The entire play is handled in a reverential spirit. But to be in the Pilgrimage Play, and possess a sense of humor, is to be handed a laugh a minute.
And surely the Lord loveth joy.
John the Baptist on a Motor Cycle
The first thing I laughed loudly o'er was the approach of the man playing John the Baptist. Can you imagine the "Voice crying in the desert" riding on a motor cycle? Well, "John" did. He attended rehearsals and performances at the risk of his life, approaching in breakneck speed on a snorting red motor cycle.
Then suddenly someone would call out to me—
"Martha, if you go down the street, bring Herod and Caiaphas a couple of eskimo pies."
Another remark oft heard was,
"Lazarus, have you got a Lucky Strike?" or "Pilate, give me a stick of gum."
St. Peter Will Be Waiting
One day, during the run of the play, I was working in a picture in the daytime, and the gate man on the lot came to me with a baffled expression on his face, and said,
"There is a strange man outside—he sent this message: He says to tell you St. Peter will be waiting at the gate for you in his Ford to take you to the performance tonight."
When the demoniac boy left before the season was over, we all chipped in to buy him a cigarette case.
Six Maids and a Man
Dame Fortune's daughter has clamped her hands heavily upon us Extra girls, lately. Not a call from any of the agencies. Not even a promise of work at the studios.
The portals of the "Land of Make-Believe" seem locked and bolted for at least three months. Everywhere the office boy would say,
"We are not casting today."
This threw a great gleam of gloom upon us. So one night, about six weeks ago, we held a debate in the attic of the Studio Club. Three held fast to the affirmation of the affirmative:
"It is worth while to struggle, suffer, and starve for Art's sake."
The negatives:
"It is selfish, stupid, and soul-slaughtering, to let Youth slip by on the quicksands of the Film world."
It was about two A. M. when the debate abated. I saw Pat slip out of the room chattering with the cold, but grasping a pad and pencil. Babs followed her. We all felt the "muse was on."
Two hours later, when the other four of us, still wide awake and huddled together in one bed, were about ready to cash in on the whole movie game, Pat entered the room and demanded our undivided attention. In two hours' time, seated on the side of the bathtub, she had written a short Vaudeville "Act," depicting the life of six girls in Hollywood, struggling for entrance into filmland. It fairly glistened with clever, witty lines. And Babs had, with the aid of a night light and a blunt pencil, written some adorable lyrics for three songs. Pat had a friend who could write jazzy music. We could think up some dances, and go storming into vaudeville with the act, while the studios were so dull, playing about on small time for a few weeks, and perchance be booked on Orpheum time later on. We felt we had a great message to bring to girls in the big cities and girls in small towns and hamlets, warning them against entering into this heart-breaking struggle unless one had an herculean constitution, aided by the possession of at least one thousand sheckles.
My first hours on those skates! Trying to look graceful, keep my balance and talk naturally I barely made the grade.
Rehearsing for Big Time
Next day rehearsals actually started and continued for many days to come. If you've ever tried getting anything ready for vaudeville, you know what hard work is put on things that are apparently dead easy. Pat was terribly strict about rehearsals. Glory used to tumble downstairs in exactly one garment, and the rest of us hadn't much more on, I must admit.
Booked at Last
We tried to make each a distinct character, and true to our own type, and at last the Act seemed really whipped into shape enough for its "premiere." We managed to get a booking at one of the cheap little movie theatres at the Beach for two days, giving four performances a day.
I must tell you that our chauffeur on this and many succeeding occasions was none other than Davies, my old friend of the Pilgrimage Play. There are rare individual souls scattered here and there in the world, who give and give without a thought of receiving. Davies is one of them. His battered old Saxon(Continued on page 97)
