Many thanks to everyone who has dropped by today--I have put together one part of my Kress presentation, and because I am really stupid, I figured I would go ahead and do it in PowerPoint, too. All of my photos from the archives look very nice, and today was a gorgeous day to take pictures, so it actually turned out okay. I even got to do a little detective work--none of the archival photos had any dates on them, so I had to guess based upon the various building additions and the style of the cars as to their chronological order. I had one pretty well closed in to about 1929 or '30 or so, which is fine for what I'm doing--it doesn't have to be exact--but then I noticed that over to the side of the picture was a movie theater. It was the Trianon, one of those old vaudeville places on a 25 foot wide city lot that was converted to a movie house. On the marquee was a nice little clue, and thankfully the scan of the photo was hi-res enough that I could clearly make out the star and the feature.

It is at this point that I cannot overstate my contention that the Internet is the greatest electrical appliance ever invented. Five minutes of Googling, and I had a complete biography of the star and some information about the movie, and found that our star has a Bacon Number of only 2!

The year was 1928 . The movie was Sinner's Parade, a silent film starring Dorothy Revier as Mary Tracy, John Patrick as Bill Adams, Edna Marion as Connie Adams, Marjorie Bonner as Sadie, Clarissa Selwynne as Mrs. Adams and Jack Mower as the Chauffeur.

Sounds like a real pot-boiler, although there is no description given. Let's make one up--snooty, hoity-toity high class types, full of sin and gin. Mary's in love with Bill, and poor Connie is left in shame in the mansion as Bill takes off in the Stutz with his and Mary's wicked laughter trailing along behind like cans tied to the bumper. The dastardly rake Bill kicks up his heels all over town, and Mary acts as though she were a common trollop. Of course, the scandal rocks the town and even Mrs. Adams, matriarch of the clan, is subject to the scathing tongues and gossip of Upper Crustberg, and no longer has anyone to call upon her, or attend her elegant dinner parties. The chaffeur even sports about it with those low down bootleggers, and Sadie--oh Sadie! She just can't keep her mouth shut.

But wait, who am I leaving out? Why, the headliner, the man with his name in lights on the marquee--

Playing the part of hardnosed cop Al Morton, none other than renowned Hungarian silent film start Victor Varconi!! Al's on to Bill's little bamboozle with the cards and the dice and the hooch--and the girls, too. Oh, no, Mary's not the only one.

As if she even cares.

One fateful night Bill's Stutz takes a short drive down a long alley--BANG! BANG! says the scene card. Glass shatters and the car smashes into the wall of the alley. Al's .38 sends smoky rivulets skyward as Mary silently screams from the passenger seat. The next dialogue card--"How could you!" "It was him or me, doll. The bigger question is, how could YOU!" Mary collapses into tears--the tears that can only come from a fallen woman.

At the funeral, Al consoles the Widow Adams--"I'm sorry I had to shoot your husband like that," says the card. Connie looks into his smoldering eyes, and for once sees a man look at her with genuine concern. Final card--"Yes."

Fade to black.

The End.

Or not--I am just making this up, after all. I'm sure it probably wasn't any better than my made up version, though--and now that they had them new talkies, well, just wait until you can hear that pistol go BANG instead o'reading off a card.

Anyway, a little more searching, and there is this biography of ol' Vic, and as noted, the Oracle of Bacon says he's just like this with Kev.

In other events, no correspondence from the long-suffering Mrs. Hanji Sal of One of the International Banks in Cote d'Ivoire today--she may have given up. My success in this effort emboldens me, however, and almost makes me long for the next scammer to send me something. Almost.

Oh well, tomorrow is another day. And one that will be similarly Possum deprived--I still have much other Real Work to do, so blogmorrow will be sorta light on the Other White Meat. But, you never know.
posted by Terry at 4:45:00 PM