Karl Dane: A Biography and Filmography

Karl Dane

Karl Dane A Biography and Filmography LAURA PETERSEN BALOGH Foreword by KEVIN BROWNLOW

McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers Jefferson, North Carolina, and London

Frontispiece: Karl Dane, Hollywood portrait, date unknown.

LIBRARY

OF

CONGRESS CATALOGUING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

Balogh, Laura Petersen, ¡965– Karl Dane : a biography and filmography / Laura Petersen Balogh ; foreword by Kevin Brownlow. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-7864-4207-2 softcover : 50# alkaline paper ¡. Dane, Karl, 1886–1934. 2. Actors — United States — Biography. I. Title. PN2287.D257B35 2009 791.4302' 8092 — dc22 [B]

2009026376

British Library cataloguing data are available ©2009 Laura Petersen Balogh. All rights reserved No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Cover photos: Karl Dane in Circus Rookies (1928) and Hollywood portrait (author’s collection). Manufactured in the United States of America

McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers Box 6¡¡, Je›erson, North Carolina 28640 www.mcfarlandpub.com

To Mom and Dad, who introduced me to the world of silent film.

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Table of Contents Acknowledgments

ix

Foreword by Kevin Brownlow

1

Introduction

3

1 • A Boy from Copenhagen

7

2 • Soldier, Daredevil and Father

19

3 • An American Adventure

34

4 • Exile

49

5 • Emma

58

6 • The Big Parade

64

7 • A Family Regained

82

8 • The Great Dane and the Amazing Arthur

100

9 • 1928, a Tumultuous Year

116

10 • On the Road

146

11 • Mining Over Movies

156

12 • Last Days

163

Epilogue

177

Appendix A: Personalities and Postscripts

179

Appendix B: Shorts

185

Filmography

187

Chapter Notes

207

Bibliography

215

Index

221

vii

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Acknowledgments So many people have helped me bring this book to fruition. First and foremost, I would like to thank Kevin Brownlow, who believed in me enough to provide the foreword to this book and edited the entire manuscript. He also assisted with my questions and provided many excellent suggestions. Hugh Watkins was an invaluable friend and mentor who provided impeccable research into Karl’s early years in Denmark. Carol Wipf and Michelle and Matt Vogel assisted with the editing. Karl’s distant cousin Jakob Gottlieb provided the online family tree, which takes the Gottlieb family back several centuries. Danes Lise Bendixen, Hedvig Pitzner-Jørgensen, Henrik Andresen, Jacob Peter Phister, Leif Dehnits, Esben Krohn, Jan Andersen, Jørgen Andersen, Henning Bender, Birgit Mellquist, and Alf Blume helped with research in Denmark. Christian Hansen, of the Danish Film Institute, was a great source of Danish articles on Karl, and provided loyal support throughout the project. Rasmus Brendstrup, Lars Ølgaard, Dan Nissen, Eva Jørholt, Jesper Andersen, Lars-Martin Sørensen, Madeleine Schlawitz, and Lisbeth Richter Larsen were other great friends and advocates at the DFI. Ned Comstock provided helpful direction regarding the materials in the Special Collections at USC. George Fogelsen, Shannon Van Stockum, Sharon Jones, and Eileen Glaholt also helped with important research in California. Blake Boulerice and Charlotte Dunkley helped translate articles and letters from the original Danish. Many authors, filmmakers, critics, and film historians have provided me, a first-time author, with helpful insight: Leonard Maltin, Anthony Slide, David Shepard, Rudy Behlmer, Marc Wanamaker, Hugh Munro Neely, Wally Farmer, Dorinda Hartmann, Stephen Witty, Scott Eyman, Grant HayterMenzies, Gary Don Rhodes, Bill Cassara, Hans J. Wollstein, Mike Oldham, E.J. Fleming, William M. Drew, Lon Davis, Thomas Schatz, Casper Tybjerg, and Leonard J. Kohl. Wendy Brest Sani, the charming daughter of George K. Arthur (Karl’s co-star in many films), kindly granted me access to the George K. Arthur Collection at the Museum of Modern Art, which included his very entertaining ix

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

unpublished memoirs. Ron Magliozzi, Charles Silver, and Jennifer Tobias of MOMA provided assistance. David A. Davis, from the Nevada Bureau of Mines & Geology, gave me terrific information about mining in the early 1930s, and provided many suggestions about where to look to track Karl’s mining deals in those years. Source materials were provided by the the Danish State Archives, the Copenhagen National Registration Office, the Malmö (Sweden) Town Library, the Danish National Library, the Royal Garrison Library, the Frederiksberg Central Library, the Prefect of Copenhagen, the Copenhagen City Directories, the Copenhagen Town Hall, various Danish census records, the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences and its Margaret Herrick Library, and the Wisconsin Center for Film and Theater Research. Cole Johnson and Bruce Calvert provided stills of Karl. Thanks to Jared Case of the George Eastman House for his help in viewing four of Karl’s films the day I visited the facility. Many thanks to the wonderful reference librarians at the following public libraries: The Royal Danish Library, New York, Los Angeles; Morris County, New Jersey; Madison, New Jersey; Lincoln, Nebraska; Boston, Massachusetts; and Denver, Colorado. Warm thanks also to Joe Yranski, Elise Howard, Richard Finegan, Rob Farr, Tom Best, Jim Roup, Frank “Junior” Coghlan, Sara Henderson, Karie Bible, Janet Lorenz, G.D. Hamann, John McElwee, Jon Mirsalis, Bill Jackson, Judith Williams, Annette Limoges, Mariana Pinheiro, Karla Everett, Nancy Bassarear, Paul E. Mix, Rachel Spaulding, Patricia Eliot Tobias, Robert Hartmann Pedersen, Ralph Reimers, Susan Caputo, Dorothy Balogh, Tony Scott, Lois Berseth Hedlund, Sid Bloomberg, Peter Holst Eriksen, Hala Pickford, John McDermott, Maggie Fleming, Marcello Vavala, Martyn Hooper, and Susan Hatch. Harry Matthews took me on a private tour of Brooklyn and to Karl’s old haunts. Many thanks to Karl’s grandson, Bent Harsmann, and Karl’s grand nephew, Per Schøler Gottlieb, for providing family photos, family tree information, and continuing kind support. And finally, last but certainly not least, thanks to my wonderful husband Dan for his great patience and support during these past few years. He also provided great technical assistance and was the webmaster for the Karl Dane website, www.karl-dane.com.

Foreword by Kevin Brownlow The motion picture business is full of mysteries. Prominent stars will always be written about — you can find countless readers for a volume on Judy Garland — but there are minor players whose lives can prove equally fascinating. The trouble is that so little is known about them. It takes dedication and enormous tenacity to find out the facts. This book is a perfect example. Laura Petersen Balogh, who shares a Danish background with Karl Dane, has tracked down a career that might have been written as a melodrama, or invented by a puritanical pastor to deter people from a similar path to perdition. Dane’s real name was not Daen, as the encyclopedias would have it, but Gottlieb. I was impressed to learn that Laura conducted a letter-writing campaign to the Gottliebs living in Denmark — several hundred of them. How one treasures and respects that kind of commitment! How it contrasts with the approach of Kenneth Anger, of Hollywood Babylon notoriety; when asked how he did his research, he replied, “Mental telepathy, mostly.” The Big Parade is one of those films that will live as long as its images last, and Karl Dane’s immortality is ensured. But he made other outstanding films, some of which are sitting, imprisoned, in the vaults. Let us hope that this book will arouse enough interest to release (literally) such excellent films as The Enemy and Alias Jimmy Valentine. Karl Dane may have played small parts, but he made them unforgettable. And this book provides the kind of sympathetic and knowledgeable account which would have made him very proud.

Kevin Brownlow is an author, filmmaker, and silent film historian who has studied the period for over fifty years. His best-known book is the classic The Parade’s Gone By..., in which he interviewed many personalities from the silent era. Thanks to his restorations and research, many films have been saved from oblivion, and the public has gained a greater appreciation of the work of these early pioneers who might otherwise have been forgotten.

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Introduction It seems like a Cinderella story gone horribly wrong. A humble working class immigrant from Copenhagen is plucked from obscurity to co-star in a Hollywood film. It becomes a smash hit, and he becomes rich and famous overnight. But several years later he is living in utter poverty, forgotten by his former friends. Desperate and alone, he shoots himself in his tiny Los Angeles apartment. This was the tragic life of Karl Dane, one of the reigning kings of silent comedy, who rocketed to fame as “Slim” in the 1925 classic The Big Parade but is almost completely unknown today. The most famous casualty of the transition from silent to sound film, Karl reportedly lost his film career because of his Scandinavian accent and found himself completely broke at the height of the Great Depression. It is alleged that he was even reduced to operating a hot dog stand outside the gates of the studio from which he earned $1,500 per week only a few years before. All I knew about Karl Dane back in November 2005 were these few lurid “facts” from various Hollywood scandal books. A lifelong silent film buff, I was familiar with his most famous role, but never took a particular interest in his life. That changed when my husband and I saw Karl’s last film, the 1933 low-budget serial The Whispering Shadow, also starring Bela Lugosi. The first time I heard Karl Dane’s voice, I was surprised that his accent was not as heavy as had been claimed. Intrigued, I checked Amazon for any biographies in print, assuming there would be several from which to choose. I was wrong — nothing had ever been published. Normally, I would have moved on, but over the next few weeks I found myself online, searching for information about him. I decided to see where the journey would take me, and started at the beginning: Karl’s origins in his native land. The Internet Movie Database told me his real name was Gottlieb, and also his date of birth, so I had some meager data upon which to draw. I posted to a genealogy newsgroup, asking for advice on how to obtain his Danish birth certificate, and met a retired British genealogist who decided to assist me. Hugh Watkins went to the Copenhagen City Archives and pho-

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INTRODUCTION

tographed Karl’s birth and military records. This provided a firm foundation for the research to come over the next few years. With the help of another genealogist, and letters to several hundred Gottliebs residing in Denmark, I was eventually able to track down Karl’s living descendants, who provided photographs, letters, and additional family history. In America I discovered that George K. Arthur, Karl’s comedy partner, had bequeathed his unpublished memoirs to the Museum of Modern Art in New York. With Arthur’s daughter’s permission, I was able to access the material, which contained some wonderful anecdotes about the duo’s partnership. A later trip to see both the King Vidor and MGM collections at the University of Southern California provided information about the making of Karl’s many films. I also visited the Eastman House in Rochester, New York, to see some of Karl’s films there. A logical question: Why write a book on such an obscure figure? Other stars, after all, suffered similar catastrophic falls in that era. John Gilbert, Karl’s former co-star, is one of the most well-known. According to Hollywood scandal sheets, when his voice was heard for the first time, it was hooted at by audiences who thought it unmanly. Gilbert made several other films that proved his voice was just fine, but the damage was done and his career was finished. His spirit broken, he died at age thirty-six of heart failure. Louise Brooks, the dazzling beauty who appeared in German director G.W. Pabst’s classics The Diary of a Lost Girl and Pandora’s Box, ended up working for an escort service for a brief period after the end of her movie career. Mae Murray, the “Girl with the Bee Stung Lips,” supposedly became so down and out that she was found one night by a policeman sleeping on a bench in Central Park. There were suicides as well. Peg Entwistle, failed starlet, leapt to her death from the Hollywood sign. Director George Hill, plagued by ill health, ended his life with a shotgun. Actor John Bowers walked into the sea, which inspired a similar scene in the film A Star Is Born. Yet, none of these other stories resonates like Karl Dane’s. Some of the other celebrities were savvy and hard-boiled “players” who gave as good as they got, and gambled and lost in the game of Hollywood. Karl, by comparison, appeared to be an innocent, a person so direct, unworldly, and trusting that he was unable to navigate the political minefield of the studio system at a time when it mattered most. Karl’s life is intriguing and relevant to us today for many reasons. The fact that he died under such unfortunate circumstances elicits compassion in people who have heard some of the facts of his life. Given today’s economic situation, his impoverished end touches a nerve, since it speaks to all of our worst fears.

Introduction

5

Many misconceptions about Karl were printed as fact for many years. His accent, of course, was already mentioned, but some people even went so far as to suggest he spoke no English at all! Others suggested that Karl didn’t have any talent, and that he made a career by playing himself— a big, lumbering, good-natured but dim oaf. The reality was quite different. Karl Dane was a highly talented and versatile performer, capable of playing many types: a sophisticated and elegant German chancellor (My Four Years in Germany), sadistic villain (Wolves of Kultur), cowboy (The Everlasting Whisper and War Paint), and even action hero (The Voice of the Storm). He worked with many distinguished directors, including King Vidor, Victor Seastrom, Clarence Brown, Maurice Tourneur, and Benjamin Christensen. Despite all this, he was marginalized. Due to his gangly looks and Scandinavian heritage, he was frequently typecast in “dumb Swede” roles, especially late in his career. Karl was a different man than the characters he played on the screen. The fact that he was much more polished in person always surprised interviewers. He was also an enigma; while friendly and always ready with a dimpled grin, Karl was also a quiet, introverted man who kept his deepest feelings inside. He was a man with many secrets, which he kept hidden from his friends in Hollywood. Karl had an ex-wife and two children in Denmark from whom he was estranged for many years. Tragedy had also struck after he came to America when his second wife died in childbirth. After the advent of talkies, his self-doubt became so debilitating that he suffered a nervous breakdown in 1930. After Karl’s suicide, his name and contributions were neglected for many years. However, he was never entirely forgotten. In the 1960s a star was placed in his honor on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. His best film, The Big Parade, is shown frequently at film festivals, and his brilliant, finely-shaded portrayal of Slim — goof y and endearing, yet also tragic — is still Karl’s star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, 6140 admired by modern audi- Hollywood Boulevard (photograph by Sara Henderences. son).

6

INTRODUCTION

Despite his untimely end, Karl has managed to achieve a type of immortality, earning affection and respect from new generations of silent film fans. Far from falling victim to the stereotypical “dumb Swede” characters written for him, Karl imbued them with a freshness and three-dimensional quality that transcended his material. This alone allows him to join the ranks of the true stars of the silent screen.

1 A Boy from Copenhagen Imagine the cozy scene: a workshop, dimly lit against a windy winter evening, perhaps a roaring fire. Two small boys sit Indian-style on rugs on the floor, earnestly occupied in cutting out figures with small pairs of scissors, watched over by their father, a lanky man dressed in work clothes. On a nearby table top is a small proscenium, about ten inches by thirteen. The figures being cut are to be placed into this model theater, based on the Royal Theatre of Copenhagen, where our intimate scene is set. The year is about 1896, and the boys are Reinald Marius, age 11, and his brother Rasmus Carl, a year younger. The group is in the process of creating their own hideaway. The Danes have a special word for this type of scene, one that is difficult to express in English: “hygge.”1 The rough translation is “cozy, warm, and intimate,” and conveys a deep sense of security and belonging. Today, Danes leaving a social gathering can provide no greater compliment than to thank his or her host for a “hyggelig” evening. Even in his heyday in Hollywood, Karl Dane, the younger boy in our setting, preferred these informal settings.2 No photos exist of him at any of the legendary celebrity parties of the 1920s, such as those thrown by star Marion Davies, who reigned as hostess at the San Simeon estate of William Randolph Hearst. Indeed, his idea of a party was sitting in his kitchen and enjoying a beer with a friend.3 To truly understand Karl, we have to go back to the very beginning, even to before his father’s time. Karl Dane, of course, was not his real name. Neither was it Karl Daen, as was absurdly reported as well. He was actually born Rasmus Carl Therkelsen Gottlieb on October 12, 1886, in a small second floor apartment at T¿resengade 23, in central Copenhagen. Today the door to the residence is to the right of a grocer’s shop on the corner of the block. Eighteen eighty-six was a momentous year in history.4 Louis Pasteur founded his famed medical institute. Coca Cola was invented. The Statue of Liberty, which Karl would sail past thirty years later, was dedicated in New York on October 28. Karl Benz patented the first successful gasoline-powered automobile. The Haymarket Riot erupted in Chicago, eventually paving the 7

8

KARL DANE

Karl’s birthplace, T¿resengade 23, Copenhagen, Denmark. Karl and his family lived in a small apartment on the second floor (photograph by the author).

way for an eight-hour workday. And Apache Chief Geronimo finally surrendered after fighting U.S. troops for over 30 years. Karl was the youngest son of a glove-maker, Rasmus Marius Gottlieb, born in 1860, who settled in the capital after emigrating from his boyhood home in Horsens. Karl’s mother was Anne Cathrine Simonsen, born in 1857 in Aarhus. Gottlieb is still a relatively uncommon surname in Denmark; it is German, not Scandinavian. Originally a first name, it literally means “God’s love.”5 Some two centuries earlier, Karl’s ancestors lived in France, and they were Presbyterians (also known as Huguenots). At this time they had two surnames — Gottlieb and Just — but eventually shed the “Just” some time in the mid–19th century. The family traveled from France to Germany, then settled permanently in Denmark. In 1780, Karl’s great-great grandfather, the merchant Johann Gottlieb Just, left his home in Stendhal, Germany, with its magnificent medieval Gothic cathedral, to seek his fortune in Horsens, which lies at the east coast of the island of Jutland at the head of the Horsens fjord. At the time that Johann arrived, it had barely 3,000 inhabitants, but has now grown to over 55,000 in the present day.6 Johann decided to stay and put down roots in the growing city, and his

1 • A Boy from Copenhagen

9

descendants remained there for over 100 years. Almost all of their births, marriages, and deaths are recorded in the church records at Vor Frelsers Kirke in the middle of the city. At the end of the eighteenth century, Horsens was enjoying a trade revival, and would continue to grow through the next hundred years as well. A new port was constructed in the year 1850, and Horsens developed into a thriving center of industry.7 The Seven Years’ War raged during Johann’s childhood, and Winston Churchill called it the true First World War, since it involved all of the major European powers at the time.8 Johann’s birthplace of Stendhal, in the region of Saxony, was attacked by armies of Frederick the Great, resulting in much hardship. Like Johann, some 130 years later, Karl, too, emigrated after another world war darkened all of Europe. Johann found success in his adopted land. He married a prosperous widow named Ane Marie Christensen, and together they operated a butcher shop. They had six children, among them Niels, Karl’s great-grandfather. Niels wed Gjedske Andersdatter in 1818, but not before fathering an illegitimate son, Christian, three years earlier with another woman. Premarital sex had been common in Scandinavian countries for several centuries, and the rate of illegitimate birth was then about ten percent.9 The couple had three sons together, among them Rasmus Therkelsen, Karl’s grandfather, their youngest. Tragedy struck the family, however, when Rasmus’s brother, Anders Peder, drowned himself in the Horsens Fjord at the age of 38 in 1856. Census records chronicle his sad descent into poverty. In 1850 he was a master baker. People in this profession were often the wealthiest in their villages. Yet only five years later he was reduced to being a day laborer on a small farm outside of Horsens. He supported a wife and extended family, so his motive for suicide may have been financial in nature. His great nephew would take a similar precipitous fall over 80 years later. Fortunately, Anders’s brothers, Rasmus (Karl’s grandfather) and Johann, led far more steady lives. Rasmus became a dyer, achieving master status, which meant he could take on his own apprentices. Johann was a glovemaker, and even had his own household servants. Archival records show that there were several other Gottliebs in Horsens who attained master status. Despite the tragedy of Anders’s life, the prosperity of his brothers shows that young Danes could now follow their own paths in life. No longer were they restricted to their father’s profession. For centuries the guilds had strictly limited what trade a person could pursue, but slowly, through the influence of capitalism, these organizations had lost power and influence.10 At the same time, industry rapidly grew in the big cities. This was a huge accomplishment, given the fact that Denmark is a country that does not pos-

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KARL DANE

sess any important raw materials. In the coming years, Denmark would develop a manufacturing industry known and admired the world over for its high-quality goods. A noted example is Carlsberg Breweries, founded in 1847. Exciting political changes were also taking place. The biggest was the introduction of the first parliamentary democracy in 1849. Previously, the monarch’s power had been absolute. King Frederick VII saw the wisdom of signing the Constitutional Law rather than risk open popular revolt.11 The power of the worker also gained prominence during this era. In 1898 the Association of Trade Unions was developed, followed the next year by a nineteen week general strike. This forced company owners to acknowledge the power of their workers and deal with them in a more humane manner.12 Although life was by no means easy for the vast majority of her citizens, living conditions in Denmark were steadily improving on the whole. In fact, Denmark has long been considered revolutionary in the area of social welfare. She abolished the slave trade in 1798 — before the other European nations — and a number of homes for the elderly were created in the 19th century. The world’s first social security system was also introduced here. Today the country has a system of socialized medicine. Many of these social reforms were galvanized by the influence of a number of sociallyconscious authors during the period. Most notable among these was Martin Andersen Nexø, author of Pelle the Conqueror. Nexø’s book was avidly read by all classes in Denmark, and vividly tells the story of a young boy growing up in a working class neighborhood, struggling to survive. The work was stirring, since the author himself had endured similar hardships during his upbringing, and a movement was born to help improve the plight of the working classes.13 The Danish public was becoming accustomed to new technologies as well. The telephone was introduced in 1877, gradually phasing out the telegraph (although for several decades only the wealthy could afford them).14 Electricity was introduced in the early 1900s, replacing all of the old gas lamps and candles of previous generations. These new inventions greatly excited young men at the time, among them Karl and his elder brother, who eventually became a licensed electrician. Once Karl’s grandfather Rasmus finished his apprenticeship with a Master Therkelsen, he set up his own workshop and then wed his cousin, Jensine, in November 1851. Over the next decade they lost two of their four children, one a two-year-old son, before the deceased child’s namesake — Karl’s father, Rasmus Marius — was born on April 14, 1860. His battered birth certificate still exists in the Gottlieb family records. Naming living offspring after a child who did not survive was a common occurrence in those days of

1 • A Boy from Copenhagen

11

high infant mortality. They also lost their next child, a daughter named Rasmine, the following year. We know no details of Karl’s father’s formative years. Only one photograph of him is known to exist, and was taken when he was almost 60 years old. When Rasmus reached adolescence, he, too, decided not to follow his father’s profession as dyer, and instead apprenticed to a relation in Randers as a glove cutter, according to the 1880 Danish census. Glove-making was then a thriving trade in Denmark.15 Gloves from Randers were especially prized all over Europe for their high quality, rivaled only by those from Paris. In 1834 a glove-cutting die was introduced, which meant goods could be more quickly and easily produced, and glove-making became a major industry. Both Denmark and Sweden became noted for their production of suede gloves, cured using a combined alum and bark tanning process.16 In the Victorian era, many young Danish men started experiencing a sense of wanderlust and began immigrating to the big cities to seek their fortunes, causing their populations to boom. Many of the towns shook off their medieval layouts, and new, towering factory chimneys and multi-storey flats came to replace the Gothic church spires in the urban skylines. Young Rasmus was also caught up in this excitement. After he completed his apprenticeship with Johann Nielsen Gottlieb in Randers, he traveled to Aarhus, where he courted Anne Cathrine Simonsen. The two married at the stately Dome of Aarhus (Aarhus Domkirke) on April 12, 1884. About a year later the couple moved to Copenhagen and started their own family. Three sons were born in the next few years, including Reinald on March 6, 1885, and then Karl on October 12, 1886. The two boys resembled each other and were very close companions. A 1926 Politiken newspaper article described them as, “although not twins, alike as two drops of water.” A photograph circa 1891 shows the five- and six-year-old brothers side by side in their matching sailor suits, looking earnestly into the camera. While both would soon sprout into tall and lanky youths, there were important differences. Reinald had wavy hair and limpid, dreamy eyes. Karl’s hair was poker straight and his gaze was almost insolent. At about the time the picture was taken, in December of that year, the couple’s third son, Viggo Eiler, died at almost 3 years of age at Frederiks Hospital. The cause of his death, listed in the records, was “sarcoma maxilla sup(erior),” which meant that he suffered from a rare type of cancerous tumor growing in his upper jawbone. Options for Viggo would have been limited in those days. For sarcomas, the usual treatment was surgical removal of the tumor. Radiation therapy

