What are the movie fans all doing while the theaters are
closed on account of the ‘flu,” and what will be the after effect of going for
two weeks without a glimpse of fascinating Douglas, excruciating Charlie,
bewitching Mary, thrilling Theda – or whomsoever else may happen to be a
particular film god or goddess that attracts one irresistibly to the movies?
Answers to these questions are as varied and numerous as the
persons asked; more varied, even, than the classes who make up the crowds that
daily and nightly pack the movie theatres to their full seating capacities when
they are in operation.
As to what their patrons are doing during their enforced
vacation, proprietors and managers of local moving picture houses have apparently
given scant thought, but they are all of one mind regarding the psychological
effect to be expected when the ban has been lifted.
‘Don’t know what they’re doing in the meanwhile – probably reading
magazines, visiting among themselves or, maybe, helping make face masks to
hasten the end of quarantine,” is about the way the average movie manager sums
up the situation.
‘But when the shows reopen, they’ll fairly eat them up!
Their appetites will be whetted up: they’ll be less critical – not so prone to
pick flaws and criticize as they were before. Get out of the movie habit? No
danger! It would take a generation to accomplish that. Attendance will be
greater than ever when the quarantine is lifted.’
Acting on that conviction, the movie magnates are having
their houses renovated and made more attractive on the inside and out – are
planning irresistible drawing cards to present when they reopen – and are
tightening up all the loose screws in the seats which are to accommodate record
breaking crowds.
‘I only hope that the type known as ‘movie fiends’ are
improving the opportunity by staying at home and cultivating the acquaintances
of their families,’ says City Mother McMichael; who goes on to explain that she
is not opposed to clean, wholesome movies; in fact, she enjoys them. She
believes the moving picture film possesses marvelous potential educational
value – which, unfortunately, is being largely neglected, while the baser
instincts of the public, particularly the younger people, are appealed to and
inflamed by sey [sic.] films which do irreparable harm.
‘Maybe the boys who have been shut out of the pool halls
will get acquainted with the girls who have been spending all their evenings at
the movies, and – there’s no telling what will happen then,’ suggest a
policeman, who considers Billy West superior to Charlie Chaplin.
‘The movie fans are reading,’ was an instantaneous reply of
a young woman behind the counter of a city library. ‘The demand for books,
since the closing order went into effect, amounts almost to a stampede.
Thousands of strange faces are lining up at this counter daily, seeking
literary substitutes for movie thrills.
‘What class of literature? Fiction – of the ‘popular’
variety. Problem novels are in greatest demand, particularly those that have
been dramatized or filmed. Suppose they are reading up on the stories, which
they have visualized on the screen. Oh no, there is no appreciable increase in
the demand for books on domestic science, the arts, or technical subject.
‘Psychological effect?’ repeated Be Woolgar, superintendent
of public safety. ‘I don’t know what effect the closing order will have o the
movie fan, but when the theaters reopen they’ve got to pay more attention to
the matter of keeping the red lights burning at all emergency exits.”
