Not Dead, but Reeling

Reports
of the death of the movie industry at the hands of television are
premature, Jerry Wald, Fox producer, told a Press Club audience.

He conceded, however, under the expert needling of Joe Hyams of the N.Y. Herald Tribune, that the business has developed a suicide complex.

One
big trouble, he said, has been the prevalent thought that a big star,
which means a big guarantee, can save a bad story. Not true. The story,
producers have learned, must come first.

"Just write a masterpiece, or even a best seller." Jerry advised newsmen, and we’ll take care of the rest.

NOT LONG ago
9,000 inquires were sent out, asking what themes people preferred. Of
the 7,800 replies, the majority looked for the theme of survival, the
will to live. Next came security, sex third. Wald wasn’t knocking it.
After all, he made "Peyton Place." Incidentally, he had a rebuke for
lurid movie advertising, which is out of his control.

Wald
also blamed myopic movie moguls for some of the trouble, recalling the
time a studio chief was asked why he didn’t make "Johnny Belinda," the
story of a girl who couldn’t talk. The movie exec replied, "Because we
have talking pictures."

His parting shot. "Television is where you see all the pictures you’ve been trying to avoid for years."

And so goes the war.

ART CRITICISM is an exclusive realm, in which the eye of the beholder is everything.

At
an exhibit, Harry Essex, writer and artist, was asked what he thought
of a group of paintings. After a moment’s thought he said, "They make
me feel like going over and putting titles on them — January,
February, March, April . . ."

GASSER
Hear the pettifoggers’ pronunciamento,’
I fear the smog’s hit Sacramento.
–CLIFF MACKAY

ALL’S WELL at last among the feuding claimants to the title, mayor of 7th and Alvarado. Korny Kenny, self-proclaimed alcalde, has graciously slipped the halo to his friendly opponent, Joe Hart.

In
a formal statement Kenny wrote, "The people have spoke, my heart is
broke, I wish the new mayor the best. But I would of won if it wasn’t
for the gosh-darned vest." He was referring to his sportingweskit, object of derision. Another factor in his abdication was that he ships out on freighters and is gone for months, leaving 7th and Alvarado without a firm hand. 

Joe
Hart, who backed into WW 2 in time to get wounded in the South Pacific,
has had cards printed with a big red heart on them through which his
name and new title stab prettily. His slogan: Equal rights for pigeons
and men.

THE CONCENTRATED LAPD raids on narcotics peddlers and addicts which netted about 200 suspects a few days ago turned up a fearsome non sequitur.

An
officer knocked on a door but got no answer. He knew people were inside
and shouted for them to open the door. No answer. He asked, "What’s
going on in there?" No answer.

Taking a more jovial approach
he called out, "What’s happening, man?" Came the frightened response,
"I don’t know anybody by that name."

AROUND TOWN — Tom
Devlin, L.A. newsman, has brought out a 350-page documented report on
the strange case of the Finn twins, charging their conviction was a
miscarriage of justice. It represents five years of investigation. In a
forward Devlin explains his purpose, "A man must do what he must do" .
. . You know those bus loaders on the Broadway islands who have their
cash boxes on a long stick? Between cars, one of them was solemnly
waltzing his stick . . . No truth to the rumor, Roy Walters whispers,
that one of the new edifices planned for Bunker Hill will be called the
Bunker Hilton.

Closing the Books

In the last week two big downtown bookmakers have folded their form charts and quietly stolen away.

The gendarmes didn’t knock them over. The longshots at Santa Anita did.

To stay in business a bookie has to figure on 20% — $20 of every $100 wagered.

Normally
around 33% of the favorites, or chalk horses, win, paying short prizes.
This has been especially true at the big Arcadia slot machine.

But
not this semester. The longshots have been tromping in like crazy. One
bookie was hit for $3,000 last week by an uncooperative nag which came
from nowhere.

IN THE OLD DAYS when a bookie got loaded
up on a longshot, he could lay off some of the money so he wouldn’t get
hurt. Now he can’t. The lay-off spots aren’t around any more. And he
can’t refuse the action or the players will become irritable. So, down
the drain.

Naturally this distressing situation is working a
hardship on beleaguered bettors. When a bookie is hard to find, a
player, especially one with a hot tip, faces the terrible prospect of
going out to the track and getting clobbered for the full ride, maybe
even being refused admittance because his tie isn’t on straight.

Man, it’s murder.

DRIVING THROUGH a beach town, Jo Meade commented on the
unimaginative street names and wondered if they’d ever be changed to
something more colorful.

"I’ll start them out," Tom, her husband, said, "with Squid Roe."

EVERYONE doubtless has noticed how everything’s going
Italiano these days — clothes, shoes, film start, small cars, cuisine.
Well, Dana Burkhalter puts it this way:

With all this Italian cooking, I guess
They’ll soon call our city Lasagna-les,
The name doesn’t matter, I’d like, never fear,
To own a few pizzas of property here.

A MAN I KNOW went to the freezer to get some hamburger for
dinner and found some freshly washed clothes. Holding up his wife’s bra
he demanded, "What’s this doing in the freezer?"

Surprised at
such ignorance, she said she kept them there until she was ready to
iron them. The cold, she explained, prevented mildew.

Logical, but a little depressing.

THE WAY Lou Huston tells it, Hamlet, tortured by inner
conflicts, attempted to resolve his hostilities by the wanton slaying
of inoffensive donkeys and a particular species of bird.

One
day, as the unhappy prince stalked through the garden at Elsinore,
terminating the lives of the beasts and birds, he was observed by his
mentor, Polonius, who admonished him, "Neither a burro oriole-ender
be."

ONLY IN BURBANK — Mrs. M. Belden’s son, a first-grader,
came home from school bursting with the news that there was a new boy
in class named Felicio, which, he said, means "drop dead."

Knowing
the name means happiness, she asked where he got such an idea. Came the
reply, "Well, I asked him what his name meant and he said, ‘Drop dead!’
"

AROUND TOWN — A Duarte lady, who has just received a
Christmas card from a great aunt in Havana postmarked Dec. 10, 1958,
asks, "How manana can you get?" . . . A family on Golden Gate Ave. near
Sunset Blvd. is beginning to think autos don’t like the two trees in
front of the house. On Lincoln’s Birthday a Chevy crashed into one and
on the Washington Birthday holiday the other was fiercely attacked by a
Plymouth. The trees fought back resolutely but hardly made a dent . . .
Overheard by Frank Barron in Beverly Hills: "If I put as much money
into payments as I put in parking meters my car would have been paid
for by now."