12

KARL DANE

Reinald (left) and Karl at about 6 and 5 years of age, circa 1891 (courtesy Per S. Gottlieb).

would not come into use until the groundbreaking work of Marie Curie at the turn of the century. Karl never mentioned this illness to any interviewer, but it would have haunted his early childhood. Although both brothers were very young at the time, they still would have been old enough to remember the terrible suffering that little Viggo endured. Another family tragedy occurred almost a year later, in the summer of 1892. Karl’s second cousin, twelve-year-old Georg Valdemar Gottlieb, died in an accident. According to the doctor’s report, the boy, who was staying with his grandmother, “fell headlong” and died of massive internal injuries to his chest. This sounds like a fall from a window, but details were not specified. Karl probably did not remember Georg very well, since his cousin was too old to have been a playmate. The Gottliebs were a typical struggling working class family. In the year 1900 the average workday was 12 hours, and often wives and children took jobs to supplement the family income.17 Listings for Karl’s father can be found in the city directory of the day, the Krak Vejviser, as R.M. Gottlieb, handsmager (journeyman glove-maker), at six different addresses in Copenhagen between 1885 and 1900. Income tax records show that he earned 1,200 kroner annually18 (about $12,072 today19) in his best year. However, a family of three needed at least 1,230 kroner for the bare essentials, and this did not take into account any emergencies, money for entertainment, doctor bills, or alcohol. Since the Gottliebs were supporting four, they were locked in a constant

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struggle for survival. Glove-makers were paid by the piece, based on an existing price list, so Rasmus would have had to sew 500 pairs per year just to make ends meet.20 Their home would not have been luxurious at all by today’s standards. The typical working class Copenhagen apartment building had three or four flats on each floor with the shared toilets either on the first floor or outside the main building. Each apartment would have consisted of one or two rooms, with little privacy. If a family was lucky enough to afford two rooms, it was comprised of a combination kitchen/living room and a bedroom, with no bathroom.21 Lighting was dim, using oil lamps and candles. A four-foot-high, black cast iron stove (kakkelovn) provided heat for families, powered by wood or coal. The air in these small living areas was heavy with the smell of wood smoke, and tar accumulated in the building’s chimneys.22 During Karl’s Hollywood career, many publicity stories claimed that he came from a theatrical family. The January 8, 1928, Los Angeles Times commented that Karl had been associated with all things theatrical since he was a baby in Copenhagen, such as circuses and vaudeville, and served in every capacity, from call and curtain boy to star. An article in the September 1927 Motion Picture Classic also mentioned this supposed early career, describing Karl as born “almost literally in the back stage of a Copenhagen theater,” where he performed from the age of four to fifteen. Karl never actually made these types of claims himself, and his brother Reinald also echoed this lack of professional experience, saying that he was the neighborhood clown who loved to sing funny songs, twist his face into grimaces, and entertain at picnics and other gatherings. The origin of the theater myth seems to lie with the boys’ father, who was a stage hand and general utility man. Karl told the September 1933 Woodland Democrat that he used to accompany Rasmus to work, and even demonstrated to the reporter how he used to raise and lower the curtain, hand-over-hand fashion. Undoubtedly, his father took this as a side job, perhaps unreported to the government, to help make ends meet. A search of the Copenhagen City Hall Archives shows that the Folketeateret (People’s Theater) once operated on the Nørregade, a side street to one of Karl’s childhood residences. According to family stories, despite their economic struggles, another interest that the Gottliebs enjoyed together in these years was the aforementioned Toy Theater. This was an art form popular throughout Europe in the Victorian era, and one that remains an important part of Danish culture.23 Devotees of Toy Theater (“Dukketeater,” or “doll theater,” in Danish) construct model theaters, along with elaborate lights, props, scenery, and spe-

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KARL DANE

cial effects. Colorful paper doll figures are cut out and slid across the stage with the aid of wires or strings. Often the dolls are double sided so that the character can be moved in opposite directions.24 In Karl’s time, these cutouts were sold commercially as printed sheets which could be cut and pasted to a cardboard backing. Often this pastime became a family hobby, with everyone involved in the cutting, pasting, designing, and set building. Some plays miniaturized in the late 19th century were based on Hans Christian Andersen fairy tales, such as The Little Match Girl, and also on dramatic adventures, such as The Last of the Mohicans.25 Many families of this era whiled away cold winter evenings together by designing and creating these little worlds. Children delighted in entertaining their parents and friends with little performances, and Karl and Reinald’s descendants recall that their family theater was so professional that word got around and the boys started charging admission to neighbors and friends for their own dramatic evenings. During this period, Karl and his brother attended the nearby Nansensgades School, from age six to age fourteen.26 The school still exists, as do its records, which show that Karl started his education in February 1893. The syl-

Nansensgades School in Copenhagen, where Karl and Reinald received their education (photograph by the author).

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labus included reading, writing, geography, religion, Danish history, literature, and arithmetic. Karl apparently hated going, since an article in a 1925 Olean Evening Times edition stated, “Books appalled him, and schools distressed him.” Classes in the school were large, consisting of 35 pupils. Each Wednesday was bath day, and hay was piled in the washroom for this purpose. A child would grab a big handful of hay and use it as a washcloth to scrub himself down. Boys considered it great fun to block up the drain with the hay, flooding the bathroom and filling it with steam.27 Herluf Trolle-Steenstrup, who was about Karl’s age, wrote a memoir in 1923 entitled When I Was a Boy in Denmark describing his experiences growing up in turn of the century Copenhagen. He vividly recounted his rigorous daily physical education classes, which included wrestling bouts, tug-of-war, and Swedish gymnastic exercises. Swimming lessons were also an important part of a young Danish boy’s education, since Danes loved to swim every chance they could get in numerous swimming holes located around the capital.28 Karl enjoyed this pastime too, and in later years spent a lot of time at the seashore in Santa Monica. He achieved a near-champion level of skill, which he incorporated into his stunt work in his early films. Herluf recalled that discipline in school was very harsh, and the masters did not hesitate to clout a boy on the ear if he was lazy or asked a foolish question. For more serious infractions, the so-called spanking weed, a type of switch, was employed.29 Since Karl was known to be a prankster, it isn’t difficult to imagine him being on the receiving end of this mode of punishment! Like many other children of the period, Herluf also took music and dancing lessons after school hours, and learned the latest dances, such as the mazurka and something called the French Lancers. Since a 1911 family photo shows Karl seemingly playing a piano, it suggests that he had some musical training as well. Also, his first wife Carla remembered that Karl had a beautiful singing voice.30 Boys in Victorian Denmark passed the time with friends in a variety of games,31 some still enjoyed by children today, but others long forgotten. Soccer and kite-flying were popular in fair weather, and sledding in the winter. Most backyards in Copenhagen were covered with concrete (as was Karl’s at his T¿resengade address), which made an ideal setting for top-spinning, the toy kept whirling by lashing it with a whip. Boys spent their spare coins in stores on paint boxes, toy guns, and, curiously, uniform buttons for a bygone game called Spille Klink, which literally translates as “play klinker.” This was the most popular boy’s game in Copenhagen at the time. Actual uniform but-

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tons were used, ranked for their rarity, luster, shape, size, and weight — much like marbles. They were cut from the coats of railway men, infantry soldiers, police and mailmen. Youngsters would begin the game by standing in line before a goal, like a wall, and roll the button to bring it as close to the goal as possible. Bicycling became all the rage in this era, and by 1895 there were two cycledromes in Copenhagen.32 Most boys whose parents could afford it received their own machines, and undoubtedly Karl learned how to ride, as his Paramount studio biography from 1930 attests, “At one time, he could do almost any trick that could be done on a bicycle.” Boys were known to gladly skip their suppers to watch their sports idols in action, and sometimes even stowed away in the stadium overnight if they didn’t have enough money to pay admission to the races the next day. The cycling champions were celebrities in Copenhagen, and some, like Ingemann Petersen, who trounced the English champion Watson, were friendly and accessible to their young fans, and were much beloved in return.33 Youths also loved to watch wrestling bouts, and like the champion cyclists, the wrestlers were great heroes to their fans. Bech-Olsen was the Danish champ in those years. A huge but charming man who was a mason by trade, he defeated opponents like Antoni Pierri, the “Terrible Greek,” Carl Abs, a German contender, and Nourlah, the eight-foot Turkish wrestler. Later, Bech-Olsen retired and became a successful restaurateur in Copenhagen.34 Karl’s Paramount studio biography boasted of his skill as a wrestler, and a number of publicity shots were later taken of him in various poses. Christmas was a very special time for each Danish child. 35As the holiday approached, youngsters spent their long winter evenings preparing trimmings for the tree in the parlor. Then, on December 24th, called Juleaften in Denmark, the entire family gathered for a festive dinner of roast goose stuffed with apples and prunes. A big kettle of rice porridge was then served, in which a single almond was placed. Whoever found it would receive a special mandel prize, sometimes a prized orange. Then, after the meal, their parents would slip away to the parlor, light the candles on the tree, and lay out the presents. In those days, childhood was all too brief. Reinald’s public education ended in 1899, and Karl’s too, on November 2, 1900. At age 14 in Denmark, boys and girls have their confirmation, a landmark event in a young person’s life. In Karl’s, it marked the end of carefree childhood and an introduction to the world of work. Herluf described his confirmation in the spring of 1897 (coincidentally, his ceremony was held in the same church as the Gottlieb brothers, and even led by the same minister):

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I had gone twice a week to the minister, Pastor Prior, to prepare for the confirmation. It is in Our Lady’s Church (Vor Frue), a monumental edifice, the lofty spire of which burned during the English bombardment of Copenhagen in 1807. The two long rows along the main aisle are filled with some two hundred children, boys on one side, and the girls on the opposite. Outside the church there are scores of landaus and coaches, for no one who can afford to ride would walk to church at such a celebration. The ceremony lasts some four long hours, each child being examined in turn. I was requested to render the bible verse, beginning, “Consider the lilies” by heart, and recite a Psalm, and so every one of the “Konfirmander.” The celebration over, we drove home, where a rich dinner awaited us, and the invited guests presented gifts to the “Konfirmand.”36

Karl’s own confirmation, which took place on October 14, 1900, would have been a momentous occasion. Like other “Konfirmands,” he wore a “confirmation suit”— his first pair of long pants, a derby hat, and an umbrella (carried no matter what the weather). Boys received their first adult gifts, such as cigars and elaborate cigar holders. Herluf humorously recalled his own vain attempts to keep his first legal cigar aglow, for with the donning of the new suit, he was allowed to take up smoking! After the excitement of the ceremony, a youngster decided on a suitable trade, or went on for more advanced schooling. If the child was slated for an academic career, he usually attended a gymnasium or a boarding school, if the family could afford it.37 This was not to be for the Gottlieb brothers, who went on four years of apprenticeship, just like their father. The path chosen effectively split children into separate social classes, and those boys who donned workmen’s clothes rarely associated with academics their own age.38 Copenhagen City Hall records show that Karl was to be employed as a “hammer” and apprentice blacksmith at the nearby firm Smith, Mygind, and Hüttemeier, who manufactured railroad and bridge parts. The large factory was located at 68 Nørrebrogade, and they employed about 500 people. Almost every brewery in Denmark ordered their vats from this company, including Carlsberg and Tuborg.39 Pictures still exist of its great machine shop, a vast place driven by steam power through shafts, belts, and pulleys. Many of the buildings still stand, but the only sign of their old owners is a large “SMG” painted on a back wall. One of the firm’s principal accomplishments was the building of the Langebro swing bridge that spans the city of Copenhagen and the island of Amager in the year 1900.40 As many wide-eyed youths found, being an apprentice smith was grueling work. As Alex Bealer said in his book The Art of Blacksmithing: It [being an apprentice smith] required brains, brawn, initiative, and patience, and the lad that started as a blacksmith’s apprentice was really no more than another piece of preautomation equipment. His job was to blow the fire, pull off old shoes from fractious horses, and strike hot iron with a heavy sledge when and

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KARL DANE where the master told him to strike. Often, his instruction was of the negative sort, a cuff when he did something wrong, rather than motivation and direction to do his simple tasks properly.

Indeed, there were many young boys waiting their turn in case another failed to pass muster, and those judged not to have the necessary skill or not learning quickly enough were immediately discharged. Karl may have been one of those so judged. In 1901 the “smid” was crossed out on Karl’s record, and instead he joined his brother Reinald as a machinist in training (maskinelære) at the same firm. No reason was given for the switch, but this new arrangement stuck. Both brothers started out doing the most menial tasks as they gained skill and confidence. Eventually, if they were judged able enough, one day there might be vacancies they would fill. Here Karl truly excelled, and the 1925 Olean Times commented, “His big hands were canny with machinery.” He would grow to be a talented craftsman, skilled in working with all sorts of metals. The workday was long for the youths. They were given two breaks — one at nine for a mid-morning meal, usually open-faced sandwiches and hot coffee, and then another at noon, for a half hour. Given their lowly status in the factory, they were the first to arrive in the morning (before dawn) to start the fires in the building. Then, while the other workers left at six o’clock in the evening, the boys were there until late, sweeping the floor and blowing out all the lamps until they, too, were permitted to go home for the night.41 It would have been a rough adjustment for any boy, going from carefree childhood to the harsh world of a working man. It would have toughened Karl up, and made him into the gruff but cheerful man that people saw in Hollywood years later. He had to be tough to survive, and Karl was able to adapt well to almost all situations — as long as he believed in himself. If his physical labors were not hard enough, new family troubles would soon present themselves, which undoubtedly left marks deep in his psyche.

2 Soldier, Daredevil and Father Over the years the Gottlieb family can be traced to different residences around Copenhagen. In fact, they were continuously on the move, never staying in one place for long. In 1892 the family lived on the third floor at Nørrevoldgade 26, but by 1893 they had moved down the street to number 38 into a ground floor apartment. Several years later they carted all their belongings to Dosseringen 52. By this time the family’s situation was shaky, both economically and emotionally. For one thing, the marriage of Rasmus and Anna was falling apart. According to Danish law, they were counseled by a Lutheran priest, who signed a statement attesting to their problems. Rasmus also wrote a poignant letter, taking full responsibility for their marital problems. I, the undersigned glove cutter, Rasmus Marius Gottleib [sic] have, for my wife Anna Katrina (born Simonsen) to agree to continue our married life together, undertaken to join a temperance society here in Copenhagen and to, in the future, abandon my weakness for alcohol which has been our married life’s misfortune and which, in spite of my wife’s faithful and diligent work, has brought our home on the brink of financial ruin. I further declare that if I break the abstinence promise I hereby have given and revert back to my old vice, I give permission to the separation and my wife’s right to keep the children and the meager amount of household affects we have by then. Rasmus Marius Gottleib Copenhagen, January 27th 1902

Apparently the circumstances between the pair did not improve, since nine months later Anna filed for a separation. Her statement read as follows: To the Copenhagen Chief Magistrate As shown on the enclosed marriage certificate I got married in Aarhus Cathedral on April 12th 1884 to glove cutter Rasmus Marius Gottleib [sic]. Our marriage has not been happy but for the sake of our two children I continued our married life in spite of my husband hardly contributing financially to our upkeep, which has been a hard burden put on me and furthermore, he has over the years become more and more addicted to drinking. Now the children are more or less off our hands in as much the youngest will be 17 years old on October 12th and the situation is such my health has deteriorated and my resources have dried out. Therefore I see no other solution than to ask for legal separation from my husband because I feel I can better secure my existence when alone than in a marriage to an alcoholic. As shown in the enclosed declaration from my husband, he has agreed to a

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KARL DANE separation and that I keep the two children, sons, and that he does not want any of the household content. Respectfully yours, Anna Gottleib Copenhagen, September 26th 1903

Marital woes would not have been Rasmus’s sole headache in these years. By this time his services would have become less in demand. Cheaper gloves could be imported from foreign countries and sold in major department stores, and skilled craftsmen like Rasmus were feeling the pinch.1 Anna received custody of Karl, since he was still a minor. The couple eventually divorced in 1908. Divorce was very common in Denmark in those days and did not carry as much of a stigma as in the United States.2 Misconduct on either side was not required — a simple incompatibility of temperament was sufficient. The local magistrate reviewed each case with the priest-counselor. If the couple could not be reconciled, they were legally separated for three years, during which time they could not remarry. Then the divorce was declared final at the end of that time period. Rasmus did eventually marry again, to a woman named Helene Rasmussen,3 a union which lasted until his death in 1930. Existing photos of “Aunt Lene,” as she was called, show her in her last years at a retirement home in Denmark, a kindly-looking, tiny woman, her hair in a white bun, and clad in an old fashioned black frock. If Rasmus was a problem drinker, he was not alone. Alcoholism was a terrible scourge in Denmark during this era. It has been estimated that twenty-three percent of male deaths were at least partly due to alcohol.4 Part of the problem was the notoriously poor quality of the drinking water in Copenhagen, resulting in periodic outbreaks of cholera during the city’s history. A particularly virulent epidemic broke out in 1853, killing over 4,000 residents5 in barely four months, the result of overcrowdHelene Rasmussen Gottlieb, Karl’s stepmother ing and inefficient sewage dis(courtesy Per S. Gottlieb). posal. For this reason, almost no

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one in major cities drank water, instead choosing beer, since alcohol was the closest thing city-dwellers had to a “pure” fluid.6 The real problem, though, was schnapps, a poor man’s drink.7 Employers provided each workman with a bottle to keep him warm during the day (which was especially appreciated during the harsh cold winters when darkness fell around 3 o’clock in the afternoon). Drinking throughout the workday was commonplace almost up until modern times. A picture from a Copenhagen workshop from this era shows bottles of beer perched within easy reach of each man in the group. As in the United States and Great Britain, the tavern was also the focal point of much of the social activity of the working class. When men were done with work that day, they frequently stopped in their neighborhood pub on the way home. By the early 20th century the consequences of unchecked imbibing had become severe. By 1910, Copenhagen had seven hundred cases of delirium tremens, compared to only about seventy a year nowadays.8 Many families were torn apart, and many joined temperance societies, like Rasmus (as mentioned in his statement).9 The Good Templars was one such international organization, and in Denmark there were about 100,000 members. The government even began sponsoring their events, since alcoholism was so widespread.10 After Karl completed his apprenticeship, he started his mandatory military service on June 4, 1907,11 when he was twenty years old. This compulsory service still exists for young Danes today, although only about twenty percent actually serve, selected through a lottery system.12 Karl joined his brother Reinald as a member of the First Artillery Battalion, responsible for the defense of Copenhagen’s land fortifications at the formidable island fort of Trekroner (literally “three crowns”). Three fortresses were built in the 19th century on man-made islands to defend Copenhagen Harbor. Called Flakfortet, Middelgrundsfortet and Trekroner, they still stand today as popular tourist attractions. Trekroner was the site of the famous 1801 Battle of Copenhagen in which the British destroyed the Danish Navy.13 Detailed records from Karl’s service during this time still exist in Copenhagen in the official military record books (Rapportbog), showing him as Army number 401, a “constable,” which is the equivalent of a private in the United States Army or a “gunner” in the British Army. Life as a soldier at the fortress would have been cramped and uncomfortable. About 450 other men were stationed there at any one time, all packed together with very little comfort or privacy. They slept in hammocks so close together that if one person made the slightest movement it would start a chain reaction in the sleeping quarters, waking everyone up. Baths could only be managed once a week — if the men were lucky.

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Consequences for transgressions were harsh. One case from the Rapportbog reports on the punishment given to a constable in that period who overslept and failed to report for duty on time with his searchlight: two days solitary confinement in “the hole” (a dark cell similar to that found in old United States penitentiaries). For the sake of discipline, and to keep the men in top condition, they were kept busy with training and calisthenics. His 1931 Paramount studio biography said that Karl was a physical education instructor while in his regiment. He and his comrades were trained in hand-to-hand combat and target practice. Every fortress artilleryman was assigned the standard issue Danish Remington rifle. These recruits were so well-trained that they were eagerly sought after as Copenhagen policemen after their terms of service officially ended.14 Being in good condition was always very important to Karl. His Paramount bio mentioned that he had an overriding need to be “constantly fit”; and as such, the studios always emphasized this aspect of his personality in countless Hollywood publicity photos. He enjoyed all outdoor sports, especially swimming, tennis and golf, and was an excellent gymnast.15 The demands of compulsory service were very disruptive to a young man’s life. Karl was repeatedly called up for duty for several weeks or months at a time, sent home, and then summoned again. For example, after being promoted to lance corporal on June 1908, he was dismissed less than a month later. In September 1909 he was back in uniform, perhaps for further training exercises, and discharged four weeks later. Karl was also ill during this time period. The military record shows he was taken off the island for a 6-day hospitalization in January 1908, although the nature of his illness is not specified. Karl was a good soldier, receiving regular promotions in rank each year. His brother Reinald later recalled in a 1926 Politiken article that Karl took to military life with “his usual good humor.” He painted a picture of a vigorous, bold, daring, and confident young man, with the same lovable, mischievous streak from his early boyhood. Karl was a jokester and daredevil, a “fearless Dane” who avoided “neither fire nor water.” Karl Dane the man was very different from the characters he played onscreen. The goof y, rubber-faced comic persona he cultivated almost 20 years later is not at all apparent in family pictures. Here Karl was mustached, long, and elegant in his proper suit, a slight enigmatic smile curling his lips. About this time, Karl started wooing the woman who would become his first wife, a slender, attractive brunette named Carla Dagmar Hagen. Carla was a seamstress, and was later employed by Illum, a major department store

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in Copenhagen, according to census records. They were married at Saint Paul’s Church in Copenhagen on September 10, 1910. It appears that Carla was about three months pregnant, since a baby would be born to the couple six months later. Another major problem affected the family at this time. Karl’s mother Anna, aged 58 and now divorced from her husband Rasmus, was suffering from terminal throat cancer. Church archival records show that she was in stable enough condition to attend the wedding, but succumbed only weeks later, just a day after Karl’s twentyfourth birthday. Anna’s probate file shows that Reinald made all of the Karl’s portrait, circa 1916 (courtesy Bent necessary arrangements and paid 130 Harsmann and Per S. Gottlieb). kroner for her funeral.16 Time passed, and Karl and Carla prepared for the new addition to their family. They welcomed their son Ejlert Carl into the world in March 1911. A little daughter, Ingeborg Helene, named after Carla’s younger sister, followed shortly thereafter, in July 1912. In the meantime, Reinald was busy starting his own career and family as well. A dynamic, handsome, and confident figure in his own right, Reinald completed his apprenticeship in October 1903 and then received specialized training as an electrician. That year he decided to seek his fortune outside of the capital city, and he set out for Jutland, the main island of Denmark, where their father had learned the glove-making trade. For the next few years Reinald traveled all over the area, very much in demand as a master craftsman. In a small town named Give he met the woman he would eventually marry, Margrethe Schøler, two years his senior. A strong-minded and talented woman, Margrethe worked as a supervisor dressmaker. She was also dark, beautiful and elegant. Existing portraits of her as a young bride show her abundant thick brown hair looped in many coils on top of her head. The pair was married in 1909, settled in Aarhus, and soon had four children: Thyra, Svend Aage, Alexander, and Kirstine. Given the tragedy of Karl’s own end, reviewing the course of Reinald’s life is both fascinating and poignant. The two were so much alike in appear-

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ance and their ability to work with their hands that one gets the feeling that Karl’s life could have followed a similar long and happy course had he not emigrated to America. Nevertheless, there were essential differences between the two brothers. Reinald was the more stable, emotionally mature, and steadfast of the two. Reinald lived a long (88 years), satisfying, and vigorous life, operating several businesses, and enjoyed a happy marriage until his wife’s death. He also enjoyed excellent health until the very end. He was a loving and affectionate husband, parent, uncle, and grandfather, very much the head of the family. The Gottlieb family still holds many fond memories of Reinald, who died in 1973. His life was not without its share of troubles and obstacles, but he seemed better equipped to handle them. Part of the reason was a wide support system of family and friends, which Karl did not have at the end. Among Reinald’s many accomplishments was playing an integral part in the establishment of an effective electrical system in Aarhus. In addition to an electrician’s shop, he also started the first taxi company in the city in 1913. A family photograph shows a mustached, lanky Reinald, almost a double of his soon-to-be-famous younger brother (although Karl was four centimeters taller), seated in his first taxicab, accompanied by his fashionably dressed wife Margrethe.

Karl’s elder brother Reinald in the taxicab he owned, with his wife Margrethe, in Aarhus, Denmark, about 1913 (courtesy Per S. Gottlieb).

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Reinald’s ideas were often ahead of their time. Many roads in Denmark were poor and unpaved in those days, and Reinald envisioned another business opportunity — a car rescue service — when four of his tires blew out while traveling one day from Aarhus to Horsens. On one occasion he rescued two royal customers in Mols — the Crown Prince Frederick (who eventually became king in 1947) and his brother Prince Knud — when their own vehicle went off the road after an evening of merrymaking. Meanwhile, life still went on for Karl and Carla in Copenhagen. The family lived in a small flat at Marstalsgade 51. The tax records in the city archives shows that “RKT Gottlieb, Mekaniker” (mechanic) made 1,200 kroner in 1911–1912, (worth $11,076 today17), and had no savings. This record does not include any secondary jobs that Karl may have had that he did not report to the state, a common practice for both workers then and now in Denmark. If this was his sole income, however, he was making no more money than his father had 12 years before as a glove-maker, and was literally living paycheck to paycheck. Also, like his father and brother, Karl tended to move around a lot in those years. The city directories show the family moving three more times within Copenhagen by 1915. One job that Karl had during these years was repairing Singer sewing machines. He was always very proud of his ability to work with his hands, even after his later fame and fortune in Hollywood. In an interview for the April 1927 Motion Picture Classic, he claimed, “I’ll fix anything for you — from a locomotive to a typewriter.” He also claimed that he always owned his own shop, saying “You gotta be a good man to do that in the old country.” Karl’s descendants still have two beautiful examples of his metal-working skills. One is a wrought iron decorative plant stand. The other is especially striking — an iron lamp for a canCast iron lamp for a candle that Karl made dle, decorated on each side with before his immigration to America (courtesy red, green, and blue glass discs. Bent Harsmann).

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This little gem is a powerful reminder that Karl was truly an artist with a sensitive eye for beauty and detail. Skilled craftsmen like Karl maintained a form of health insurance organized by his particular trade association. These so-called “friendly society movements” were a holdover from the old trade guilds, which were formally abolished in 1862, yet gave assistance to their members in case of illness.18 Children in Denmark were regularly vaccinated against virulent diseases, and a Doctor Schlieme inoculated both Gottlieb brothers against smallpox in 1891. Others who were not association members had to find doctors willing to provide services at a reduced fee or accept poor-aid within their parishes.19 For entertainment, Copenhagen offered working class people like Karl and Carla many things to do in their precious few leisure hours. The famed Tivoli amusement park was popular, with its Pantomime Theater and wooden roller coaster, the Bjergrutschebanen, which was introduced in 1914.20 Families also flocked to the Copenhagen Zoological Garden, or to ice skate on one of the outdoor rinks in the city. In these early years, one of Karl’s main passions was auto racing, and a 1926 Hagersville (MD) Daily Mail article indicated that he was reportedly so successful at it that he became well known in racing circles. The October 17, 1927, Exhibitors Daily Review disclosed that Karl won a medal in Sweden for a cross-country auto race. Of course, as with the tales about Karl flying planes and acting on the legitimate stage, separating fact from fiction is all but impossible. No record in Denmark or Sweden has been found to support this assertion. The sport of motor racing was taking the world by storm in those early years, and it could be dangerous and physically demanding. Primitive equipment and often unpaved roads were troublesome, according to The History of Motor Racing by William Boddy: “[T]he need to change difficult gears constantly while braking with indifferent brakes, using the outside hand brake as well as prodding the brake pedal while changing gear, together with wrestling with insensitive steering and a cord-bound steering wheel that would kick and cut the hands, made driving these pre–1914 racing cars in the long engagements ... a very tiring and tough proposition, suitable only for the very fit.” Despite these obstacles, by the 1908 French Grand Prix, cars could race at over 100 miles per hour on straight stretches of the road.21 Hundreds of fatalities were recorded during races in this era — legendary French racing pioneer Marcel Renault died when his car overturned in a race at Thèry. In another accident, a popular racer’s mechanic was killed when his De Dietrich rammed so forcefully into a tree that it simply disintegrated, with part of the frame driven completely into the trunk.22

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The excitement had also reached the Nordic countries as well. According to Ingemar Carlsson’s Svensk Rallyhistoria, the first cross-country motor race in Sweden took place in February 1906, and continued each winter up to the outbreak of war in 1914. In Denmark, the highly popular Skagen Run (Skagensløb),23 often called the Danish Grand Prix, was established in 1913 by Alfred Nervø, a journalist and pioneer aviator. Nervø, whose later autobiography was titled Ten Years Behind the Wheel, started the rally in conjunction with the newspaper Politiken to drum up support and enthusiasm for the new and innovative small-engine machines that were then being introduced. The Skagensløb is still run today. Racers start in Copenhagen and journey to Skagen at the far northwestern tip of the island of Jutland; then the participants go back again, passing through the cities of Odense, Aarhus, and Aalborg. The 652-mile route included two ferry crossings. Although no evidence has been found to link Karl with flying or auto racing, he did participate via motorcycle in the 1915 Skagen Run. (No record of Karl’s participation in the Skagensløb can be found for the years 1913 and 1914.) That year the event was held from July 31 to August 1, and was covered by the Danish Motor Weekly magazine. In the category of “light motorcycles,” Karl is listed as “K. Gottlieb,” number 42, with the curious profession of “cyclehandler” or bicycle dealer. Three photos of him also appeared in that issue. Although they are blurry, a big and grinning Karl is definitely recognizable, astride his British-made 31 ⁄ 2 horsepower New Hudson. Someone named Verner Gottlieb was also a participant, as number 39, riding an Elleham cycle, although there was no photo of him in the magazine. Whether he was a relation of Karl’s is unclear, but since Verner’s registration number is so close to Karl’s, it infers that they signed up to participate in the race at the same time. In that first landmark year of 1913, due to immense advance publicity, thousands lined the Roskildevej at 6:45 A.M. to watch the race begin at Fredericksberg Castle just west of Copenhagen’s city center. The drivers were divided up into teams of 10 men, and when the gun went off the first group was permitted to ride out. Then, after two minutes, the next bunch started, and so on. A full 36 hours later the first exhausted participants arrived back, greeted by the cheers of the crowd. Except for some tire blowouts along the way, and some bystanders knocked over (with no major injuries), the race was mostly uneventful. Seventy-two competitors paid the ten kroner entrance fee in 1913, fiftyseven of whom entered with motorcycles. The rally was limited to cars and motorcycles under a certain weight limit. Once the race started, a strict speed limit was enforced: 31 miles per hour on main roads, and 9 miles

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on more dangerous back roads and after nightfall.24 In 1915 a few people were written up by the police for exceeding that limit, but Karl apparently did not, since he received zero points, meaning that he didn’t incur any penalties. The participants had no official rest breaks on the way (unless one counted the time spent on the ferry). One article mentioned that a participant downed raw eggs for a quick high-protein snack before continuing onwards to Copenhagen.25 By the time the 1915 race was organized, however, some changes had been made. The race was shortened to 108 miles, and the course now rerouted to skirt the coastline of Jutland in both directions. Due to the fatigue-caused accidents from the previous two years, a mandatory 8-hour rest stop in Skagen was instituted before drivers could start back to the capital. By this time, participation had dwindled to only 54 entrants, probably due to the ongoing war.26 During this early period the same thrill-seekers who had motor racing in their blood also took an intense interest in aviation, and the same claim was made about Karl. According to the Big Parade pressbook, he became a licensed pilot in 1909. This definitely wasn’t true, since the State Archives holds no certificate for him. Also, due to the intense public interest in early flight, these first daredevils achieved celebrity status and even had small magazines dedicated to them, and no publication has ever been found mentioning Karl’s name. Pioneer Nervø, whose career Karl undoubtedly followed, became the first man to fly over the city of Copenhagen in 1910. Yet, he wasn’t the first to take to the air in Denmark — that honor was attained by the “Danish Edison,” Jacob Christian Ellehammer, who made front page headlines on September 12, 1906, by piloting a plane of his own invention for 421 meters at 50 centimeters off the ground. This ingenious inventor is believed by many to have made the first true “heavier than air” flight in the whole of Europe.27 The pressbook also claimed that Karl acted in films in Denmark, and his fledgling career was interrupted by World War I. However, the Danish Film Institute can find no evidence of Karl’s involvement in pictures made in his home country, nor any mention of him in studio payroll records. Again, just like the flying claims, this does not necessarily discount the possibility of his involvement — only that it cannot be proven one way or another. The fact that Karl claimed to have been involved in all three of these activities —flying, racing, and film work — isn’t as disparate as one would imagine. Many of the same daring and robust men who raced cars and flew planes also worked in the early Danish film industry. The man who financed Nervø’s pioneer flight was Ole Olsen, the president of Nordisk Films Kompagni, described as “the first and greatest of Danish movie tycoons.”28 Nordisk produced the very popular “sensation” films of the day, which featured plots

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woven around dangerous situations involving airplanes and speeding cars. Legendary director Carl Theodor-Dreyer, like Nervø, was originally a journalist who covered motoring and aviation news for many newspapers and illustrated magazines of the day. His enthusiastic reporting helped generate such public interest that a daily newspaper column entitled “From the Airfield” was established. A landmark event in aviation in these pre–War years was the air crossing of the Øresund, the narrow band of water separating Denmark and Sweden.29 Casper Tybjerg described this event, and Dreyer’s coverage of it, in his essay “Stunt Stories: The Sensation Film Genre”: In the early hours of the morning of July 17, 1910, Robert Svendsen, the driver who had learnt to fly together with Nervø, took off from the airfield and turned his machine out over the water. Half an hour later, he landed in Sweden. Dreyer, who followed the doings of the aviators closely, had sensed that Svendsen was about to try the crossing. The night before, sick with excitement, he went across on the ferry. He was the only Danish newspaperman present at the landing—quite a scoop.

We don’t know if Karl actually knew luminaries like Svendsen and Nervø personally. Nonetheless, there were many other anonymous men who provided assistance and mechanical support to these pioneers, helping to make these groundbreaking events possible.

Karl with his family in 1911, Copenhagen. From left to right: Karl, father-in-law Carl Ludwig Hagen, mother-in-law Marie Hagen, baby son Ejlert Carl and wife Carla Dagmar Hagen (courtesy Bent Harsmann).

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Karl and his family lived together until the outbreak of the First World War. A family photograph from about 1911 shows an attractive, respectable middle-class family in their lace-curtained Copenhagen parlor. Karl, strikingly handsome and mustached, is posed with his back to the rest of the group, perhaps playing the piano, a dreamy smile on his face. Carla, relaxed and smiling easily, her dark hair piled on the top of her head, sits at a table supporting their son Ejlert, several months old. In the back of the room are the Hagens, Karl’s in-laws. The elderly Carl Ludvig looks the very picture of a wise and benevolent family patriarch, with his large white mustache and kindly eyes, and gazes fondly at his son-in-law. Despite the cozy domesticity reflected in these family pictures, the world all around them was on the verge of catastrophic change. By August 3, 1914, Germany and France were at war, and little Denmark faced a serious crisis. In the days that followed, Germany forced the Danes to mine the Great Belt, the strait between two of the country’s main islands. They feared the British might use this international waterway to enter the Baltic Sea.30 The next day, August 6, due to this nationwide state of emergency, Karl was back at the fort, now in the newly-formed Coastal Artillery Regiment. Although Denmark remained neutral throughout the duration of the conflict, she still experienced hardship. The loss of the Schleswig-Holstein region to Germany as a result of the 1864 war still left deep scars.31 As a result, the populace felt much trepidation about what intentions their Teutonic neighbors had for their small country. In the meantime, Karl was with the home guard protecting the capital. Later studio publicity boasted that Karl was a member of the Danish Flying Corp during these war years, but his name is not listed as a member, even in the reserves or as a mechanic.32 According to his personal service record and crime sheet, Karl got into trouble a few times during these years. The first scrape occurred on November 7, 1914. The Police reported that Lance Corporal K. Gottlieb made a complaint to the police about bar owner (Vinhandler) H. Andersen. Andersen’s dog had apparently damaged Karl’s cycle.33 Whether this was his motorcycle or a regular bike isn’t entirely clear. An article in the 1915 Danish Auto Weekly magazine said these complaints were quite common — dogs had a tendency to puncture tires or jump on cyclists, knocking them down. Two other incidents the next year were a lot more worrisome and point to a bit of a wild streak in Karl. On January 21, 1915, he was charged and fined for driving too fast and damaging a military vehicle. The laws at the time prohibited drivers in well-populated areas from going above 15.5 miles an hour, and 31 miles per hour in rural areas.34 A heavy fine was

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therefore imposed: 50 kroner, and then 150 kroner more due to his regiment (a total of about $1,437 today), of which he only paid 25 kroner before his emigration. More trouble came early one morning in May. Karl got into another accident, striking a 10-year-old boy named Peter Hermansen with his motorcycle. The boy was running across Amagerbrogade, and Karl failed to see him since a passing streetcar blocked his view. Peter was hospitalized in Sundby Hospital with a broken right leg. The record indicates that the boy’s father, an upper class Forvalter, or land agent, wrote a letter to the court notifying them of his son’s eventual recovery. The incident was witnessed by the neighborhood postman, who helpfully supplied the police with a diagram of the accident, which still exists in the case file. Also for that year a curious gap appears in his military record: between January and March 1915, and again from August to November, his unit was on active duty, but Karl is not listed among them. He didn’t receive a deferment from service at the time, so his absence remains a mystery. Despite these incidents, Karl was recalled in November to receive a promotion from lance corporal to full corporal. The following month he was home again, and for a short time he tried to resume his old life with Carla and the children.

Karl and the Hagen family in 1913, Copenhagen. Karl is on the far left, with Carla seated to his left in the bottom row (courtesy Bent Harsmann).

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Karl didn’t remain home very long after his discharge, finally deciding to emigrate to America after barely two months. Several reasons were later given for this decision. One, from the Big Parade pressbook, was that he was unable to find sufficient employment in his homeland due to wartime gasoline shortages that paralyzed industry. The economic situation in Denmark in the period 1914–1918 was indeed serious. By 1916, prices in general went up 36 percent, and food prices had increased 82 percent by the time of the Armistice, the cost of meat and dairy being especially prohibitive.35 Yet the average worker’s pay only went up 18 percent. The situation turned uglier after America entered the war in 1917. Since Great Britain could rely on the Yanks for her supplies, she closed her markets to Danish goods. A blockade of raw materials to Denmark ensued, to ensure the Axis powers could not grab them. Danish citizens were then strictly rationed in many staples, such as sugar, butter, and coffee.36 It must have been incredibly difficult for the Gottlieb family at this time. Due to the mobilization, Karl’s life was completely dominated by his military service. He alternated between two months with his unit at the fort, and then four months back at home. This constant interruption made it all but impossible for him to establish his own steady business. If he had any secondary jobs to supplement his income, they would have had to cease during times of active duty. Karl did make at least one attempt to earn some extra money at the fort — by volunteering to be a motorcycle dispatch rider — but was turned down, according to his military records. However bad the economic situation was, a 1928 article from the Portuguese film magazine Cinefilo commented that Karl always had dreams about emigrating, saying that he had always secretly longed for adventure, “to look for new sensations beyond the sea, to discover the mysteries hidden in the mists of the Baltic Ocean....” Another open issue is why Karl chose America as his new home. Other members of the Gottlieb family had already relocated to the States, among them Nøber and Jens Carl, although it is unknown if Karl knew them well. Even if he was not close to any relatives in the U.S., Karl did have one friend in New York, a Charles Lindgren, whom he named as a sponsor when he emigrated. Another reason given for Karl’s interest in America was related in the September 15, 1928, Newark (NJ) Advocate American Tribune. The reporter said that the generous salaries earned by American fliers in films attracted Karl, and that he came to New York specifically to pursue this as a career. However, he never mentioned this supposed original ambition in any other article or interview, so it has to be taken with a grain of salt.

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Karl’s Police Emigrant Record in Copenhagen shows that he registered his ticket under the hyphenated last name of Therkelsen-Gottlieb, which he rarely used. In researching Karl’s voyage decades later, this made him difficult to locate. It’s easy to understand why Karl chose to register this way. If the Army called him to active duty again, they would certainly have searched under the surname Gottlieb, not Therkelsen. One wonders what Carla thought about the idea of coming to America. While the original plan was for her and the children to eventually join him, Karl’s grandson doubts this represented her true wishes. Whether Carla communicated her desires to her husband is unclear. Little did both of them know that when Karl sailed away from the Copenhagen harbor that fateful day in January 1916 they would never lay eyes on each other again.

3 An American Adventure The winter of 1915–1916 was a miserable one, even for a Scandinavian like Karl. The New York Times that season described it as one of the most peculiar in Manhattan’s history. Karl arrived on a Friday, and a blizzard blanketed the city that Sunday. The following week, after another major snow, almost the entire metropolis was covered in a slushy mess, and from Twenty-Third Street north it was one long vista of mud. Karl booked a third-class passage to America on the ScandinavianAmerican line ship Oscar II, which sailed from Copenhagen on January 25, 1916, and arrived in New York Harbor on February 11. The cost of his ticket would have been about $32 at the time, which is about $611 today.1 This would have placed a huge strain on the family’s limited finances. He had only $25 with him and could not speak any English. Like with many other immigrants, the plan was to have Karl emigrate first, and then send for Carla and the children later on when he was established and had saved some money. Another Danish immigrant, Enok Mortensen, who arrived in 1919, described what his own passage to America was like: It is beautiful sunshine. [The ship] Frederik VIII is scrubbed as clean and newly polished as one could wish. The orchestra intones the [Danish] national anthem and the little tugboat drags the big colossus out of the harbor. The throng of people wave and shout and we passengers do the same. I suppose we all have a little anxiety about leaving Denmark, but when in ten days we spy the Statue of Liberty on the horizon I believe the opposite feeling will take over....2

The crossing, while uneventful, must have been unpleasant at times, given the cold, cramped conditions and 17-day duration of the trip. Transatlantic voyages from Europe typically took anywhere from 5 to 20 days, depending on the ship, scheduled ports, and the weather. Also, crossing the Atlantic at this time must have been a stressful experience for all on board, although the Germans did not declare their infamous unrestricted submarine warfare until February 1917.3 Even so, memories of the sinking of the Lusitania the past May would have been fresh on everyone’s minds. For safety reasons, other ships sailing from Denmark had to repeatedly anchor in many areas littered with drifting mines.4 Still, there were positive aspects of the voyage. Some Danish travelers 34

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were pleasantly surprised at the accommodations aboard ship. Food was unexpectedly good for those traveling third class, as Enok’s father chronicled in his own diary: Right after Copenhagen was out of sight, waiters rang a gong for dinner and we gathered in the large dining room with cozy tables decked with white cloths, two plates for each person, knife, fork, and spoon. The first meal consisted of sweet soup with raisins and prunes, then roast beef with stewed cabbage, potatoes and gravy, afterwards coffee.

Distractions and activities existed for the passengers on board as well. The ships’ orchestra gave live performances. Couples strolled on deck after mealtimes, enjoying the view while the vessel sailed up the Kristiania (Oslo) fjord. In the lounges, people played chess or cards, or simply socialized with each other, and young people gathered around the piano to play and sing songs. Enok described his last day on board: The night, fog shrouded the ship and the sirens sounded menacingly. In the morning we got up early and in the darkness we could see lights on shore. Sailors told us it was Long Island. There were ships coming and going. We were still a long way from port, but everyone on board felt relieved and happy. Toward evening, children played games on deck, a sailor squeezed an accordion, and young men grabbed girls and swung them in waltzes or polkas.

During this period, with much of the world at war, volume through Ellis Island slowed to a trickle.5 The bulk of the Danish immigration came before Karl, in the years between 1820 and 1880. The new wave consisted of people from countries like Russia, Italy, and Austria-Hungary. Karl later recalled that he was processed within hours, and this was common.6 If a person was in good health, he or she could be off the island within 3 to 5 hours after arrival.7 Although he did not understand the language, he would have understood the signs in Swedish posted there.8 He settled in Brooklyn, at a boardinghouse at 430 Clermont Avenue, and secured a job in a foundry the following day. Securing employment would not have taken much effort, since a manufacturing boom placed skilled workers like Karl very much in demand.9 Few letters from Karl to his family survive today, although he may have actually written more often. The documents we have show that he was not only very homesick upon arriving in America, but his physical health suffered too. In a letter dated March 13, 1916, addressed to his father and stepmother, he mentions the harsh weather, complaining, “It is crazy to be in this climate” and “I’ve been unwell ever since I came here, but these days I’m feeling a bit better. I believe my illness is contributory, and bothering my throat — I’ve been so unwell that I haven’t been able to eat or drink much.” Apparently, Karl had some sort of sickness with which his family was

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familiar. His frequent sore throats could have been due to chronic tonsillitis, caused by an infection. Despite these health problems and his own emotional suffering, Karl’s main concern was for his family’s peace of mind, and he was anxious that Carla not be saddled with worries about him: The worst part is being alone — I think, every day, if I can just get Carla over here soon — but I suppose it is always the worst in the beginning, and in a way I am happy to be alone — I mean, with my illness. That I’m not always in such a good mood I’m sure you can understand, but you will not let Carla hear that; when she thinks I am doing well, then she too is doing best herself.

The fact that Karl was baring his soul to his parents and purposely withholding his emotions from his wife is significant. It may have simply been because he felt that Carla would be upset if she was aware of his suffering, or that the couple was already having problems in their marriage. A 1928 issue of the Portuguese magazine Ilustração Portuguesa alluded to Karl’s misery in these early days, referring to his terrible homesickness. The writer also mentioned the language difficulty, saying that Karl felt “the oppression one always feels when no one understands you and you understand no one.” This factor, and all the financial “scraping by,” attributed to his general “bad mood.” Karl said in this same letter, “It’s crazy when you’re a stranger to the language — before you can speak for yourself, there certainly isn’t the right ‘step in your shoes.’” Not being a native speaker of a language immediately sets a newcomer apart from others. In a September 1927 Motion Picture Classic magazine interview, Karl commented on these years: “It was tough — Geez! It was tough in a country where I hadn’t a single friend, and whose language I couldn’t understand a word of.”10 Most newcomers to America faced the same difficult and discouraging struggle, although officials did try to help people acclimate. Immigrants were provided with information about English lessons and classes when they disembarked. A search through the 1916 New York Times shows that there were a number of advertisements for various language schools. The famed Berlitz school had a branch in Brooklyn. Nevertheless, the average worker would not have had sufficient funds for this type of extravagance. Most people just learned as they went. Whatever method Karl used, he eventually mastered English. Letters written just prior to his death reveal that his grammar and spelling were fine. Author John Bille discusses the psychological plight of the newly-arrived immigrant in his book History of the Danes in America: There is no situation much more hopeless and demoralizing than that of the ordinary immigrant, unacquainted with the English language and totally isolated

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from some staid sober society of his countrymen ... if he is isolated from such a community he is obliged to play the part of the mute for almost a year after his arrival ... then again, there is the depressing affect of his social position among the natives. He is made to feel most keenly that he is a being of a lower order, a sort of beast of burden, tolerated only on account of his burden-bearing capacities. He is excluded from all social gatherings of a respectable character, either on account of language or nationality. He is sometimes made the object of pity, but more often of ridicule.

One silver lining was that Karl was not alone. Many other immigrants of Scandinavian origin lived in his neighborhood, as he related in the 1916 letter: “There are many Danes here in Brooklyn — just at the factory where I work, there’s a good nine or ten of them — and otherwise, there are many other Scandinavians here. Here where I live there are Norwegians, so I can understand them, and be understood myself.” In those years, Brooklyn was home to a vibrant, thriving Scandinavian community. In fact, Eighth Avenue was nicknamed “Lapskaus Boulevard” after a Norwegian stew. Norwegians, Danes, and Swedes have lived in Sunset Park, Bay Ridge, and Dyker Park for over 300 years. Apart from his residence and factory, Karl would have found Nordic friends in many other places in his neighborhood. A big meeting place for social activities was the church: Trinity Lutheran Church was located on 46th Street. On Eighth Avenue, the Sons of Norway Hall held weekend evening dances. In Downtown Brooklyn they had a Swedish Singing Society; and in Bay Ridge, immigrants could exercise at the Danish Athletic Club.11 Evidence indicates that he did reach out to others in this new community. One month after his arrival, Karl celebrated Ejlert’s fifth birthday with a family who had a little girl born on the very same day as his son. Karl concluded his March 1916 letter to his parents by poignantly asking them “to look after the little ones ... can you hold them and cuddle them a bit from me?” This reflects an affectionate father who desperately missed his children. Whatever his obstacles, physical or emotional, Karl indicated that he was adapting to the minutiae of his new life fairly well: “Now, I have settled down a bit and everything is taking, if I must say, its daily course. I can’t find very much at all in the way of news that’s worth describing — of course, the entire thing is news — but the impression is not so overwhelming that I feel myself thrown into another world.” He was pleased with his job and his salary, and had high hopes for the future: “With my job, it’s going well; I would only have a bit more in wages, but that too will come soon. I’m making thirteen dollars per week now to begin with — that comes out to what 26 kroner would back home, so one can certainly live off that.”

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Every immigrant had to have a sponsor to be released from Ellis Island. According to Karl’s records, his friend, Charles Lindgren, of 345 Court Street, acted in this capacity. Not much is known today about this friend or how close the two men were. Charles’s census records and draft registration card show that he was a carpenter born in Finland in June 1884. Life in a boardinghouse would have provided a type of substitute for Karl’s family routine back in Copenhagen. Newcomers to major cities frequently stayed in these establishments since they were regarded as more respectable, protecting people from unsavory characters.12 Usually private homes, guests paid a certain rate for a specified period of time. Meals were commonly taken together with the landlady and other guests. Special laws were drawn up regarding houses catering to immigrants. On pain of a hefty fine, keepers had to post their fees in several different languages in their public rooms in order to protect newcomers from exploitation.13 The location of the house was convenient for Karl, too. Transportation was easy and cheap. Karl would have made a right turn out of his building and walked to the end of his block, to Fulton Street. An elevated train and also streetcars existed that took him to his waterfront factory job.14

Karl’s boardinghouse at 430 Clermont Avenue, Brooklyn. He resided here from about 1917 to 1920 (photograph by the author).

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Although Karl’s job as a machinist was physically demanding, he was getting some relief. Due to increased technology at the larger factories, people were slowly shifting to an eight-hour workday. Only a few years before, workers toiled away for ten to fourteen hours daily, leaving little time for anything but work and sleep. Now the common person enjoyed something he rarely experienced before: leisure time for recreational activities.15 Even though workers were gaining more rights, Karl still faced risks to life and limb as a factory worker. Tragic accidents were common in the workplace. One example occurred in March 1916 when James Fleming, a fellow laborer at the Robert Gair Company, was pushing a heavy truck of goods across the floor of the container department and received a severe strain. He suffered an inguinal hernia and was admitted to a local hospital for surgery. Unfortunately, he contracted pneumonia and died, leaving a wife and infant daughter. In the resulting worker’s compensation suit that followed, Gair agreed to pay his widow $4.15 per week for her upkeep.16 Some sources claim that Karl traveled extensively before coming to the United States. The Big Parade pressbook, for example (not the most reliable source of information), claimed that he “drifted about Europe as a salesman, amateur auto racer, and aviation mechanic.” This is totally inaccurate, since his ship sailed directly to the United States from Denmark. Also, this type of venture would have been almost physically impossible during the war years. The Selective Service Act was passed in May 1917 to help increase the size of the U.S. Armed Forces, then at about 200,000 soldiers. There were three registrations in America during the war, and the first took place on June 5, the date reflected on Karl’s own card. All men between the ages of 18 and 35 were required to register, which was later extended to an upper age limit of 45 years. A large number failed to comply, however, with 3 million failing to register at all, while about 338,000 were actually called but didn’t turn up at the draft office.17 As a newcomer to this country, could Karl have been drafted into the United States military? At the time, there were five classifications. All registered men were automatically put in Class 1, unless he was granted a deferment. The remaining classes were put in the deferred category, but classes 2–4 could still be drafted after men from the first group were exhausted. Karl was in Class 5, along with all immigrants (termed “alienage”), and never would have been called.18 Karl’s Kings County, New York, draft card lists him as a machinist, age thirty, working at the Gair Company on Washington Street in Brooklyn. His height is listed as 6' 31 ⁄ 2", his weight 195 pounds, his hair brown and eyes gray. The document lists his wife and two children, and also his earlier military

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service in the Coastal Artillery, although his last rank was incorrectly reported as “Sergeant.” Karl did not linger long in the machine shop. Sometime in 1917, at the age of 31, he sought out extra work in films. The specific driving force behind his decision to try his hand at acting is unclear, with stories varying, depending on the source. When Karl became famous, and the studio claimed he had a formal theatrical background, they said he entered films since he missed the thrill of the greasepaint in his native land. Karl actually tended to downplay his initial ambition for a film career. His few references to it in interviews and letters only mention economic reasons for pursuing it. A 1926 letter said that while he made $13 per week at his machinist job, extra work paid him $3 per day by comparison. Being an actor was less physically demanding, too. Karl said, “It is for the most part easy work that does not take too much out of one’s strength.” This suggests someone pragmatic rather than star-struck. His 1931 Paramount studio biography states that Karl “never had an ambition to be a motion picture star, and declares that the greatest pleasure he has found in motion picture work has been working with all star casts.” Whatever his reason for seeking work as an actor, Karl’s road to success in films was a long and hard one, marked with repeated rejection. One problem was his poor English, making his ability to understand a director’s instructions very difficult. According to the September 1928 Motion Picture Classic magazine, directors eventually became versed in a sort of sign language on the set in order to successfully communicate with the influx of foreign-born stars (but those days were still far away for Karl). Another problem was his gangly look — his face was an attractive one in repose, but too unconventional to be cast as a romantic lead. More than once he was told point blank that he could never hope to become an actor, and one casting agent dismissed him with the comment, “You’re a good carpenter. Why don’t you stick to your hammer and your saw?” Ironically, this awkward quality was his ticket to fame several years later. Despite these obstacles, he doggedly persisted. As a result, Karl soon began meeting some important associates who would prove beneficial to his career. He met Robert McIntyre, the future casting director at MGM, who gave Karl his first role at the Vitagraph Studio. Vitagraph was considered the most important of the early production companies, described by film historian Anthony Slide as “the MGM of the Teens” and the studio that first established the star system.19 Karl described his experience working in his first unnamed Vitagraph film in a 1926 letter:

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All my sorrows had disappeared. I felt like a conqueror with the world at my feet. I was to have three dollars per day, and for this amount I was the railroad worker who gave leading lady Betty Howe directions on which way a train was headed. The filming was on Long Island. Already, on the first day, he took a close up of me, and I believed, fully and firmly, that my career was secured — but when I went to see the film, I wasn’t in it!

These self-deprecating comments show that Karl was a down-to-earth man who did not take himself or his career too seriously. He also had the ability to laugh at his own naiveté after prematurely imagining himself a big star. Despite this initial discouragement, Karl persisted in seeking roles, and soon was successful, this time in a more risky enterprise: I was to be a stunt man and acrobat. The trick that I was going to carry out was to stop a car on a rock two inches before it plunged into the chasm, jump out of the car, and let it roll down off the rock. I was lucky — it went well — but whoa! I’m still shivering at the thought!

Finally, in 1917, he was given his first major role. The film was My Four Years in Germany (1918) and was based on the bestselling book by James W. Gerard, the U.S. ambassador to that country. While the book was being serialized in William Randolph Hearst’s newspapers, Sam and Jack Warner, who were then making slapstick comedies, happened upon a Los Angeles Examiner advertisement in a shop window. It occurred to them that the work, which was a sensational personal account of the ambassador’s experiences prior to America’s entrance into the conflict, would make a great film. Even though they only had a tiny studio at the time, in a bold display of bravado, Sam sent a cable to Gerard in July 1917, informing him they were in a position to adapt Germany to the screen on an elaborate scale. He asked for an opportunity to meet and discuss the idea.”20 Gerard was intrigued, and Harry Warner went to see him in Washington, D.C. Gerard was impressed by the young man’s boldness and enthusiasm, and although he had a higher offer from Famous Players–Lasky, the former ambassador signed for $50,000 and a 20 percent cut of any profits.21 Gerard also insisted on a clause in his contract allowing him to be directly involved with the day-to-day production. It would prove to be a very shrewd move. The film played to packed houses, and was so popular that it took in $1,500,000 in gross earnings. The resulting $130,000 net profit enabled the brothers to build their famous studio on the West Coast.22 The director chosen was William Nigh, a Wisconsin-bred actor turned director who began his career making two-reelers for Mack Sennett. Nigh was a passionate, temperamental artist to the core, and even looked the part — tall, handsome, and elegant. He wore many hats in the production, sharing

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the scriptwriting duties with Gerard and Charles A. Logue. He even played a small but showy role as an anarchist in a couple of scenes, and supervised the makeup application to all of the actors, along with Jack Sullivan, the film’s cinematographer.23 The course of the production did not always run smoothly. The hottempered director had many creative differences with Harry and Jack, with Nigh of the opinion that “[The brothers] were incapable of either producing or exploiting the picture.” The founder of Fox Films, William Fox, must have sensed that the fledgling studio was onto something big, because he offered them $375,000 for the film, but they turned him down, having put in too much time and effort to sell it off.24 Germany starred many stage actors who are largely unknown today (like Halbert Brown as Gerard), and was shot in semi-documentary style in Grantwood, New Jersey, Camp Upton, Long Island, and at the Biograph Studios in the Bronx. Brown himself was a character actor at the Empire Theater in New York and auditioned for the role of Gerard, along with over 150 other actors. According to the June 16, 1918, Syracuse Herald, he won the role due to his resemblance to Gerard. Karl’s height probably was the main reason for his own selection, since he was 6' 31 ⁄ 2", and the real-life Chancellor was 6'5". That he was a fine actor and possessed a natural magnetism must have made Nigh’s job a lot easier. Noted newspaper editor Arthur Brisbane, who lived on a palatial estate in Allaire, New Jersey,25 offered the use of his property26 for the filming of the German atrocity scenes. This was a godsend to the brothers, since Brisbane had preserved a 19th century village on his land, providing a better backdrop than Warners’ could. For the indoor scenes, the impressionist sets that represented the Kaiser’s court were done by Nigh, although limited by a tight budget. The film is still available today in good condition. Surprisingly violent for the time, it showed many scenes of German brutality, such as the beating of an elderly Belgian cobbler by a German lieutenant, an implied rape of a peasant woman by lustful soldiers, and helpless prisoners of war being shot by a firing squad. This generated so much controversy that the head of Chicago’s censor board, Major Metellus Lucullus Cicero Funkhouser, ordered the more graphic scenes of cruelty to be cut. However, this caused such an outcry that it destroyed Funkhouser politically, and he was forced to resign. His replacement restored the deleted scenes to the film.27 Karl was cast in two parts in the film; in addition to the Chancellor, he played a tall Prussian officer in the notorious Zabern atrocity scene. He was so good in the role of the Chancellor that he reprised it in two more propaganda films —To Hell with the Kaiser (1918; in which Kaiser Wilhelm is shown

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literally making a pact with Satan, then later being consigned to the flames of hell) and The Great Victory: Wilson or the Kaiser: The Fall of the Hohenzollerns (1919). After seeing Karl in My Four Years in Germany, one realizes how capable he was of playing roles beyond the “dumb Swede” stereotypes to which he was sometimes relegated later in his career. Karl as the Chancellor is striking, courtly, elegant, and aristocratic, bringing to mind the acting style of Christopher Lee decades later. In fact, Karl’s portrayal is the only German character that seems three-dimensional at all, in comparison to that of Louis Dean as the Kaiser, who is all blustery devil. The Chancellor is presented as morally ambiguous at times, so that he does not come across as either all hero or all villain. For example, he reacts with subtle horror at one of the Kaiser’s brutish comments to Ambassador Gerard, and then quickly regains his composure and fawningly says, “Well said, Your Highness!” In another scene, in which unrestricted submarine warfare is discussed with the German High Command, he candidly comments that America is fully within her rights to defend herself under international law, but then makes no argument when the Kaiser orders the Lusitania sunk. In a third sequence, Karl stands a few paces away when Gerard argues with the Kaiser in the garden of the Palace. As Wilhelm’s spiked helmet casts a shadow across his chest, the Chancellor nods in admiration when the American verbally bests him. However, the Chancellor is willing to overlook all the injustices perpetrated by his country, and in one shot gleefully plays with a table full of children’s toys as Gerard looks on in disgust. Karl also demonstrated the ability to steal scenes while in the background of ensemble sequences by keeping his enormous frame completely immobile and simply shifting his eyes from one character to another in the foreground. He was at ease in his use of props as well, elegantly smoking a cigarette, playing with the hilt of his sword, and thoughtfully stroking his mustache. Germany premiered at the Knickerbocker Theater in New York City on Sunday evening, March 10, 1918. According to the March 23 Motion Picture World, every seat in the house was taken, and the audience frequently broke out into spontaneous applause at various points during the film. The magazine grandly stated that it was “not a photoplay, but a historical document” that clearly represented why America entered the War. Regional reviews were similarly awestruck. The June LaCrosse (Wisconsin) Tribune and Leader-Press advertised, “Here’s the One Big Photoplay Triumph of the Day. Shows WHY WE MUST FIGHT-BLOOD-STIRRING FACTS — NOT FICTION.” To add to its cachet of authenticity, the film was also advertised in an

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“official” capacity, claiming to be “endorsed by official Washington, the President and public officials.” Ironically, the pro–War feelings that Germany stirred up had a negative impact on the motion picture industry. According to a June issue of the New York Times, many Los Angeles schoolteachers convinced their pupils to forego candy and movie going, and put their pennies towards War Savings stamps. Their encouragement was more effective than they anticipated. Movie theaters in the city saw a drop in attendance by more than 30 percent. Panicked members of the Theater Owners Association appealed to President Wilson, who issued a statement assuring the public that movies were an important tool to teach young people about patriotism. At this point, Karl started using his new name, although he spelled it “Carl Dane.” The fact that Karl wanted to drop his German surname is not surprising, given the anti–German sentiment then sweeping the nation (fueled by films such as this one). He was not the only one: the popular actress Marguerita Fischer removed the “c” in her last name to anglicize it, and photos were taken to publicize the event. However, in a February 1926 letter, Karl did not specify this as a reason, and simply explained that “Dane” was a better theatrical name than “Gottlieb.” A few months after the premiere, the film industry underwent a crisis that almost brought production to a standstill. A movement emerged that sought to declare the production of motion pictures as “non-essential” to the war effort. This never actually occurred, since the government appreciated the strong feelings of patriotism that films like Germany generated. However, the industry was affected by the “work or fight” regulation that had recently been written into law. As reported on July 21, 1917, in the Denton (MD) Journal, the law mandated that those of draft age employed in occupations not considered “useful” to the War effort were required to find another one considered more productive, or be sent to the front. About 100,000 then switched to more “productive” employment by the end of the war.28 Many in the industry were exempt from this mandate, including actors like Karl, cameramen, musicians, and writers, but others who worked in movie houses were not. As a result, ushers, projectionists, and box-office staff left their jobs in droves. Their positions were filled by unskilled and often unreliable workers, and patrons complained when shows failed to start on time due to staff who didn’t show up for their shifts. According to a September 1927 Motion Picture Classic29 article, after production ended on Germany, Karl left his business card with director Joseph A. Golden, who was about to begin production on the Pathé serial The Wolves of Kultur, starring Leah Baird. Also in the cast as the male lead was Charles

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Hutchison in his first serial appearance. On the back of the card Karl wrote one word: “STUNTS.” Golden phoned him four days later, offering him the part of the second villain, which Karl accepted. During the production of Wolves, Karl became friends with the temperamental Hutchison. He is a forgotten figure today, but in the late teens and early twenties he became a serial star, famous for his daring motorcycle stunts. According to Kalton Lahue’s book on the serial genre, Bound and Gagged, Hutchison was born in Allegheny, Pennsylvania, in 1879, and after moving to New York City he took to the stage at the age of eighteen. He eventually entered films as a featured player and worked for various studios over the years, among them Triumph, Solax, Brenon, and Vitagraph. He met his future wife and leading lady Edith Thornton, almost twenty years his junior, while they were both working for the Crystal Film Company. Eventually Hutchison started producing his own films independently until his career fizzled out in the 1920s. Produced in Fort Lee, New Jersey, some of the most exciting action of Wolves was shot in upstate New York at the picturesque Ausable Chasm, a natural gorge located twelve miles from Plattsburgh. The story follows a gang of enemy agents who plot to steal plans for a radio-controlled submarine. Karl once again played two parts: a bearded villain and his main role of a cleanshaven henchman, Carter. Karl’s performance in this latter role is surprising to those only familiar with his later comedic work, proving again that he was an amazingly versatile actor. His character is one of the most brutish and sadistic heavies ever to appear on the silent screen, yet also free of any scenery chewing. He strikes the leading lady in the face in one scene, and later has to be restrained from stomping on her as she lies helpless on the floor. However, in the end, the heroine saves the day by destroying the ship carrying most of the villains. She takes her revenge on Karl’s character by shooting him as he menaces her lover with a knife in their final climactic fight. Regardless of how repugnant his character was, Karl’s star quality was undeniable. In one haunting scene he stalks the runaway heroine through the woods, reviving memories of the bestial Gus who chases Mae Marsh to her death in The Birth of a Nation. Karl also performed some risky stunts in the film. He climbs down the bridge spanning the gorge at the chasm, rides a horse with the leading lady in his arms, and chases the hero on a motorcycle. The serial also featured an underwater fight between him and Hutchison, as reported in the February 8, 1919, Manitoba Free Press under the headline “Hero a Fighting Fish”: Charles Hutchison, who does strenuous and thrilling stunts in the Pathé serial “The Wolves of Kultur,” is in a watery fight with one of the Hun spies in the

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KARL DANE story, remaining below the waters one minute and forty-five seconds. His opponent was Carl Dane [sic], specially chosen for this task from a group of twenty crack professional swimmers of Europe. The picture of this desperate underwater struggle surpasses any similar attempt and is intensely thrilling. Both the actors have amply qualified for members of the distinguished fish family.

The scene in question showed Karl throwing his nemesis off some high rocks into the water, and then diving in himself. After a spectacular battle, thrilling to watch almost ninety years later, Karl’s villainous “Hun” character is drowned, the camera lingering on his open-eyed corpse floating eerily just below the surface of the water. Wolves also boasted some surprisingly sophisticated sets, as described in Kalton Lahue’s book Bound and Gagged. They were ... constructed to operate mechanically at the touch of hidden buttons and levers. As it appeared on screen, the set was an old bookstore with thousands of volumes on the shelves. One entire section of the shelving was made to swing open, revealing a complete workshop containing switchboards, electric motors, revolving steel saws and other tools, along with a perfect model of a radio torpedo. A section of the workshop floor dropped down, acting as an elevator to the depths of an underground passageway. The dampness of a cryptic vault buried beneath the city was simulated by running water and the passageway led to a council chamber which contained an electrically controlled steel chair.

Wolves was released on October 13, 1918, right in the middle of the great influenza epidemic, which disrupted its distribution. However, Golden engaged Hutchison in two more serials, The Great Gamble (1919) and The Whirlwind (1920). Karl was in the latter, this time playing the part of the lead villain, known only as “the Wolf.” No stories survive about Karl working on the sets of his early films except one. According to the August 12, 1941, Lebanon (PA) Daily News, during the shooting of one of his early cliffhangers, he needed to embellish his depleted wardrobe, so burned a hole in his old suit, “then put up such a squawk that the studio replaced it with a new one.” Karl was credited with several other films during this period. In addition to appearing as the German Chancellor in two more pictures, Karl took another royal role as Prince Tcheretoff in 1918’s Her Final Reckoning, and even acted the part of the god Mars in The Triumph of Venus. The next year, before Hun roles went out of fashion with the end of the war, Karl was Lieutenant Von Bergheim in Daring Hearts. According to a 1933 Woodland Democrat interview, Karl claimed that he appeared in some chapter plays with cliffhanger queen Pearl White, but the names of these specific titles are not known. The red-headed actress was a big star at the time, and the biggest moneymaker that Pathé had. Like with Wolves,

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many action sequences from her cliffhangers were also filmed at Ausable Chasm. No comedy films appear in Karl’s official filmography in those early years. Nonetheless, he was the uncredited main heavy in a 1920 short starring forgotten comic Sammy Burns called Oh Buoy! Burns headed his own production company, Sammy Burns Comedies, located on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan. Karl played a lascivious and bullying ship’s first mate with the unlikely name of “Muddy Rep.” In a cheerful nod towards current events, the ship is “the good ship Whitesox, a wreck from the League of Notions!” Other characters in this short receive pun-like names, such as “Ima Blimp” (the comic fat girl); “Felix Smelt,” “Hal Sturgeon,” and “Basil De Poorfish.” The story centers on a ship’s captain’s daughter, Hazel, and her love for Basil (Burns), which incurs the jealousy of Rep, who wants the girl for himself. Rep conspires with the girl’s father, Captain Tootenville, who disapproves of his daughter’s n’er-do-well suitor, to spirit her away aboard ship the next morning. Little does the Captain know that Rep (described as “slippery as a wet rubber heel”) has plans to steal all of the captain’s money from his secret hiding place. The hero Basil manages to redeem himself at the end and foil their plot, winning the girl in the process. Once again Karl dominated the film, just as he did in Wolves of Kultur. He had an unusual way of standing and moving that differed from the style he had in his later career —fists clenched, long legs akimbo, his long face in a scowl, he seems ready to tear apart anyone who stands in his way. Although he played a villain, Karl had plenty of opportunity to show some fine comic timing, as he performs pratfalls with Burns. At one point Rep menaces Burns, glowering at him menacingly. He then inexplicably giggles kittenishly, disarming the hero, who begins to nervously laugh with him. Then, abruptly, Rep resumes his scowl, sending the terrified hero scurrying away. By this time, Karl was acting on a full-time basis. The 1920 Federal Census Records show him under the old name “Carl Gottlieb” as a “roomer” still living at the Clermont Avenue boardinghouse. His profession was listed as “actor, motion pictures.” In addition to Karl’s film appearances, some articles, such as those in the Ilustração Portuguesa and Exhibitor’s Daily Review, claimed that he appeared in vaudeville during the years 1917–1920. This was the heyday of the art form in New York, and the famed Palace Theater opened, becoming synonymous with the institution. The typical vaudeville show had about nine acts, each performance lasting seven to twelve minutes. Karl never mentioned any specifics about the type of act he had, or whether he appeared solo or with a group. However, his Paramount studio biography stated that with a few weeks

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of practice he would be able to support himself as a gymnast on stage, so his skills point towards this direction. Things were looking up for Karl, as he remained steadily employed and was doing work that he enjoyed. However, his family life was another story altogether. Already the dark events which would eventually destroy Karl years later were beginning to take shape.

4 Exile As Karl made his mark in films like My Four Years in Germany, he also lost touch with his family in Denmark. According to Karl’s descendants, the original plan was to have Carla and the children join him in the States. However, some time after Karl’s arrival in New York, the pair became estranged. The reason can still be found in existing legal documents in Denmark, and points to a dramatic tale that tore the family apart. On January 14, 1918, Carla wrote the following letter to the chief magistrate in Copenhagen: I, the undersigned seamstress, Carla Dagmar Gottleib [sic], residing at Frederiksgade 69, hereby ask for permission to live separately from my husband, mechanic Rasmus Carl Gottleib [sic], who is residing in America and with whom I entered into marriage on September 10, 1910, according to the enclosed marriage certificate. I ask that this case will, if necessary, be examined with the assistance of the police and submitted to the Ministry of Justice for a decision. I shall, as a reason for my application, mention that my husband on January 27 [it was actually the 25th], 1916, departed for America and has not returned since then. At the beginning of his time there he would now and then send me money, but over the past 14 months, I have received no money at all and over the last half year, no letters either. Before his departure, he had a relationship with a woman here from whom he caught syphilis and which he infected me with. I understand this woman has gone to him in America, I presume he has given up on the thought of returning to me.

This request was witnessed by an unbiased third party, a Father Edward Lindegaard, Carla’s spiritual adviser, who provided his own note at the bottom of the statement. He reported that mediation in this case was futile, and that Carla requested that the separation should proceed without further delay, despite the fact that she was still fond of her errant husband. Regarding the charge that Karl infected his wife with syphilis, no physical proof existed beyond Carla’s statement in this document. Nor was there any trace of the “other woman” with whom Karl was supposedly involved, nor any evidence that anyone went to live with Karl in Brooklyn. Census records show that Karl was listed as a “roomer” living alone in his boarding house. According to one of Karl’s grandsons, Carla eventually confided to her daughter Ingeborg the circumstances of the family’s separation. This story differs slightly from the separation document. According to family members, 49

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Carla refused to join her husband in America when she found out he had infected her with venereal disease. The separation document, by contrast, says that Karl first infected, then abandoned the family by gradually dropping all contact. The family story is the more tempting version to believe, since Carla told it to her own daughter, with whom she was on intimate terms. Yet, it, too, has its pitfalls, many years have passed since the story was first told. If Carla knew that Karl infected her before he left for America, no record exists to prove it. Symptoms of the disease would have included pounding headaches, severe joint pain and inexplicable fever. In addition to the physical effects, sufferers of venereal diseases were subject to great social stigma. In his 1917 book The Third Great Plague, John Hinchman Stokes urged tolerance, chiding people who regarded these ailments as “the wages of sin, wellearned disgrace, as filth, [and] as a badge of immorality.” Sadly, many even opposed the development of new treatments for venereal diseases, since they felt that having a ready cure available would simply encourage people in their socially unacceptable behavior. Karl was notified of Carla’s request for a legal separation through the Danish Consulate in New York. This was his reply, now in the State Archives in Copenhagen: Foreign Ministry 1st Department Copenhagen July 29, 1918 I the undersigned, Karl Therkelsen Gottleib [sic], who, through the Danish Consulate in New York has been informed about my wife Carla Dagmar Gottleib’s, nee Hagen’s, application for a separation, hereby declare that in case my aforementioned wife persists in wishing for a separation, I will not contest it, and will in such case accept those of her suggested conditions for the separation, which are, community of goods cancelled. There will be no joint abode. The children, Ejlert born March 4, 1911, and Ingeborg, born July 31, 1912, will be under my wife’s authority and care. I shall pay towards my wife and children’s upkeep according to the authorities demand. I intend to return to Denmark, but the conditions do not permit me to do so at the present time. The separation is not what I would have wished. New York May 15, 1918 Karl Gottleib

Karl did not mention anything about the syphilis charge. Nevertheless, in the first letter he sent to his parents after his arrival in America, Karl referred to an illness he had. He wrote, “In a way, I am glad to be alone, I mean, with my illness. That I am not always in as good a mood, you can surely understand.” However, since the letter was to his parents, it raises doubts that he was referring to a sexually transmitted disease.

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Although we know no details of the type of medical care Karl received, the disease was finally curable by 1918. Those of the working class could easily obtain treatment at local clinics with a regimen of Salvarsan injections. Yet this did not come without a price. The Salvarsan, a derivative of arsenic, frequently caused debilitating side effects, such as nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, headache and fever.1 How Karl initially reacted to the news that Carla wanted a separation is unclear. No letters or interviews survive in which he discussed this time in his life. His options were extremely limited. He had no way of communicating quickly with anyone back home in Denmark. This was decades before the first transatlantic phone call. Simply packing up and rushing back to his family was not practical either, not for a working class man living in a boardinghouse and earning his small salary. His statement in the separation document said that he intended to return, but “conditions did not permit at the present time.” A document called the Politiefterretninger,2 a yearly index of people wanted by the Danish police, may shed some light on these “conditions.” In this index, Karl was listed as wanted by the authorities for information about his present residence. This means that Karl had not informed his old army unit of his whereabouts as he was required to by law. Therefore, in October 1916, when the Coastal Artillery called him up again, they could not find him. Karl technically was not AWOL since he could not be located to receive the order, but if someone did a similar disappearing act today in that country, it would be punished with a 6-month prison term.3 Karl was trapped. Carla refused to join him, and he was on a police wanted list at home. About this time he decided to leave New York and travel around the United States. Like so many other times in his life, Karl remained vague and mysterious about the details. For example, in a February 1926 letter to Reinald, Karl simply stated he “travelled many places and did many things.” Yet, we do know about one destination. An article in the April 17, 1934, Lincoln (NE) Star reported, under the headline “Karl Dane Once Worked Here; Employer Can’t Remember Actor,” that Karl told friends he lived in Lincoln, Nebraska, for a while and worked for Dee Eiche, the owner of a Firestone Service Station. When Eiche was asked about it just after Karl’s death, although he could not recall him by name, Eiche did remember someone answering to Karl’s description working for him seventeen or eighteen years before. Karl did not linger that long in Nebraska, though, since no record of him appears in the Lincoln city directories. He returned to New York rela-

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tively quickly, since the film work that he did in the 1917–1920 period was all based on the East Coast. Also, January 1920 census records showed that he was back in residence at the boardinghouse in Brooklyn. According to Carla’s separation request, Karl only sent money occasionally, and then completely stopped fourteen months prior to her request for a separation. This would place the last funds being sent about November 1916. Then the letters stopped altogether on or about June 1917, about the time America entered the war. The separation from his family weighed heavily on Karl, who had complained to his father in his first letter, “The worst part was being alone.” At some point he did meet someone else, a twenty-three-year-old Swedish dressmaker named Helen Benson. Where and when is completely unknown. However, Helen could not have been the “other woman” who infected him with syphilis. According to Ellis Island records, she arrived in America three years before Karl. Sometime in 1920 Karl quit acting in films altogether. Several different reasons have been given for this decision. One was that he became disenchanted with the film industry. A 1926 article in the Danish newspaper Politiken explained that five years earlier, Karl started working as an actor and succeeded in getting some small roles, “which in the meantime were not great enough to satisfy him.” The quality of his roles was reportedly not the only reason. The article went on to say that being a stunt actor was not a pleasant occupation due to the many demands directors typically made. Eventually Karl realized that the physical risks were not worth it. Indeed, Karl was taking very real risks every day. Audiences were becoming more sophisticated, so the studios felt pressured to provide more thrilling feats to entice them into the theaters, with sometimes tragic results. For example, in 1920, daredevil pilot Ormer Locklear was killed in a crash while filming the movie The Skywayman. His replacement, Ted McLaughlin, tried to repeat Locklear’s midair stunt of climbing down a ladder from one plane into the open cockpit of another. He died when his ladder swung into the machine’s propeller.4 Another example of the dangers inherent in filmmaking was the accident that Edith Hutchison, the wife of Charles, suffered while making The Whirlwind, in which Karl co-starred. As a result of a crash during a motorcycle stunt for the very first episode, one side of Edith’s face was temporarily paralyzed, and she was unable to work at all for several years. Edith remembered decades later that every member of the cast received at least one injury during filming.5 The May 11, 1920, Mansfield News made reference to this in one of their ads for the serial, telling fans to come “See the blunder that nearly

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cost the life of Charles Hutchison at the railway crossing. See the premature explosion that buried him in a burning tower. They weren’t staged. They were accidents.” Another reason given for Karl’s abandonment of his film career had to do with Helen’s opposition to it. According to the February 1926 issue of Picture Play magazine, Karl said that when he was married, his wife thought it best that he should leave the film industry. He replied that he was willing and suggested farming as an alternative. The Politiken article echoed this, stating that he made the switch at his wife’s “urgent” request. An article in the December 1928 Portuguese magazine Cinefilo suggests another reason — that he was no longer willing to settle for small parts. It stated that after appearing in My Four Years in Germany, small roles didn’t satisfy this “eternally dissatisfied man,” who immediately insisted on being awarded bigger roles. If Karl indeed was this ruthlessly ambitious, no other anecdotal evidence has survived to back it up. The article writer did not name any sources, such as former co-stars, for this claim, so it must be taken with a grain of salt. Karl’s decision to leave films also coincided with his fateful move out to California. Karl told his brother Reinald in a February 1926 letter that he chose a milder climate in the hopes it would improve his health. Whether he was suffering from the after-affects of the syphilis when he left New York, or if this was a reference to some other affliction, is an open issue. Trying to trace Karl Dane’s journey west was not easy after all these years, but part of the pieces of the puzzle can be reconstructed using Karl’s naturalization records. The process to become a U.S. citizen involved several steps back in the 1920s. First, an immigrant had to file a Declaration of Intention, which declared the person’s wish to permanently reside in America. Then, after two to seven years, the applicant was allowed to petition the court to become a citizen. If the request was approved, a Certificate of Citizenship was issued.6 Karl’s own Declaration of Intention was filed, curiously enough, in the tiny Midwestern town of Mildred, Kansas, in which he and Helen resided for a time. The document is dated April 1, 1921, and lists his name as “Karl Gottlieb Dane,” and his profession as a machinist. Why they chose Mildred is unknown, as there were no known Gottlieb family members living there, and nothing is known about Helen’s kin. Karl did not take his next step in the path to naturalization, the Petition, until February 19, 1928, when he was at the height of his career and 41 years old. The two witnesses were Charles and Edith Hutchison, friends from his serial-making days. Karl finally became a naturalized American citizen on July 13, 1928.

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Karl’s next home, California’s San Fernando Valley, was still a quiet, sleepy little region in the early 1920s, and was primarily farmland. However, people were starting to migrate to the area. In 1920, only 21,000 people lived in the Valley. Van Nuys had less than a thousand residents that year, as opposed to over 149,000 in 2006. The population of the entire region doubled in the 1920s alone. Even as Karl and Helen started out across country by train, with a scenic stop at the Grand Canyon, dozens of towns were springing up in the Valley.7 According to Kevin Roderick’s The San Fernando Valley: America’s Suburb, “Some [were] farming villages, one was a residential center, another, a high-level residential community, and a third a specialized city around an entirely new industry, film making.” George E. Pratt, who was president of the Los Angeles Creamery Company, bought one thousand acres in the Valley for his six hundred dairy cows, and the dairy employed one hundred men. Other dairies existed too, and, in fact, the world’s largest Guernsey herd was located in the Valley that year, leading some to declare the Valley the “milk bottle of Los Angeles.” Many people of Scandinavian descent seemed attracted to the agrarian lifestyle, and, in fact, Danish farmers introduced new techniques into the egg and dairy industries, such as egg incubators.8 Also, according to the July 12, 1925, Port Arthur (TX) News, Prince Eric of Denmark, along with his comely wife, gave up all claims to the throne to open up their own chicken ranch near Arcadia. In Karl and Helen’s day, a working man could buy one acre of farmland in the Valley for $1,500 to $2,000. Up to one thousand white leghorn hens could be kept on that acre in small 8 × 8 coops, resulting in a profit of $2 per hen, or $2,000 per year. Key components on such a farm were rich loam soil and plenty of irrigation water. It would have cost about $3,500 to build a five-room residence in the area. Building a poultry house and purchasing the hens could run another $3,000–$4,000, depending on the number of pullets.9 A brooding house for raising the baby chicks, and incubator lamps to keep them sufficiently warm, would also have been a must. In addition, a pumping plant with a motor was needed, which cost about $500 back then. Farmers who had difficulty meeting all of these expenses could save money when they formed cooperatives with other breeders, which was also popular with Scandinavians. In that way, resources could be pooled, and the cost and use of equipment shared.10 Then, of course, once the farm enterprise was up and running, Karl had to be continually vigilant in keeping the shelters immaculately clean and free of dust to guard against lice and diseases, like tuberculosis, that could easily have ruined their entire investment.

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Karl and Helen had been living together as husband and wife for months now, according to the Declaration of Intention in Kansas; but finally, on June 15, 1921, they were wed by Minister James H. Lash, witnessed by Mrs. Lash, at the Reverend’s home in Hollywood. According to the Los Angeles city directories, a Carl [sic] Gottlieb, carpenter, had lived at 577 North TwentyThird Avenue earlier that year, but at some point had moved to the farm in Van Nuys at 8618 Kester Avenue. Their property was part of what used to be the Kester Ranch, which was a wheat-growing center, and part of the Lankershim–Van Nuys empire in the late 19th century.11 Today Karl and Helen’s house no longer exists, and the Panorama City School, built in 2005, sits on the site.12 Panorama City is a town within the city of Los Angeles, and is home to a largely Mexican-American population. Despite the marriage ceremony, Karl was still legally wed to Carla in Denmark in June 1921. Their formal divorce would not take place for another three years, when Carla tracked him down to request one.13 On the U.S. marriage certificate, Karl and Helen both stated that they were single, and that this was their first marriage. This suggests that Karl did not tell Helen about the existence of his family. Although Karl willingly gave up his acting career, it never entirely left his mind. According to a February 1926 Picture Play magazine interview, Karl

Kester Avenue in Van Nuys, site of Karl’s chicken farm in 1921–1924 (photograph by George Fogelson).

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was always an avid moviegoer, and he particularly admired Ernest Torrence and Wallace Beery. Torrence was a tall and off beat looking character like Karl, and played a wonderfully unforgettable villain in the classic 1920 film Tol’able David. The same source revealed that when Karl went to see films in this early period he never concentrated on the plots, but instead focused on the performers’ mannerisms. He thought about how he would interpret the same roles, and then kept this in the back of his mind. If he ever decided to go back to acting, he felt confident that he had the skills and abilities to make a success of it next time. Years later, Karl actually ended up co-starring with both of his idols. He appeared with Torrence in the 1927 race car comedy Speedway, and co-starred with Beery in two films — the prison drama The Big House and Billy the Kid, both in 1930. Karl enjoyed his years on the farm, and he later looked back on them with fondness. He reflected to his brother Reinald in February 1926: “I think about going back out into the countryside, so if the film work lightens up and I feel for it, perhaps I’ll go out on a farm again. I felt so well those four years I spent there.” Their quiet life together was not to last, however. Helen became pregnant and went into labor at home on August 8, 1923. Tragically, the baby girl died shortly after birth, at eight o’clock in the evening. Dr. Benjamin B. Ward, who attended Helen and the child, wrote on the baby’s death certificate that the child died of “atalectasis of the lungs,” and that “several forcible attempts to inspire failed. Also artificial respiration [was] ineffective.” Atelectasis in newborn babies occurs when the lungs fail to open and expand normally at birth. Often an infant has an obstruction due to mucous, which would explain Dr. Ward’s attempts to clear the baby’s airway. The condition occurs more with premature infants, since the lungs are not fully developed at birth.14 Neither Helen nor the baby’s death certificate mentioned whether the child arrived too early. Helen’s doctor reported that he last saw her on August 8, the day of the stillbirth. He was not present when she began to hemorrhage badly the next morning, August 9, and died at 11:20 A.M. Helen’s complications still plague new mothers today, even in this modern age of obstetrics. The cause of death reported on her death record is postpartum hemorrhage, with a contributory cause of uterine atony. Uterine atony is the leading cause of post-partum hemorrhage, and is still quite common, occurring in about one in twenty births.15 Normally, the uterus contracts following delivery of the fetus and placenta, and this constricts the blood vessels in the area, preventing excessive

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bleeding. If the uterus cannot make these muscular contractions, due to a long and tiring labor, for example, the risk of vaginal hemorrhage is greater.16 Virtually no mention was ever made during Karl’s Hollywood career about this tragedy. The only exception was an article in the February 1926 Picture Play magazine. The writer, Edwin Schallert, simply indicated that Karl had a wife who had died about a year before, but did not provide any other details. Helen and this unnamed baby were buried together two days later, on August 11, 1923, at Grandview Memorial Park in Glendale, California. Grandview has had a rocky history. In 2005 inspectors charged the cemetery owners with numerous violations, including the storage of more than 4000 urns of unclaimed cremated remains, some dating back to the 1930s. They also found the grounds in a terrible state of disrepair, with unmowed grass and unstable dead trees causing safety concerns. Therefore, according to The Valley News, the memorial park was closed to the public and only recently opened on a limited basis. The last months of 1923 are the most obscure and shadowy in Karl Dane’s life. How Karl coped, or didn’t cope, is unknown, although we do know that he remained at his residence on Kester Avenue. However, Karl eventually reached out to someone — and that someone was the divorcee Emma Awilda Peabody Sawyer.

5 Emma The only known photograph of Emma Awilda Peabody Sawyer is hardly flattering. Although of poor quality, it shows a tall, thin-lipped, hatchet-faced woman who looked far older than her 44 years. Born in California to New England–bred parents on September 15, 1879, she was seven years Karl’s senior. In the 1920 census she is listed as living alone on 19 Webster Street in Alameda County, working as a supervisor with the telephone company. By 1924, Emma resided in Los Angeles and had a job as an office clerk. How the pair met is not known, but their relationship rapidly evolved into a romantic one. On March 8, Karl and Emma visited a Van Nuys Lutheran pastor, M. H. Tietzin, and were wed. On the official certificate, Karl is listed as being a widower and that this was his second marriage. This suggests that Emma, like Helen, was not aware of Carla and the children in Denmark. (To be fair, Emma did not fully reveal the truth about herself either: she is listed as age 40 on the marriage certificate, rather than 44.) If she had been aware of her new husband’s history she would surely have hesitated before taking the plunge. According to the records at the Köbenhavns Overpræsidium, Karl and Carla were finally divorced on March 11, 1924, three days after his marriage to Emma. The implications are clear — Karl was never legally married to either Helen or Emma. Carla was the one who instigated the action, just as she had for the earlier separation back in 1918. She wanted to wed again, and tracked Karl down in California. The archival documents state that Carla’s request was forwarded to the chief of police in Copenhagen and that the authorities obtained a statement from his parents to determine where Karl was living in America. The archives refer to Rasmus and Lene as “tanning worker Gottleib [sic] and wife,” residing at Fjords Alle 24 at this time.1 The fact that Carla got the police involved suggests that she was not on good terms with her former in-laws at the time. Otherwise, she would simply have asked them. The results of this police interview were not noted, but it must have been successful since the divorce was granted. Carla’s own marriage took place several months later, on July 13, to a fireman/stoker named Knud Alfred Olsen. 58

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The match between Karl and Emma gives every indication of a rushed, rebound affair. They were married in March, and Emma finally left after only six months, later complaining of his “coldness and indifference.” Deciphering the real reasons of a divorce 80 years after the fact is extremely difficult. The “coldness and indifference” charge could have meant that Emma felt that Karl treated her with insufficient affection and/or ignored her sexual needs. For his part, Karl complained in the later divorce papers that he was abandoned by Emma, and that she left him “for no good reason.” This suggests that Emma was ignorant of the fact that they were not legally wed; otherwise, Karl would hardly have complained she had no grounds for their break-up. Looking at the relationships that Karl had in his life begs the question of how he viewed and related to women. George K. Arthur recalled in his memoir that he was envious of Karl’s incredible way with ladies. Karl had a habit of throwing his arms around an attractive girl upon their very first meeting and planting a big kiss on her mouth.2 No memories survive from these young women who were on the receiving end of Karl’s attentions, save one. During the making of the 1925 film His Secretary, Karl met another immigrant, a young actress named Estelle Clark, originally born Stasia Zwolinska in Poland. Years later Estelle remembered Karl fondly as a gentleman who was a friendly but somewhat lonely and shy man. She compared him favorably to other actors she knew who were simply looking for action. Karl, by contrast, seemed to just want to be friends.3 This suggests that his forwardness did not come across to women as predatory. Karl’s success with the opposite sex could be viewed as surprising, given his gawky and unconventional looks. Nevertheless, it worked in his favor, since this awkwardness could be endearing and imply a childlike innocence that proved disarming to women. The only other mention of Karl’s talent with ladies appeared in a Valentine’s Day movie magazine article entitled “How to Win a Woman.” Many different male stars offered advice, and Karl’s was very revealing. He said, “Forget that you’re a gentleman. Every woman likes to think that she’s developing a rough diamond.” This suggests that Karl was much more intelligent than he was given credit for, and a good judge of human nature. Despite his successful track record with the opposite sex, he could not hold onto Emma. She packed up and left him on September 30. Karl became alarmed and followed her, imploring her to return, but she refused. Neither of them filed for divorce right away, but Karl took steps to protect his interests. On November 6 he approached Emma again and asked her

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to accompany him to his lawyer’s office to sign some paperwork, later marked as Exhibit A in the eventual court action. Emma agreed, but two years later complained that she hadn’t understood what she was signing. She claimed that Karl and his lawyer told her the document was a deed allowing him to sell the lots on Willis Avenue they purchased during their brief marriage. Emma said she found out later that it was actually a property settlement that waived her right to any further share of Karl’s assets. Despite this possible piece of subterfuge, Karl claimed that he spent a long time trying to convince Emma to rekindle the relationship. According to the November 7, 1926, issue of the Oakland Tribune, Karl told the presiding Judge Wood that when she left him two years before he was earning $35 to $40 per week as a carpenter (about $487 today). Even after he had achieved fame in The Big Parade she still refused to return to him. If this is true, then he was still campaigning for her return as late as November or December 1925, when the film premiered. Karl’s version of events is actually supported by the divorce court paperwork. He waited until May 13, 1926, six months after the film’s release, to finally break all ties between them. He then sued her for divorce on the grounds of desertion. Karl made the following charge against Emma, as per the court papers: [T]he said defendant disregarding the solemnity of her marriage vow willfully and/or without cause deserted and/or abandoned the plaintiff and ever since has and still continues to so willfully and without cause desert and abandon the plaintiff and to live separate and apart from him without any sufficient reason or cause and/or against the will and consent of the plaintiff.

By this time, Emma had become a house servant in the home of nowforgotten Hollywood film actress Kathleen Clifford, who firmly stuck by her in the ensuing trial. Karl might have naively thought that Emma would go away quietly, but he was not prepared for Clifford (real name: Mrs. Illitch), a successful businesswoman who ran a cosmetic business when she was not acting in pictures. She may have really been devoted to her housemaid — or simply relished the opportunity to get her picture in the papers, along with the flattering headline “Film Girl Champions Servant’s Cause.” Accompanying the story was the aforementioned photo of Emma. She is standing uneasily next to her stylish, petite employer, dowdily but neatly dressed, weight shifted on one foot, hands awkwardly behind her back. Emma was so tall that Mrs. Illitch perched herself on a ledge for the picture, her feet barely reaching the ground. After Karl sued for divorce that year, Emma made a cross-complaint in June for separate maintenance, now charging Karl with cruelty. She also formally requested that the property settlement agreement that she signed in 1924 be declared null and void. She said that the Willis property was worth at least

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$10,000, and she had not seen a penny of it from any sale. Other property included the Ford Coupe automobile that the couple owned together. It came out in court that Emma was making $75 per month at the time, had no other means of support, and that she was in poor health. According to the June 24 Los Angeles Times, Mrs. Illitch testified that it was frequently necessary for her and her husband to go out for dinner when Emma was too unwell to prepare the evening meal. Karl was then called to the stand and questioned about his income and expenses. He replied that he was contracted to MGM forty weeks per year, earning $150 per week ($1,764 today). When asked if this represented all his wages, he caused some minor confusion in the courtroom by saying that he also received “appreciation.” Upon clarification, Karl revealed that this was actually a bonus awarded by Mr. Mayer “as a mark of appreciation” by the studio that amounted to an extra $100 per week. This minor incident shows Karl’s then–still tenuous grasp of English. For the record, he listed his monthly expenses as $85 rent, $150 for car payments, $100 for car maintenance, $100 for living expenses, $50 for clothes, and $75 for publicity. The whole affair was becoming a public embarrassment for Karl. At one point, when asked what daily tasks Emma performed, Mrs. Illitch replied that she “scrubbed floors and everything like that,” a piece of testimony that made him visibly wince. In fact, the July 4 Oakland Tribune gleefully noted that Karl experienced almost as much discomfort in this tough judge’s divorce court “as he registered when some of those big shells were bursting about him in the war picture.” Other papers were a little less subtle in their mockery. The October 28 Los Angeles Times carried the headline “Actor Asks Divorce on Desertion,” accompanied by headshots of both Karl and Emma. To accompany the unflattering photo of Emma, it seems the paper went out of its way to find the most grotesque picture of Karl they could find, an absurdly rubber-faced shot from The Big Parade. Still, some sympathy existed for Karl, as well as a sense of the unfairness of the fact that all of this dirty laundry only came to light due to his newfound fame and fortune. Photoplay magazine noted in August 1926: When Karl was a Nobody, the law courts of California heard none of his domestic troubles.... Karl made a hit, his salary went up, and his troubles began. Mrs. Dane has brought the usual suit with the usual publicity that attends such reactions in film households.

The reactions of MGM’s top brass went unrecorded, but Mayer was notoriously old-fashioned and hated any whiff of scandal among his “fam-

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ily.” Therefore he must have been displeased at the negative publicity surrounding the case, which he may have feared would taint the studio’s reputation. To make matters worse, there would be another domestic scandal for Karl two years later, with a Breach of Promise suit brought against Karl by his lover Thais Valdemar. One wonders if these incidents played any role in the downfall of Karl’s career and the refusal of the studio to give him any sort of job at the very end, when he was in desperate circumstances. Karl may have made important enemies right at the beginning of his career with this perceived sloppy personal conduct. In those days a certain code of conduct was expected from stars, and those who did not conform often paid heavily. Greta Garbo was one example of a star who lived life on her own terms, bucking the system and behaving in an unconventional manner by Hollywood standards. As a result, she was always disliked by Mayer.4 The fact that Karl was being made something of a laughingstock with this case would have been regarded as not just a black eye for him, but also for the entire studio, and the front office definitely was not laughing. On June 24 the intimidating Judge Gates ordered Karl to pay Emma $300 in lawyer’s fees, in addition to $25 per week. When a startled Karl started to protest, Gates sarcastically advised him to go back to the studio for more “appreciation,” causing some laughter in the courtroom. Finally, the divorce was granted on August 19, and Karl was hit even harder financially by the resulting property settlement agreement. On October 20 Karl wrote a letter to MGM asking them to garnish his wages. In the settlement, he agreed to pay Emma a total of $5,000: $500 in cash up front, and weekly installments equalling a whopping 20 percent of his salary and bonuses until the remaining $4,500 was paid. These payments were sent directly to Emma’s lawyer, Milton M. Cohen. Curiously, part of the agreement was that Emma received a medical examination that very day, in Cohen’s office, by a doctor chosen by Karl. What the examination expected to find was not explained, but it could have been to verify Emma’s illness claim. After the divorce the curtain was finally drawn on Emma, and no more was heard from her publicly. With this handsome settlement, Emma was able to leave Mrs. Illitch’s employ and study to become a nurse. She spent 20 years in the profession, living in San Rafael, California. Emma never married again, and, in fact, kept the Dane name until her death at the ripe old age of 90 on April 3, 1970. Apparently, the newfound nest egg did wonders to increase the robustness of her tenuous health. On her death certificate she is listed as being a widow — which is curious for a woman only married to a man for six months.

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Although the exact date is not known, shortly after his breakup with Emma, Karl made the switch back to the life of an actor. Hollywood legend claims it all happened quite by chance. On April 27, 1924, The Morning Telegraph (London) reported that action star Charles Hutchison returned to the United States from England, where he had spent a year directing and producing independent features. Hutchison himself had fallen out of public view for a while after his Pathé career ended in 1922, following the production of the cliffhanger Speed. The story goes that Hutchison ran into Karl on a Los Angeles street one day. He excitedly persuaded his reluctant friend to take part in the new serial he was planning.5 Karl eventually consented and joined him in several different productions, the names of which are not known. Hutchison made a number of chapter plays in 1924–1925, and Karl could have appeared in any or all of them: Hutch of the USA, Surging Seas, Poison, The Fatal Plunge, and Go Get ’Em Hutch (all 1924), as well as The Hidden Menace (1925), among others. Little did Karl know that his discouraging personal fortune was about to undergo a dramatic turn, one far beyond his wildest dreams.

6 The Big Parade An ominous and rather morbid photograph is today part of the King Vidor Collection at the University of Southern California. The picture was taken on November 25, 1925, the night that Vidor, the director of the new smash hit film then taking the country by storm, The Big Parade, was honored by the Motion Picture Directors Association. It shows a group of men at the dinner posing in their tuxedoes with a rifle. Louis B. Mayer, who had just signed Karl to his first MGM contract, looked on as Vidor and William Beaudine, president of the Director’s Association, together grasped the rifle and held it barrel-side up. A smiling Karl was carefully positioned in the middle of this group, his nose directly above the barrel. This photo, which was part of King Vidor’s private collection, has never seen the light of day since Karl’s tragic suicide, and no wonder. Karl had all the look of a sacrificial victim, totally innocent of the grim fate that awaits him. The expressions on the faces of the surrounding men look positively sinister, in contrast to Karl’s happy, guileless grin and the unfortunate positioning of the gun. It can be seen as a prophecy of the studio’s culpability in Karl’s later fate. Despite later events, 1925 was a watershed year for him. Karl’s life was completely transformed upon the release of this film. All at once he was loved, accepted, and flattered by thousands of people the world over. All at once he had more money than he knew what to do with. How did it all begin? Many fanciful, romantic stories have been printed through the years about Karl’s amazing Horatio Alger–like discovery and resulting catapult to fame and fortune. The most popular story was a variation of the Cinderella theme, and has a wonderful fairytale quality to it: Karl was plucked from the ranks of humble studio carpenters and made into a star overnight. According to the Van Nuys News (from April 16, 1934, two days after Karl’s suicide), he was employed by James T. Coleman’s construction company and was part of the work teams that helped build numerous residences and businesses in the vicinity of Van Nuys. One day there were no jobs to be had, so he ambled over to the MGM studios to see if they had any carpentry openings there. A passing casting director saw the lanky figure perched 64

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Karl (center) with (from left) Louis B. Mayer, unknown, William Beaudine, King Vidor, Hobart Bosworth and Tom O’Brien, November 25, 1925 (courtesy Ned Comstock, Doheny Library, University of Southern California).

on a fence, chewing a wad of tobacco and “possessing a long distance expectorating ability seldom equaled.” From that fence, Karl leaped straight to fame as “Slim” in The Big Parade. King Vidor had a different version of the story, which he told to film historians David Shepard and Nancy Dowd decades after Karl’s death. When asked if he had actually discovered Karl, Vidor replied: Yes. We were looking for a strange type like that. We would hold casting interviews and we’d be sent a dozen people to be interviewed for each part. When he came along, I jumped right at him. He hadn’t done a film before, and I understood later that he was a carpenter, but I grabbed him. He was a star.1

Both accounts, however, are suspect. The fact is that Karl was a relatively experienced actor prior to his “discovery” for The Big Parade. Studio publicity departments were known for creating entirely fictitious backgrounds for many of their stars, and Karl was no exception. His blue-collar everyman persona was only enhanced by these stories — he was literally one of the masses. Another version, less fanciful in nature, appeared in Picture Play maga-

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zine in February 1926. It told the story of Karl encountering old friend Charles Hutchison, who persuaded him to appear in several of his serials. One day MGM casting director Robert McIntyre, who had known Karl back at Vitagraph, noticed Karl onscreen and immediately told Vidor about him, knowing he was just the right type for the part in The Big Parade. The part was not immediately bestowed upon Karl, however; there were many tests and formalities before the formal decision was made. The red tape reportedly irked Karl considerably. Many production photos from the film are now in the King Vidor collection at the University of Southern California. They show Karl in various poses as Slim, and could have been taken as part of his screen test, although they are not labeled as such. Karl became more frustrated and impatient as the days wore on. He waited late one afternoon to find out if the part was his, but finally gave up and went home. Meanwhile, Vidor and Thalberg decided in his favor, and throughout the night Karl was besieged with multiple phone calls and telegrams instructing him to report early the next morning.2 Despite the good news, Karl was still irritated. He had gotten virtually no sleep that night due to the constant interruptions, and rose in a foul mood. As if it could not get worse, Vidor promptly ordered him into a muddy shell hole with two other men he didn’t know. Karl told interviewer Edwin Schallert: A young fellow was in the shell hole with me, I didn’t know him, or at least I don’t remember him, or care to if I did. All that I know is that he made a terrible lot of noise talking all the time. Finally, I told him to shut up, but he didn’t pay any attention.... I got hold of him, and yanked him into the shell hole, and said, “Now you shut up!”

The younger man then attacked Karl, and the two had a tussle in the mud. Karl did not realize that he was actually grappling with actor John Gilbert. King Vidor had been silently observing the interplay between the men and kept the camera cranking. He shouted for them to keep it up, that this was the real spirit he wanted for the scene. The road to the gargantuan success of Parade was a long one for all concerned. The film not only catapulted Karl to success, it also made the careers of director Vidor, and co-stars John Gilbert and female lead Renee Adoree. At the time of Parade, King Vidor was at the beginning of his long and distinguished 67-year directorial career. It started in 1913 with a film about the deadly storm he survived as an infant, Hurricane in Galveston, and lasted until 1980. Vidor was at Goldwyn Pictures when the company was bought out by Metro, and the Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer studio was born on April 26, 1924.3

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Louis B. Mayer, Irving Thalberg, and Harry Rapf were the executives at the time, with Thalberg having control over studio operations. Rapf was in charge of the studio’s B pictures, and so tended to be overshadowed by his other two partners in the ensuing decades.4 In one of his first assignments, Vidor directed a feature based on Madame Elinor Glyn’s romantic novel His Hour. Glyn is mostly remembered today as the creator of the term “It,” which defined sex appeal and gave Clara Bow her nickname several years later. However, according to Vidor’s memoir, he became tired of churning out these formulaic films. He wanted to work on something he could be proud of, something that would appeal to the average person. He approached Irving Thalberg and told him of his dream: “I said that I had only an approach. I wanted it to be the story of a young American who was neither over patriotic nor a pacifist, but who went to war and reacted normally to all the things that happened to him.” Thalberg was interested and sent all the existing war story scenarios to Vidor to see if any of them were a good fit. Since none of them provided the realism Vidor envisioned, Thalberg decided to bring the writer and World War I vet Laurence Stallings out to Hollywood.5 Stallings was a Marine captain turned writer who lost a leg in the trenches. He had recently co-written the popular Broadway play What Price Glory, as well as Plumes, a book recalling his war experiences. Stallings developed a five-page typed treatment for what would eventually become The Big Parade, which survives today at the University of Southern California. However, Thalberg pushed him to take on the entire screenplay, which reportedly frustrated him.6 He wasn’t comfortable in Hollywood and didn’t want to become part of the vast studio machine. Stallings packed up to return to New York, with Vidor and writer Harry Behn tagging along for the train ride. Once in New York, Vidor and Behn spent much of their time accompanying Stallings on his various engagements, including meetings with the famed Algonquin Round Table. After a week they prepared to head back to Hollywood, since Thalberg was expecting the completed scenario and they had made no headway at all. However, Vidor and Behn accomplished this task themselves within three days of their return trip, doing almost all of their writing day and night in their Pullman car as it chugged across the country.7 The story revolved around three main characters, soldiers from vastly different backgrounds who became close friends as they shared experiences during the progression of the war. The main character, Jim Apperson, was a rich and spoiled playboy regarded as a lazy disappointment by his father. From the original five-page scenario8 the other two characters were conceived as follows:

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KARL DANE Jim has to [sic] inseparable cronies. One is a Bull Montana sort of person, an expug and bartender from Boston, who is as dumb in books as a goat, but a smart hombre for taking care of himself in the Army, for he could steal the pants off a Sergeant Major in the middle of the parade ground. The other crony is Slim, a 6' 6" boy from Texas, who was born sucking his thumb and still believes he can keep alive that way. Slim never moves unless he sees a plate of beans, and then only if he is sure the beans won’t move to him instead.

John Gilbert was cast against type as the lead character Jim, although he was apparently not Vidor’s first choice. Vidor recalled later in his memoir that he originally envisioned a more ordinary everyman-type of actor for the role — someone like Charles Murray, who he later pulled from the legion of extras to star in The Crowd several years later. In keeping with his emphasis on realism, Vidor had decided that Gilbert should play the part in a very naturalistic manner, without his trademark mustache and makeup. This made Gilbert nervous, since he was just becoming known as “the Great Lover” on screen and was hesitant to toy with this carefully constructed image. Nevertheless, Vidor, who had already worked with Gilbert in The Wife of the Centaur and His Hour, stood firm. Thalberg backed Vidor up, and Gilbert soon changed his mind when he saw the daily rushes.9

From The Big Parade (1925): the three soldier comrades (from left, Tom O’Brien, John Gilbert and Karl) in their French hayloft.

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Tom O’Brien was cast as the second of the main characters, Mike O’Hara, or “Bull,” the Irish-American bartender. O’Brien, born in 1890 in San Diego, was also heralded as a complete beginner in the film world, but the reality was a bit different. His role in Parade was his most prominent one to date, but O’Brien had actually started his career as early as 1914 in a small role in a Dorothy Gish short, Granny. He continued acting after his breakout role with Vidor, although in increasingly small roles, sometimes uncredited. He was also the only one of the main characters in the film who actually saw action in Europe during the war, having served in the Navy from 1917 through 1919.10 It took time for the three actors to become comfortable in their new roles, and to locate their place in the pecking order on the set. Vidor’s memoir, A Tree Is a Tree, discusses an amusing turnabout that took place between Karl and O’Brien: Two other actors playing important parts in The Big Parade were Karl Dane and Tom O’Brien, playing respectively, a sergeant and a corporal. We started shooting the picture from the middle of the script, continued on to the end, came back to the beginning, and went on to the middle again. At the start of shooting, O’Brien was the more confident and arrogant of the two characters; Dane, who had just stepped up from a studio carpenter’s job [sic], was shy and feeling his way. As production continued, O’Brien’s overconfidence wore off and Dane began to feel sure of himself, lording it over O’Brien. This reversal resulted in highly convincing performances by these two characters.

The Los Angeles Examiner also alluded to a brief period of nervousness before Karl finally relaxed into his role. It took Karl just a day before “his two years in the Danish Army asserted itself ” and he started stealing entire scenes away from his co-stars due to his comedic style. Regarding any personal

Karl as “Slim” in The Big Parade (1925).

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friendship between Karl and Gilbert, no evidence exists to show the two ever socialized outside of studio premieres and other mandatory events. Other than the story about the scuffle in the muddy shell hole that fateful first day, Karl made only one other comment about his co-star. He was asked in a September 1933 Woodland (CA) Democrat interview how he had liked working with Gilbert, and he responded in a lukewarm way, responding that he liked working with him as well as any other actor. How Gilbert felt about Karl is unknown. All of the actors, without exception, are magnificent in their roles. For the most part, the acting is restrained, and Vidor allows ample time for the audience to get to know each character. Karl is actually the very first actor to appear onscreen, his character “Slim” Jensen shown high atop a skyscraper working as a riveter. Then Bull is introduced, tending bar in the Bowery. Jim is the only one not working, sitting back and being shaved by his African American servant. Then a blaring whistle sounds, startling all of them out of their reverie: the call to war. The film doesn’t show us any other specifics about the lives of Slim or Bull, and we don’t see them again until all three have been mustered into the Army. However, Vidor lingers on the reactions of Jim and his family to the building excitement. Each person has a different opinion about the war and what it means to him or her: the dread of his mother, excellently portrayed by veteran D.W. Griffith actress Claire McDowall, who seems to see more clearly than anyone the horrors that will soon come; the emptyheaded giddiness of Jim’s girlfriend, Justyn, who thinks it will be romantic to see Jim as a soldier (“I will love you even more then!” she exclaims); and the duty-obsessed father, played by Hobart Bosworth, who is determined that everyone must pull together and “do his part” for the war effort. Jim is actually the only one not particularly interested in the grand news, and only becomes pulled into the excitement upon seeing the cheering crowds and hearing the martial music. Vidor cleverly demonstrates the gradual shift in Jim’s mood by showing his feet: as he listens to the marching band playing “Over There” and watches the delirious crowd as they rush off to enlist, Jim starts to tap his feet — slowly and reluctantly at first, and then faster — as he becomes completely won over by the prevailing attitude and promptly joins up himself. Most of Karl’s scenes are comic ones with O’Brien, and they project a great onscreen chemistry. Bull is tough, squat, and a typically New York type; Slim is devil-may-care, irreverent, and sly. In one scene Bull impulsively kicks an officer, mistaking him for someone who stole his mail, and loses his sergeant’s stripes for it. As he sits on a bench and stews, Slim comes up behind him (the audience only sees the lower half of Karl’s enormous frame at first)

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and mischievously shows off the very stripes his pal lost, much to Bull’s disgust. Karl’s acting style here is broader than that of the other two men, but this is part of a tradition going back hundreds of years in the world of theater: the clown is always the exaggerated character. Slim’s mouth is forever smeared with stains from his ever-present tobacco juice, and his elongated face twists into almost grotesquely comical expressions. The make-up highlights this Kabuki-like mask, with Karl’s eyebrows drawn into a perpetually surprised arch. Much of the later false assumptions that Karl was an ugly man come from those only familiar with his onscreen persona. In actuality, he was not ugly when his face was in repose. Also included in the film is a nude scene featuring Bull and Slim, as they both enjoy a makeshift outdoor shower constructed from a barrel. A rear shot of the two men from farm girl Melisande’s perspective is shown, as she wanders into the yard and watches them, amused. Moments later, however, they see her, and hastily and ashamedly cover up. Those unfamiliar with the era tend to be surprised by daring scenes like these, which were not infrequent in silent films.

Slim (Karl Dane) proudly showing off his new Sergeant’s stripes to Bull (Tom O’Brien) in The Big Parade (1925) (courtesy Bruce Calvert).

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Gilbert’s performance is due special mention. Given his initial insecurity about abandoning his “Great Lover” makeup and persona, he did an outstanding job. In the early stages of the film his pampered character could have made him unlikeable to audiences. Yet all Gilbert has to do is smile, and the sheer force of his charisma endears him to viewers. It’s easy to see, even today, why Gilbert was a great star and loved by millions. Also delivering a memorable performance is French actress Renee Adoree as Gilbert’s love interest, the farm girl Melisande. Earthy, warm, and lovely, Renee had a brief but luminous career in Hollywood. She would also die tragically young, of tuberculosis, at age 35, a mere six months before Karl. One of the most memorable scenes in the film (which, according to Vidor was unscripted) is the famous scene in which American doughboy Jim teaches the naïve Melisande, unfamiliar with American customs, how to chew gum. Soberingly, three out of the four principals of The Big Parade came to tragic and early ends. Aside from Renee Adoree and Karl, John Gilbert died at age 39 in 1936, his career also shattered by the coming of sound. Only O’Brien, who never became a star, escaped an early demise. One of Karl’s trademarks throughout his career was his tobacco chewing. Vidor thought up this bit of business for the character of Slim because Karl reported to the set each morning with a piece of licorice in his mouth. According to a 1925 New York Times article, Vidor wanted to adopt this quirk into the film and decided to make Slim a tobacco chewer — to great comedic effect. In one scene, as the soldiers are shipping out to the front, one lone lit candle remains in the loft that the three comrades called home. As Slim takes one last look around while he descends the ladder, he extinguishes the candle with an amazingly long spit of tobacco juice. Tobacco was not actually used in any of these scenes — rather, something else that was dark and chewy, usually a fig. According to his later Paramount studio biography, Karl only occasionally used tobacco, although he was photographed many times with cigarette, pipe, or cigar. According to his memoir, Vidor did a large amount of research in preparation for the shoot. While still at home in Texas years before, he had photographed army maneuvers, which helped him immeasurably in organizing many of the crowd shots. He analyzed nearly a hundred reels of war footage — with the cooperation of the United States Signal Corps — to familiarize him with the different types of combat in Europe at the time. As he prepped for filming, Vidor had a brainstorm, one that helped him create the most powerful scene in the entire film — the march of the men through a wood.11 As Vidor recounts:

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One day, in viewing a section of film, I was struck by the fact that a company of men were passing the camera at a cadence decidedly different from the usual ones. It was a rhythm of suspended animation and the movement suggested an ominous event. There was no sound track, but the whole pattern spelled death. Then a flag-draped coffin came into view atop a horse-drawn caisson. The men were in a funeral cortege. The thought struck me that if I could duplicate this slow, measured cadence as my American troops approached the front line, I could illustrate the proximity of death with a telling and powerful effect. I was in the realm of my favorite obsession, experimenting with the possibilities of “silent film.” I took a metronome into the projection room and set the tempo to conform to the beat on the screen. When we filmed the march through Belleau Wood, in a small forest near Los Angeles, I used the same metronome, and a drummer with a bass drum amplified the metronomic ticks so that all in a range of several hundred yards could hear. I instructed the men that each step must be taken on a drum beat, each turn of the head, lift of a rifle, pull of the trigger, in short, every physical move must occur on the beat of the drum. Those extras who were veterans of the A.E.F and had served time in France thought I had gone completely daft and expressed their ridicule most volubly. One British veteran wanted to know if he were performing in “some bloody ballet.” I did not say so at the time, but that is exactly what it was — a bloody ballet, a ballet of death.12

Some of the vets used as extras had forgotten their training when they started filming scenes that required military form, and Vidor had to delay these sequences and drill the men to get them up to speed.13 In addition, according to the November 16, 1925, Los Angeles Express, Vidor also utilized about 2,000 disabled soldiers in the scenes showing the savage effects of war. Vidor’s instincts proved correct, despite the naysayers — the scene was a smashing success that gripped audiences upon the film’s release. When the initial shooting was completed that summer, Thalberg realized that they had a potential hit on their hands.14 He sent the film back into production, reshooting some of the battle scenes on a grander scale. (The staff director who assisted in this effort was George W. Hill, who would direct Karl again in 1930 in The Big House— and also fatally shoot himself in 1934.15) According to the film’s pressbook, editing the picture was another big challenge. Hugh Wynn was assigned the task of trimming the Argonne Advance sequence (in which the soldiers face German machine gunners) down from the original 10,000 feet to a mere 500 feet. His toughest job, however, was reducing 50,000 feet of night battle footage to the 514 feet that ended up in the final cut. When the film premiered, Vidor emphasized the power of the Argonne Advance scene by instructing the orchestra to stop their musical accompaniment until the sequence was over.16 It is still deemed powerful today, even by critics who feel that the basic story has dated. Much of said criticism can be put down to the fact that many of the

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scenes in this picture were so successful that they have been repeated many times over in later films. For example, the moving scene that marks the end of the first half of the film, in which Melisande says farewell to Jim as the army truck that will take him to the front pulls away, has been copied so often that it has become a cliché to be lampooned. As the truck drives away, Jim desperately throws a number of items to Melisande as keepsakes: his watch, a chain around his neck, and finally one of his boots, which Melisande clasps lovingly to her breast. Another striking characteristic of the film is the difference in tone between the first and second halves. The first half, in which we are introduced to each of the characters — and get to know and love them — has a much lighter feel than the second. All of Karl’s comic scenes are found in this section, as well as the romantic interplay between Gilbert and Renee Adoree. The picture’s second half begins as the trio’s unit is abruptly called to the front from the rural French village in which they were staying. In fact, according to Vidor, the film was intended to be shown in two parts. Given the comedic aspects of the first hour, and the warmth the audience is invited to feel for these characters, Slim’s prolonged and rather brutal death scene is especially jolting. In this way Vidor broke with tradition, since the clown was not normally the one to die. (But neither was he usually a cool killer, as Slim most assuredly is — earlier, in the Belleau Wood scene, we see him take out a sniper perched in a tree, barely missing a beat with his tobacco chewing.) The sequence begins with the three men drawing straws to see who has to crawl out of the shell hole and take out the Germans’ “toy cannon.” The job falls to the fearless Slim, who has just chided his fearful companions, “Do you want to live forever?” Vidor throws us off-balance as the scene progresses in a rather black-humored manner when we see Slim emerge from another shell hole with three helmets lashed to his rifle, presumably from the enemy soldiers he has killed. Now that he has accomplished his mission, the audience is almost lulled into a false sense of security. But then, as he is crawling back, Slim is hit by machine gun fire and trapped, while his friends listen helplessly nearby. The sequence is difficult to watch, and Vidor expertly conveys the near madness to which Jim and Bull are driven. They are forbidden to leave the hole and rescue Slim, who they hear moaning only yards away. Finally, Jim can take it no more. Screaming “God damn them all!” he defies orders and rushes out to find his friend. But by this time Slim is dead. The film’s world premiere took place at Grauman’s Egyptian Theater on November 5, 1925, to ecstatic acclaim. People were wildly enthusiastic about Karl’s performance, and all at once he won legions of new fans. The critics,

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by and large, loved him too. Picture Play magazine writer Edwin Schallert referred to his personality as a mix of contrasting gruffness and good nature. And the New York Herald Tribune opined that Karl was “the proud possessor of that blessed sort of ugliness” that made his comedy effective and his character so likeable. The reviewer praised Karl’s outstanding gift of understated pantomime, stating it was seen to its best advantage during the sequence in the shell hole wherein the three protagonists have a spitting contest to see who will go after the Germans, which Slim handily wins. Some critics noted the naturalistic nature of Karl’s acting style. For example, the Los Angeles Express reported that both Karl and O’Brien “give the impression of living their roles.” The Seattle Post Intelligencer was a bit more restrained in its critical praise, saying that his acting held “a tendency to sameness”; but the reviewer also remarked that “his every grimace is attended by applause” and that fans never tired of seeing him onscreen. One of the most astute observations about Karl’s unusual appeal came from the February 7, 1926, Sunday World. The writer singled out the powerful scene in which Slim is killed in No-Man’s Land. The writer marked the death scene as the high mark of the film, saying that as he lies dying in the battlefield, Slim is transformed: “The toughness leaves his face ... the grotesqueries fall away...” and what remains is “the face of a little child.” MGM publicized the film heavily, and, according to the January 2, 1926, Los Angeles Times, that month Grauman’s held an “All Star Night” in which the stars of the film served their fans. John Gilbert and Sid Grauman sold tickets at the two box office windows. King Vidor took the tickets at the foyer entrance. Renee Adoree was the program girl, and Karl and Tom O’Brien acted as ushers. Many of the countless reviews, clippings, and admiring letters from fans regarding The Big Parade were cherished by Vidor for the rest of his life, played in a large red scrapbook which he donated to the Film and Television Department at the University of Southern California (along with the aforementioned bizarre photo of Karl with the rifle). The sheer volume of data in the collection reflects what a huge phenomenon the film became. References to it even made their way into vaudeville skits. One joke went: “He’s so dumb that he bought tickets to The Big Parade, and stood on 42nd and Broadway for hours waiting for it to pass.”17 Among the items in collection is a letter to Vidor by a Minnie Rosenblatt from New York in which she warmly praised the film and said she had to buy her tickets for a showing at the Astor an astonishing three and a half weeks in advance. She commented that Karl was her father’s favorite actor and even suggested ideas for future roles for him.

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Not only did the film achieve critical success, it enjoyed unprecedented runs. According to Parade’s pressbook, it enjoyed simultaneous openings at the Capitol and Astor theaters in New York, and continued at the Astor for two full years. It also played in Boston for 26 weeks, and in Philadelphia for 20 weeks. Although reviewers in America were nearly unanimous in their praise, some negative press emerged overseas. The film opened to an indefinite run at the Tivoli Theater in London, and some critics were quick to find fault. The Sunday Chronicle called it a “ridiculous film” that claimed America won the Great War, which some British citizens deeply resented. Of course, Vidor did not intend his work to reflect anything of the sort. An existing personal letter to Vidor, dated July 15, 1926, from a Tom Reed in London, however, refers to the “terrific panning the picture suffered at the hands of the critics, but you may not know as I do ... the people who pay their shillings to see it, are mad about it.”18 Still, these negative comments were distinctly in the minority. There were no Oscars in 1925, but Photoplay magazine awarded Parade the Photoplay medal for Best Picture that year, the highest film award given at this time. Many thousands of movie fans fell in love with Karl overnight, and no wonder. He was a complete original. There had been other lanky comics through the years, but none could make one laugh and cry with equal ease. So great was Karl’s fame, and so deep the affection of his fans, that he warranted a poem printed in the January 9, 1927, issue of the Zanesville (OH) Times Signal. The accompanying article praised him highly as a performer — even while it insulted his looks and manners — by saying, “He’s the homeliest of creatures — but oh boy! The guy can act!” How did Karl feel about all of this sudden acclaim? After he signed his MGM contract in July 1925, Karl continued to live in his small apartment for several more years. He expressed realistic expectations about his sudden fame, telling interviewers he “knows that the really fat parts like the one [he] had for the war picture are a rarity.”19 An especially revealing interview, in which Karl spoke about his views on acting and human nature, appeared in the December 14, 1925, Olean Times. The reporter, Jack Jungmeyer, wrote that, despite Karl’s “hulking” frame, he had a “sensitive, romantic nature” of which many people were unaware. The writer said that his characterization in The Big Parade was an authentic expression of himself and his attitude toward life in general. Karl believed that comedy and tragedy are intertwined in everyone’s lives, and all too often they were artificially separated in popular entertainment. The combination that Parade achieved, he said, is what made the film ring so true with

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the viewing public. The interviewer commented that Karl’s speech was halting, yet he eloquently expressed himself with both facial expression and gestures. The article quoted Karl as saying: It is human to wipe away tears as soon as possible, but people store away laughs as long as they can in the heart.

Like many others at MGM, Karl was represented by the powerful talent agents Milton Bren and Frank Orsatti.20 The Orsatti family had a long and remarkable history in Hollywood, which started with Frank, who was a close friend of Louis B. Mayer—and initially his bootlegger.21 Despite the fact that Karl was Karl, Hollywood portrait, date unknown. not really a “Hollywood type,” according to later screen partner George K. Arthur’s unpublished memoirs, he did succumb to one indulgence — fancy cars. Arthur reported that Karl drove back and forth from the studio in his prized Cadillac, which always shone like a mirror since he proudly did the polishing himself. He loved to drive around town with the top down, his beloved police dog (the most fashionable dog in the 1920s) in the back seat. Karl also kept a second car, a Ford Coupe, for his weekends at his Malibu beach property, according to the July 15, 1928, Los Angeles Times. The August 14, 1925, Morning Sun (AZ) reported a frightening event that took place around the time Karl was shooting The Big Parade. He and his date, fellow film player Elizabeth Maroney, had just returned from a night on the town. It was after midnight, and they were sitting outside her house, when they were accosted by four tuxedo-clad robbers. After stripping Karl of his watch, chain, and billfold containing $13, they cruelly searched the girl’s clothing for gems, forcing her to unroll her stockings. Karl protested furiously, prompting one of the thugs to shout, “Shut up! Mind your own business!” and throw a punch that knocked Karl flat. The violent scene was only stopped when some female tenants of the Studio Club next door were awakened, and one of them, actress Muriel Fisher, ran outside, screaming for the police.

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As for Karl’s’ choice of platonic friends in those early years, not much is known, other than his continuing relationship with serial star Charles Hutchison. Karl can be seen in the crowd of fellow Danes and Swedes who welcomed Greta Garbo when the then–frizzy haired and plump actress arrived in Hollywood on September 10, 1925. He appeared in another series of photos that December with a then–made-over Garbo, Mauritz Stiller, Victor Seastrom, and art director Max Ree were also included.22 Karl did not appear inclined to a “hard-partying” lifestyle, although future partner Arthur noted that Karl loved loud laughter, pretty girls, and rich food.23 Arthur also said that Karl remained an informal type of person at heart, one who spent much of his time out in his carpentry workshop, which was wonderfully equipped with lathes and tools of all kinds. Exactly how much partying Hollywood stars actually indulged in is an open issue. As journalist Margaret Chute wrote in The Picture Show Annual of 1928, a lively nightlife existed but was limited, since players had to get up early the next morning. Also, too much high living would be detrimental to one’s career, since appearance was everything to a star — and late hours and an erratic lifestyle were the surest ways to hasten the aging process. Most entertaining, according to the article, “was limited to private house parties, dancing, dining, swimming at beach clubs, seeing films, or boxing matches at the various establishments that provide such amusements.” Scott Eyman further discussed the nighttime frolics of film stars in the 1920s in his book The Speed of Sound. When stars did go out, one popular spot was the Coconut Grove, the nightclub in the Ambassador Hotel, especially for the special shows on Tuesday evenings. Dinner-dances with guest speakers were held at the Mayfair Club in downtown Los Angeles’ Biltmore Hotel on the second Saturday of the month. Newspapers do report Karl’s attendance at a few major Hollywood events. According to the December 13, 1925, Los Angeles Times, Karl attended the premiere of the MGM film The Merry Widow, directed by Erich von Stroheim. George K. Arthur also attended, with his wife. Karl also enjoyed going out to musical plays and, according to one undated fan magazine, usually bought an entire box that seated four so he and his date could enjoy some privacy. Karl enjoyed spending his spare time at the shore, and several photos show him relaxing in front of his small bungalow. According to the Hamilton (OH) Daily News from January 10, 1929, Karl built a little beach house in Santa Monica during his spare time while filming the Dane and Arthur comedy Brotherly Love. After the cottage was completed, he generously invited all of the people in the cast and crew to spend their summer vacation with him.

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Twelve people accepted; but one who did not was Arthur himself, who wanted to go to Europe to visit his relatives. In his memoirs, Arthur humorously recounted the building of this weekend house, although he claimed the location was in Malibu rather than Santa Monica: Karl’s life was a curious mixture of movie glamour and simple pleasures. For example, he moved to Malibu, which was quite the swankiest place to live in those days, but once having selected a choice strip of that expensive and exclusive beach front, he put up the ugliest house in the world. Built it with his own hands. No architect was consulted ... he put up just four walls and a roof, and there it sat, an architectural impossibility.24

Arthur’s memories of the structure being “an architectural impossibility” are curious, since photos show it to be almost identical to the neighboring houses. Arthur apparently had the same dim view of Karl’s sartorial and home decorating sense, as he went on to remember: A very dashing effect he gave, too, at first glance: enormous, tanned, hatless, wrapped in a huge natural color camel hair polo coat, the complete movie star. Then he would take off the polo coat and you saw him au natural, in a twenty dollar suit with a bowtie hitched together by a buckle in the back. Of course, all of these inconsistencies were endearing. I think it was because nothing he ever did was done with affectation. He did not build his house in the Malibu Colony because it was the smart thing to do.... He wanted a place on the shore, so he went out and got one. Later, when he bought a house in Beverly Hills, he picked a small bungalow, filled it with the most abominable furniture ... no Beverly Hills swank, no butlers, no formal parties.25

Precious few photographs exist of the inside of Karl’s homes. One 1926 publicity picture, which could have been taken on moving day, shows him proudly standing in the archway of an almost empty house, with suitcases stacked in the room behind him. Another shows Karl in a dressing gown, leaning against the hearth of his fireplace. Some detail can be seen, such as a fancy vase with flowers, and printed curtains on a small window. However, there is nothing to prove that Karl had “abominable” taste. Besides spending time at the beach, Karl also kept up his lifelong interest in physical fitness. Dozens of studio publicity photos show him engaging in different types of active pursuits: football, swimming, tennis, golf, even in the cockpit of planes. According to his later Paramount biography, Karl always strove to maintain a constant level of fitness, both for his work as a comedian and out of pure enjoyment: Dane has been an athlete since he was a boy and now has a physique of which even a professional wrestler might well be proud. His friends believe that if he had devoted his life to athletics he would have become famous in the world of sports as he is in the realm of motion pictures.

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KARL DANE [H]e is an expert with the boxing gloves and skillful as a wrestler ... he excels in golf, tennis and swimming and with a few weeks of practice probably could gain a comfortable livelihood as a gymnast in vaudeville.

The success of The Big Parade was a huge boon for MGM. The beginning of 1925 had been a tenuous one for the studio, since the production of Ben Hur went over-budget in Italy. Despite such troubles, Mayer and Thal-

Karl spent much of his time at the “plunge” near the MGM lot to stay in shape. Photograph dated September 2, 1926 .

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berg soldiered on, and even dared to expand during this stressful time. By the next year they had achieved a net profit of $4.7 million.26 Their faith was well rewarded when The Big Parade opened to great acclaim in November 1925. The profits were phenomenal: Parade cost about $382,000 to produce, and earned a profit of almost three and a half million dollars.27 According to the July 2, 1927, Film Exhibitor’s Review, under the headline “Second Summer Probable for ‘Big Parade,’” the film was then in its 85th week at the Astor Theatre in New York, and by then had played the leading cities in England, France, Australia, Cuba, Mexico, South America, and all the Scandinavian countries. By the time the film finished its record-smashing run at the Astor Theatre, it would rake in 97 weeks of profitable business, the first 30 of which were standing room only. Thalberg and Mayer’s take-home pay increased exponentially as a result of The Big Parade: Thalberg went from $650 to $2,000 weekly, and Mayer from $1,500 to $2,500,28 with a guaranteed annual bonus of $500,000. Karl would soon see his weekly salary increase to $1,500 per week,29 but that was still far below someone like John Gilbert, who at his peak made about $520,000 per year.30 In the meantime, the Gottlieb family in Denmark was totally unaware of Karl’s newfound fame and fortune, and of his name change. All of this would soon change as Karl as sportsman at the Palomer Tennis Courts, Parade started its Danish August 31, 1926 . run in early 1926.

7 A Family Regained “Why, that’s father!” shouted Ingeborg.

The account in Danish newspapers of the Gottlieb family’s re-discovery of the prodigal Karl was just as fanciful as anything the MGM publicity department could conjure up. The Big Parade had finally made its way to Denmark, premiering at the World Cinema in Copenhagen. As the story goes, Karl’s 13-year-old daughter Ingeborg innocently bought a ticket one day in February 1926. Imagine her amazement as she saw one of the very first scenes unfold: Karl as Slim the riveter perched on a skyscraper girder. According to the January 1958 Aarhus Stiftstidende, she was so surprised that she cried out aloud in the crowded theater. This story is charming, but also highly dubious. Ingeborg never related it to her own children. Also, she was only three-and-a-half when her father sailed for America. Nevertheless, this does not discount the tale altogether, since she may have been familiar with Karl from family photographs, even if she did not remember him personally. She shared many of her father’s physical characteristics. Ingeborg was a tall girl, at 5' 6", with a slender frame, the same elongated face, and an almost identical chin. The previous year there had been some relief for Carla, who had to seek assistance from the state to supplement her modest income as a seamstress. She found love again, too; On July 13, 1924, she married Knud Alfred Olesen. That same day the new family, including Knud’s 12-year-old son, Knud Lauritz, from his previous marriage, moved into a new apartment at Englandsvej 36 in Copenhagen. No family stories exist about Carla and Knud as a couple. In fact, her descendants were unaware of this marriage until recently. It proved short-lived, so they must have had problems from the beginning. They were eventually divorced in July 1930 after three years’ separation,1 so they were only really together until 1927. Meanwhile, in Aarhus, a similar scene was unfolding. Brother Reinald was treating himself to a well-deserved outing at the movies. It had not been an easy time for him and his family either. In 1924 his business partner made 82

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Karl’s first wife and children in 1928. From left: Ejlert Carl, age 17; Ingeborg Helene, age 16; and first wife Carla (courtesy Bent Harsmann).

an unwise deal that resulted in a devastating financial loss. As a result, Reinald lost his beautiful house on the Bay of Aarhus, and had to move his entire family to a flat in the center of the city, at Vestergade 24. Prior to visiting the cinema that night, Reinald saw a review of The Big Parade in the newspaper, along with a photo of this new sensation named “Karl Dane.” Perhaps he saw the 1926 Politiken article that highlighted Karl’s early career as a stuntman, subtitled “When the film stars were afraid, the Dane was sent for.” Another piece from the same year was headed “The Danish-American film actor, who with a single blow became Copenhagen’s favorite.” Reinald dismissed his suspicions, thinking the actor must be some other person who bore a strong resemblance to his long-absent younger brother. Then, like Ingeborg, he finally saw the film, and knew that Karl Dane and Karl Gottlieb were one and the same person. Reinald made some inquiries and wrote a letter to Karl in Hollywood in care of MGM. That missive no longer exists, but the reply Reinald received does, dated one month after the film opened in Copenhagen. Karl was in the middle of shooting The Scarlet Letter 2 at the time. Hollywood 2-20-1926 Hello big brother! I received your letter and confess that I am Karl Dane. Dane means (a) Dane and is a better theater name than Gottlieb, so I call myself Karl Dane. Over the

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KARL DANE years I have been many places and done many things, but my health has not been too good, so five years ago I traveled over to California and lived out in the countryside for four years, and that did me good. One year ago I came back to the city, and since then I have kept myself here working in film. It is for the most part easy work that doesn’t take so much energy. I live on a hill and can see out over the city. I have sunshine and fresh air in my room all day long. I have a little flat consisting of that room, a kitchen, and a bathroom with all the amenities. For the time being I feel really well, apart from a little flu I had last week that kept me in bed for four days; but I think about going back out into the countryside, so if the film work lightens up and I feel for it, perhaps I’ll go out on a farm again. I felt so well those four years I spent there. Yes, Reinald, send me a letter and tell me everything from home. I haven’t been in contact with Denmark in nine years. Many warm regards, Karl My address is: Karl Dane 1823 N. Vine St. Hollywood, California U.S.A.

This brief note does not provide much information on a surface level. But Karl spoke volumes in what he failed to mention. He didn’t discuss Carla or the children, or his marriages to Helen and Emma and his tragic stillborn

Karl resided in an apartment in this house at 1823 N. Vine Street in Hollywood from about 1925 to 1928 (photograph by Dan Balogh).

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baby. He was very casual about his film career, seeming to regard it almost as transitory, and expressed no excitement about his associations with luminaries like John Gilbert, Rudolph Valentino, and Lillian Gish. His health issues were of far more importance to him, just as they were back in March 1916 in his letter to his parents shortly after emigrating to the United States. Poignantly, he signed off with a plea asking for news about his long-absent family. Karl said that he had not been in contact with anyone in Denmark in nine years. Yet, according to Carla’s divorce document from 1923, the Copenhagen police interviewed Karl’s parents to obtain his address in America. If the parents knew where Karl was located, why had there been no contact for so long? Exactly what occurred after Reinald received this letter is unclear. No other letters from Karl survive in the family records, but according to the April 1934 Danish newspaper Politiken, Karl did re-establish contact with Carla and the children. Although he didn’t write much, Karl did send money and photos from some of his films, which Ingeborg kept for the rest of her life. Whether any plan was ever made for the children to travel to America to see their father is an open issue. Karl’s descendants never heard of any scheduled visits. Since no one in Hollywood knew that Karl had children, it would have been awkward had they just shown up. Also, since so much time had passed, Karl would have been a stranger to Ingeborg and Ejlert, and the issue of a visit may never have arisen. Karl was living in a completely different world now, and the gap may have been too wide to bridge. So things were simply left as they were. Circumstances allowed Karl to distract himself from these unpleasant issues. He was kept busy almost continuously for the next five years. True, he did not anticipate that he would be this lucky; as he admitted, roles like that of Slim only came around once in a lifetime. Yet, by the time he wrote his reply to Reinald, Karl had appeared in a number of other pictures. MGM hurried him into other roles, and these films were released around the same time period as The Big Parade. He played quite a variety of parts, since the studio was still trying to find a niche for him. In October 1925 he was loaned out to Fox Studios for the Tom Mix western The Everlasting Whisper, shot in the Yosemite Valley. Although released to good notices, Karl didn’t rate more than a passing mention in any reviews. According to the Tom Mix Museum, the film is now believed lost, the last known print having been consumed in a New Jersey vault fire that destroyed many silent films made for the studio. Karl appeared briefly as the bearded and elegant father of a young

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Theodore Roosevelt in the Marion Davies film Lights of Old Broadway, released a month after Parade. Karl also played the janitor in the Norma Shearer comedy His Secretary. The W.S Van Dyke–directed western War Paint (1926) came next, which was filmed on the Wind River Indian Reservation in Wyoming on a budget of $125,000.3 The film starred cowboy actor Colonel Tim McCoy, former Regimental Adjutant for this state, who allegedly knew how to communicate with the native tribes in this area via sign language, one of the few white men with this ability.4 He and Van Dyke developed the basic outline of the story themselves after five months of unsuccessful story conferences with MGM writers.5 The leading lady was Pauline Starke, with Karl supplying comic relief as the drunken and lovable Sergeant Major Petersen, although some reviews list the name of his character as “Clancy.” In their review of the picture, the October 23 Appleton Post Crescent (WI) commented, “[A]s usual, [he] very nearly steals the picture.” The Crescent gave plaudits to the film itself as well, commenting that it represented the first time “[the writer] can recall that the Indian is given the consideration due his race.” McCoy suffered two accidents while shooting the film. In the first, his kneecap was shredded when he fell off his horse. The second (and worst) injury, however, almost killed him, as recalled by McCoy himself in the book Wyoming: A History of Film and Video in the 20th Century: I was supposed to be galloping my horse toward the cameras, pursued by a band of hostiles who were shooting at me. In the excitement of the moment, an old Shoshoni pulled up alongside me, pointed his rifle at my head and pulled the trigger. His blank round of .45–.70 Springfield ammunition was an old one, the powder caked, and as the trigger was pulled and the shell exploded,

Karl in makeup as Teddy Roosevelt’s father in the film Lights of Old Broadway, January 1, 1926 .

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hard balls of powder slammed into my head, neck and shoulders, burned my face, rent my shirt and sent me flying off my horse and onto the ground. I lay there for what seemed an eon, partially conscious of the commotion surrounding me. The Indians were silent and gathered their ponies in a ring around my body, but Van Dyke was making noise enough for five men. “Goddamnit!” he roared. “You’re not supposed to fall off the horse. You stupid bastard, you’ve just ruined a beautiful shot.” Then it was quiet again and I could feel a warm trickle of blood flowing from my left ear, down across my cheek and onto the ground. Somebody held me by my left shoulder, causing excruciating pain to ripple down my arm and along my back. I moaned. “Well, at least you’re alive. Thalberg will be pleased to hear that.” Van Dyke snarled sarcastically. Strong hands under my arms lifted me to a wobbly stance. “You ready for another take?” the director spat, turning on his heel and walking away. “And this time, will you try and do it right?”6

A Native American actor named Chief Yowlache also co-starred, and went on to a long Hollywood career, next appearing with Karl in The Scarlet Letter. He was also injured during the shoot when McCoy accidentally stabbed him in the back of the hand during a fight scene. Harsh taskmaster Van Dyke had forced the actors to use real knives for the take when the prop knives were misplaced.7 Nothing was mentioned about Karl being hurt, or his reactions to these incidents. Karl’s next film was with the legendary Lillian Gish, who saw an early screening of The Big Parade before its official opening and scribbled the following note in pencil to Irving Thalberg, which is still tucked neatly into a folder in the King Vidor papers at the University of Southern California: Have just seen all of The Big Parade. Will be The Covered Wagon of 1925, I believe. There are scenes in it as fine as anything ever done. Hope to see you soon.

Gish had just made several films on location in Europe, such as the magnificent The White Sister, shot in Italy, and was looking for the right director and co-stars for her first MGM feature in Hollywood. She selected the period piece La Boheme as the vehicle, and requested John Gilbert as her leading man, King Vidor as director, and Karl for a small part as Benoit, the elderly building superintendent who befriends the waifish Mimi, Gish’s character. Vidor personally thought the idea of adapting an opera for the medium of silent film was rather absurd,8 but the picture is a lovely one nonetheless. Karl was not given much to do, but he proved his versatility by playing another character very different from that of Slim. Gish saw and approved, and rewarded Karl with a much more prominent role, that of Master Giles, in her next MGM high-profile feature, The Scarlet Letter. The Scarlet Letter was based on the 1850 Nathaniel Hawthorne classic set in puritanical seventeenth century Boston. It concerns the free-spirited

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Hester Prynne, who gives birth to an illegitimate child and refuses to name the father, the devout and respected Reverend Dimmesdale. She is then forced to perpetually wear the badge of shame as punishment and live within the community as an outcast, along with her daughter Pearl. Gish’s efforts to make the Hawthorne classic her next project were surprisingly problematic. Due to its subject matter, many groups in America at the time found it highly objectionable. Ironically, the book had actually been adapted to the screen on four previous occasions — before censors started policing the industry more strictly. Gish recalled years later: MGM had no story for me. When I told Louis B. Mayer that the problem of an actor to play Reverend Dimmesdale had kept me from doing The Scarlet Letter, he ran The Story of Gosta Berling for me. I rushed back to his office to tell him how perfect Lars Hanson was and asked if I might do it with him as my second picture for them. He said “no” it was on the blacklist. An American classic taught in our schools? Why? I wrote to the Women’s Clubs, churches, etc., objecting. They answered and said if I would take full responsibility, they would lift the ban. Mr. Mayer sent to Sweden for Lars Hanson, let me have Victor Seastrom as director, and put it into my hands. I worked with Frances Marion on the script and we made a successful film that is regarded as a classic to this day. When Lars Hanson arrived from Sweden, he couldn’t speak a word of English; all our scenes were played by us in our native tongues. Seastrom, who spoke both languages, was amazed when we understood each other exactly in our scenes together.9

Indeed, the chemistry between Hanson and Gish was so remarkable that after the filming of one particularly emotional scene the entire cast and crew broke into applause. Hanson, often called the Nordic John Barrymore,10 costarred with Garbo in Berling, and was paired with her again in 1926’s The Flesh and the Devil. New in Hollywood and insecure about both the language and American studio practices, Garbo was a frequent visitor to the set of Letter to see fellow Swedes Seastrom and Hanson. Towards the end of filming, on April 3, 1926, Gish received word that her mother had suffered a stroke in England. In order for her to make the next possible ship leaving New York, her remaining scenes were hurriedly finished in three days and nights. Then, on the 15th, she received a police escort to her train bound for the East Coast, still clad in her costume and makeup.11 Lillian Gish seemed to have truly understood the extent of Karl’s range. The role of Giles was a comic one — getting beaned on the head with a long pole as censure for sneezing in the meeting house, for example — but he was not asked simply to play the buffoon. On the contrary, Master Giles was the sole friend of Hester, despite her lowly status in the community. He also was the only character with the craftiness and courage to put Hester’s persecutor,

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Karl with a group of Scandinavian artists at MGM , Culver City, December 1925. From left to right: Victor Seastrom, Lars Hanson, art director Max Ree, Mrs. Lars Hanson (Karin Molander), Karl, and Mauritz Stiller (courtesy Danish Film Institute).

the nasty Mistress Hibbins, in her place, resulting in her ducking before the entire town, the most viscerally satisfying scene in the film. Indeed, Karl was equally at home with the serious scenes as the comedic. The sequence in which he sneaks into Mistress Hibbens’ house as she sleeps, puts on her shawl and cap, and mimics her voice, insulting the passing governor and town beadle, is wonderful broad comedy. However, when Hester’s child is deathly ill, and Giles realizes her condition is beyond his medical expertise, his expression of sadness and despair is both touching and understated. His Giles could also be hot-blooded and lusty, as in the funny courtship scene with his uptight fiancée. Sitting just feet from her watchful parents, communicating through a long “courting tube,” we watch several minutes of awkward conversation, Giles all the while gazing lovingly at the girl across the table. Then, when it comes time for him to leave, he seizes the opportunity: as she helps him on with his scarf and coat, he winds one big arm around her waist and draws the startled girl to him for a big kiss. She is less than delighted by such forwardness, and breaks the engagement, but the couple is reunited at the end, as Hester cradles the dying Dimmesdale.

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The Woodland (CA) Democrat reported a “strange occurrence” while filming the scene in which the entire town goes to church services in procession. While “staid Puritans” marched, Army pilots from nearby Clover Field flew overhead, almost wrecking the shot for Seastrom. Karl was delighted, though, given his own interest in flying, and he stopped momentarily to watch the machines circle over the film company. The Scarlet Letter had its New York premiere on August 9, 1926. The New York Times reported that MGM “could not have chosen a better director than Seastrom for Nathaniel Hawthorne’s narrative,” while Variety called the picture “gripping.” However, Gish herself received some surprisingly negative notices, one complaining that she had perfect technique but did not inspire any warmth.12 Despite this stinging criticism, the film was a success, earning a profit of $296,000 for MGM.13 Of Karl’s contribution, the February 24, 1927, Virginia Bee commented that he had “repeated.” This meant that his success in The Big Parade was not a fluke, given his critical acclaim in a role “fully as distinctive and outstanding as his first notable success.” Karl was definitely proving his mettle, and was rewarded with an MGM contract on June 5, 1926, followed by a long-term contract in June 1927. In perusing his contract, one finds the standard verbiage found in the pacts of many other stars: the agreement to “appear as ordered” by MGM exclusively, to provide his own “modern” clothes as needed in non-period films, and a provision allowing the studio to lay him off without pay at any time, not to exceed twelve weeks. Karl was immensely popular with the public, and this extended to children as well. Two photographs showing him with youngsters clearly demonstrate this. One was taken on the set of War Paint, and shows Karl with his arms affectionately around two young African American fans, a little boy and girl. The little girl, smiling shyly into the camera, barely reaches up to Karl’s belt. A woman, perhaps the youngsters’ mother, stands at the boy’s side, clasping his arm. The little boy holds something that looks like an arrow (could this have been a keepsake given to him by Karl during his momentous visit?). The children’s names are not known, but the picture shows that Karl’s appeal transcended both age and race. Another photo that demonstrates Karl’s popularity with kids was taken in 1926 at the giant pool at the Los Angeles Ambassador Hotel. In this picture Karl is in the water with a group of youngsters, three of whom are perched on his shoulders. The others crowd around him adoringly. Karl grins into the camera, an expression of sheer joy on his face. The picture may have been snapped for publicity purposes, but the affinity that Karl had with children was apparent.

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Karl in costume for the film War Paint (1926) with an unidentified African American family (courtesy the Wisconsin Center for Film and Theater Research).

Two former child actors who worked with Karl recalled his friendliness and warmth. Frank “Junior” Coghlan, the child actor who co-starred with him and William Haines in the 1927 baseball film Slide Kelly Slide, remembered how the two men played catch with him on the set. Karl also enjoyed a warm friendship with another child actor, Carl “Major” Roup, who had bit parts in many MGM films, including four with Karl (beginning with The Big Parade and Slide), and who can also be seen as one of the tiny undersea creatures in The Mysterious Island. Roup (1915–2002), who came from an impoverished background in Idaho, was selling newspapers at MGM studios when Marion Davies befriended him and started giving him small parts in her films. She also paid for his education at the Pacific Military School in Culver City. While he went to school, he worked in the MGM production office on the weekends. Later he became a script clerk/assistant director who enjoyed a fifty-year career in both film and television. He considered Karl a friend, calling him a “swell guy,” and later witnessed his fall from grace with dismay, even seeing the notorious hot dog stand shortly before Karl’s death. Karl’s affection for children extended to George K. Arthur’s family as

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well. Once, Arthur’s little daughter Jeanne was inconsolable when her little dog was run over and killed. Karl couldn’t stand seeing her cry and searched all over town until he found another Scottie who looked exactly like the one she lost.14 Karl had a great love for animals of all types. He was photographed with numerous cats, dogs, horses, and even a raccoon throughout his career; but the fondness seems to have been truly genuine and not some invention of the publicity department. His police dog, Fawn, a German Shepherd, was a close companion, and Karl later adopted a sled dog that needed a home after the

Karl in Hollywood with his German Shepherd, Fawn, date unknown.

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filming of Trail of ’98. He enjoyed other types of pets, too. According to his probate record, one of the few personal items left in his apartment after his death was a birdcage. And the January 15, 1938, Chronicle-Telegram (OH) recalled an amusing incident years before when “Karl Dane started a panic ... by bringing a pet — denatured — skunk to work with him.” This also demonstrates his love for practical jokes, recalled years later by both George K. Arthur and his brother Reinald. An amusing story about Karl, perhaps apocryphal, appeared in an undated film magazine of the era. One day he wanted to take a date to see a new musical comedy, so he got on the phone himself and called for tickets. When he reached the person at the other end of the line, he asked for a box for two people: “I’m sorry, sir,” the man said, “but we don’t have them.” “I realize that,” Dane insisted. “I know they usually hold more, but I want an entire box.” Complete silence. “Is this the Hollywood Theater?” Dane angrily inquired. “Listen here, you....” “No indeed, this is the undertaker’s.”

In 1926 Karl started work on another film that would prove to be a troubled and lengthy production. The Mysterious Island, an adaptation of Jules Verne’s classic, began filming in July 1926. It would literally be three years in the making, go through three different directors, and be plagued by several production halts, weather disasters, and frantic rewrites before its eventual release as a partial sound and Technicolor film in 1929. By this time, Karl’s part was almost completely excised, and he ultimately went uncredited for his contribution. (Ironically, Karl was one of the first actors to be cast.) According to the June 13, 1926, Lincoln (NE) Sunday Star, Karl was signed to play a comedic role in the film, and an existing photograph shows him posing in his costume and makeup. His character looked rather fierce, if the shot was anything like his intended portrayal, as he glowered into the camera, hands stuffed into his pockets, with a pipe clenched between his lips. The part of the villain in the picture was re-cast several times before Montague Love eventually landed the role. The February 28 Hamilton (OH) Evening Journal announced that Lon Chaney would star. Yet by June the aforementioned Lincoln Sunday Star reported that Warner Oland would play the heavy. No reasons were given for the changes. Frenchman Maurice Tourneur was slated to direct, with the undersea sequences handled by respected photographer J. Ernest Williamson in the Bahamas and along the coast of Hawaii. The July 26 Syracuse (NY) Herald related

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that Williamson was supervising the building of elaborate underwater sets, which they estimated would take about eight weeks to complete, at which time the company would set sail. (The cast at the time consisted of Sally O’Neill, Roy D’Arcy, Conrad Nagel, and Lionel Barrymore. O’Neill, D’Arcy, and Nagel were all eventually replaced over the course of the interminable production.) Amusingly, the article also mentioned that six enormous octopuses were all ready to accompany the cast on their voyage to Highbourne Key, about 35 miles from Nassau, since one of the climactic scenes was supposed to include an undersea fight between the creatures and about 200 divers. Once the company arrived from California, disaster soon struck, as described by the October 10 Oakland Tribune, under the headline “Hurricane Devastates Camp of Sea-Floor Film Makers.” Suddenly, a 120 mile-per-hour roaring blast of wind wrecked the entire camp, washing it into the sea. Gone were the cast and crew’s sleeping quarters and mess hall, as well as food and clothing. Actors and crew alike dove for cover in the rocky crevices along the shoreline. The production manager, Charles Stallings, along with cameraman Jay Rescher, huddled in the same cave, where they were soon joined by another creature seeking shelter — a giant three-foot-long iguana, along with several of his skulking family members. The unlikely group spent seventeen very uncomfortable hours waiting out the storm. They were indeed lucky that no one was killed. The company lay huddled all that afternoon and night, the hurricane abating at times and then redoubling its fury, until a relief ship arrived the next day from Nassau to take the cast and crew back to the studio. Whether Karl was there that frightening day is unclear, but he probably was, since the Tribune specified that the only cast members not present were Sallie O’Neill and Conrad Nagel. Luckily, the equipment for shooting the underwater sequences was all salvaged. The quick-thinking Williamson cast seven anchors from the barge (which he had named the Jules Verne) that carried the undersea tube by which he accomplished his underwater photography. After the hurricane was over, filming was further delayed by two weeks until the water became sufficiently clear again. Percy Hillburn, the chief cinematographer on the picture, had an incredibly challenging job filming the aquatic sequences. The same Oakland Tribune article reported that he had to use an instrument known as a photometer to analyze every scene for color and lighting before shooting. Then when he finally went in the sea, he operated the camera while in a diving bell. The first time the hefty Hillburn went down, he did not acclimate slowly enough, so he passed out due to the difference in air pressure. Reportedly, star Lionel

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Barrymore withstood being underwater better than anyone on the set, since he was in better shape at the time. Meanwhile, as the weather settled in Nassau, trouble was brewing for director Tourneur in Hollywood, as his son Jacques, responsible for the film’s editing, recalled in Kevin Brownlow’s The Parade’s Gone By...: After four days’ shooting, I was present on the set when a man appeared. He wasn’t a technician, and he wasn’t connected with the production. He was just watching. “Would you get that man off the set?” asked my father. The assistant director told him to leave and he did so. Five minutes later, an irate call came from Louis B. Mayer. “Did you throw _______off the set?” “Of course. I can’t tolerate anyone on the set,” replied my father. “But he’s your producer!” “My what?” said my father. “What does a producer do?” “The producer supervises the entire production, and sees the dailies and makes comments and everything.” “There’s no such thing as a producer. I don’t want one. If he steps on the set, I’ll throw him out.” Well, the next day, the producer comes on the set again. It wasn’t his fault: this was his job. My father said, “I won’t work until this man leaves the set.” And he sat down and waited. Finally, the producer left. He was very nice about it. The next day, Mayer called again. “Mr. Tourneur, you must have a producer. Every director must have a producer from now on. It’s the studio’s new policy.” Tourneur walked off the set; within three days, he was on the train to New York, from where he sailed for France.

According to the 1926 Film Mercury, the unnamed producer in this account was Hunt Stromberg. The official reason for Tourneur’s departure was poor health, and the August 8 New York Telegraph declared that the director was advised by his physician to give up all active work and take a vacation. Tourneur was replaced by Dane Benjamin Christensen, most famous for his 1922 classic Witchcraft Through the Ages. However, after re-shooting almost all of Tourneur’s scenes, he, too, clashed with the head office, since he moved at a slow pace and did not appreciate supervision any more than his French predecessor did. Christensen received the following imperious telegram from Stromberg, part of his collection that he bequeathed to the Danish Film Institute in Copenhagen. Dated July 15, 1926, it read: Dear Mr. Christianson [sic]: Please without fail read this continuity on “The Mysterious Island” tonight, as I would very much like to have your opinion on same. Will thank you to be in my office at 10:30 or 11 o’clock in order that we may discuss it. Sincerely, Hunt Stromberg

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The introduction of supervisors was a phenomenon occurring at every studio. It was taken as a grave insult by directors who were used to working with complete autonomy. Producers were perceived as philistines who had no clue about the artistic aspects of filmmaking. As Photoplay reported that year, the role of these supervisors was to “guide, inspire, and encourage writers, directors, and actors. But with few exceptions, they grope about in the darkness of limited mentalities, have not a creative cell in their brains, and do not know the difference between encouragement and bullying.” Another reported problem with the production of The Mysterious Island was the perception that Verne’s story was simply too difficult to convert to the screen. The May 20, 1927, Syracuse Herald disclosed that a grand total of fifty writers were employed in the desperate hope that they could fix up the production and avoid a total loss. However, many of them carped that they were given an impossible task. Filming was stopped and then started again in April, with the Fresno Bee commenting darkly that the picture’s production length would soon equal that of Ben Hur, made several years before. By August, shooting was abandoned yet again, and the Modesto Herald openly jeered at the incompetence of the MGM brass, observing that “mental giants” like Mayer poured so much money (over $500,00 by that time) into big dreams of filming in faraway locations, in color, and with state-of-the-art technology that they forgot all about a coherent story! The article ended with the reporter suggesting, with savage sarcasm, that perhaps the officials “will finally come to the conclusion that it would be easier to film the story as the late Monsieur Verne wrote it.” Once freed from this troublesome production, Karl was due to appear in another film directed by Christensen, Norma Shearer’s The Devil’s Circus. Publicity photos show Karl, clad in a black and white Pierrot clown costume, with Shearer and some of the other actors; but he was never credited, so it appears that his footage was excised from the final release print. According to the Los Angeles Times, Karl attended the sixth annual WAMPAS (Western Associated Motion Picture Advertisers) Frolic and Ball, which was held on February 17, 1927, at the Ambassador Auditorium. Some 3,000 notables attended the event, including Eddie Cantor, who was making his first stage appearance in the area since 1916. Karl participated in the “Major Scenes from Major Photoplays” portion of the program, in which stars acted in skits highlighting the scenes that had made them famous in the past year. Among the many other performers taking part were Tim McCoy, Esther Ralston, Clara Bow, Norma and Constance Talmadge, Ken Maynard, Mary Astor, and Billie Dove. Since Parade co-star Tom O’Brien also was there, he and Karl probably re-enacted a skit from the war picture.

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Another film of note that Karl appeared in during this period was The Son of the Sheik, starring the legendary screen lover Rudolph Valentino and Hungarian émigré Vilma Banky. Valentino would die tragically at the age of 31 shortly after the film’s sneak preview. Vilma’s career would go south, too, at the coming of sound, due to her own European accent. Karl was loaned out to United Artists for this vehicle, as reported by the June 13, 1926, Oakland Tribune. No one knows if it was Valentino himself who requested Karl, or any of the producer-founders Mary Pickford, Douglas Fairbanks, Charlie Chaplin or D.W. Griffith. Karl offered fine comic relief as Ramadan, loyal manservant and friend of Ahmed, played by Valentino. Karl’s notices for this film were all positive, with the one from the Ogden (UT) Standard Examiner being typical in stating, “Karl Dane, the gumchewing ‘Slim’ of The Big Parade, goes further along the highway to success” in his role. As Ramadan, although clad in Arab robes and turban, and sporting a beard, Karl is still quite recognizable and appears to be having fun. Again, although playing a comic character, Ramadan is no buffoon, and, in fact, keeps his friend Ahmed on the straight and narrow, rescuing him when he is in trouble and even reuniting the lovers at the end of the picture. Karl always held his own with other strong leads, a trait which he exhibited from the very beginning of his career. He had a confidence and magnetic presence that always shone through, whether appearing with other comics or romantic leads. Sheik’s desert scenes were partially shot over a period of six grueling weeks in the Yuma Desert. Property man Irving Sindler kept a diary that chronicled the hardships the cast and crew experienced. One day, for example, the assistant director went to take a shower and discovered a deadly sidewinder (snake) in the stall. Bugs also abounded, as Vilma Banky found out one day at breakfast. She put her spoon into a bowl that she presumed was blackberry jam; when the flies dispersed, she discovered she was really in the sugar bowl.15 In addition, the hundred-and-twenty-degree heat was so oppressive that shooting was confined to between four and nine in the morning, or late in the day.16 No stories about Karl have survived regarding the making of the picture — except for one brief anecdote. The March 3, 1943, Evening Standard (PA) recalled that when Karl attempted to ride a camel in a scene for the first time, he became violently “seasick,” presumably due to the unaccustomed swaying motion. Karl had an opportunity to work with both King Vidor and John Gilbert

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again in the 18th century period piece (taken from Rafael Sabatini’s novel) Bardelys the Magnificent, a film recently rediscovered in Paris by Lobster Films in 2007.17 Little was remembered about the production by King Vidor in his memoirs, who simply said, “We tried to put John Gilbert in a Douglas Fairbanks part. The experiment was none too successful.” In the picture, Karl

Karl, in costume for Bardelys the Magnificent, clowns around with actress Claire Windsor on the MGM lot. Photograph dated August 24, 1926 .

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assayed the small role of Rodenard, the personal attendant of Bardelys, John Gilbert’s character. Bardelys, released in November 1926, also co-starred the small, dapper British comic George K. Arthur. Karl still had not met Arthur, although both had worked on the same MGM lot for a couple of years. Nevertheless, they would soon play a large role in each others’ lives and careers.

8 The Great Dane and the Amazing Arthur “Understan’ we goin’ do a show together.”

George K. Arthur, half of the screen duo of Dane and Arthur, recalled that these were the words Karl Dane spoke to him upon their first meeting in Arthur’s MGM dressing room.1 The year was 1926, and both men were providing separate comic relief in the King Vidor costume drama Bardelys the Magnificent. MGM producer Harry Rapf was the one who conceived the idea to pair the small (5' 6") Arthur with the 6' 31 ⁄ 2" Karl as a sort of Mutt and Jeff of the screen. Comedy teams were enormously popular in this era, both on the vaudeville stage and in pictures, with “big man/little man” duos copied and recopied by all the studios. No doubt Rapf got the idea to team the men from the great success of Raymond Hatton and Wallace Beery over at Paramount. Other teams used a similar formula: “Hank and Lank” (Augustus Carney and Victor Potel) for Essanay in the 1910s, and, later, Vernon Dent and Harry Langdon for Mack Sennett. Other popular teams included Lloyd Hamilton and Bud Duncan, as “Ham and Bud,” over at Kalem, and “Montgomery and Rock” (Earle Montgomery and Joe Rock) at Vitagraph. Duos enjoyed tremendous popularity in other countries as well: Danish comics Carl Schenstrom (the Karl type) and Harald Madsen (the Arthur type) were as beloved as Laurel and Hardy, and made about forty films together beginning 1921. Also known as “Pat and Patachon,” they were given fond nicknames in each country; in their native Denmark they were known as “Fyrtårnet og Bivognen” (Lighthouse and Tramtrailer), while in England they were dubbed “Long and Short.”2 George K. Arthur’s path to fame was no less extraordinary than that of his statuesque partner. The underappreciated British comic actor had a varied career, appearing in over a dozen silent pictures before talkies came into vogue. He then launched a second career producing and distributing films. His life happily lacked the tragedy and turmoil that marred that of the Great Dane. 100

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Rookies (1927) poster (courtesy Bruce Calvert).

In addition to his inborn comedic gifts in front of the camera, Karl’s success was partly due to a combination of sheer guts, physical bravery, and persistence. Arthur’s was also due to a masterful ability to market and ingratiate himself to influential people. He was born Arthur George Brest on January 27, 1899, in Littlehampton, Sussex, England, to a stable, lower–middleclass family. George Brest, his father, was a former carpenter’s apprentice who became a shopkeeper and traveling salesman, while mother Harriet was employed as a product demonstrator in a department store. The young man attended boarding schools as a youth and enlisted in the Army when World War I broke out, although not yet 16 years old. His youth and diminutive stature won him a place in the Bugle Corps, and while performing in concerts and skits for the troops, he discovered his own love for the stage.3 After the war ended, his passion for acting still strong, Arthur promptly enrolled in the prestigious Lady Benson’s Dramatic School in London. Since he had trouble pronouncing his R’s, he took extensive voice lessons. He also decided that his name was not suitable for a professional actor and changed it to George K. Arthur, the initial “K” being chosen at random to differentiate himself from decorated war hero George Arthur. With his new moniker, Arthur first appeared in small walk-on parts in Shakespearean plays at the Memorial Theatre in Stratford-on-Avon. Under the watchful eye of Lady Benson, who recognized his talent, he soon graduated to small comic roles.4 Arthur enjoyed his theater work but wanted a new challenge, so in 1919

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he applied for work in motion pictures. After being rejected by one studio after another, he read in the newspapers that American director Harold Shaw was making a film version of H.G. Wells’ popular novel Kipps. In this satire of upper-class mores, the title character, Artie Kipps, is an orphaned lowerclass shopkeeper who unexpectedly inherits a fortune and tries to crash high society. He discovers that becoming “a gentleman” is not as easy or desirable as he originally thought (the story was based on many of Wells’ own life experiences). Arthur immediately knew he was ideal for this part, but also was aware that he had little chance of securing it the old-fashioned way. Boldly, he went straight to Shaw’s flat in London to appeal to him directly. Shaw was impressed by Arthur’s gumption and reportedly agreed that he was the personification of Kipps, an opinion later heartily endorsed by H.G. Wells himself. However, Arthur told the story a little bit differently in 1957.5 In this version, the interview with the director went very poorly, and on the way out the door he was so nervous that he knocked over a very valuable vase.6 Because that was the same sort of blunder titular hero Kipps would have made, Shaw immediately awarded him the role. While a great story, one must question its accuracy, since this vase-breaking scene is identical to one of the comic sequences from the 1929 Dane and Arthur film China Bound. Another possibility, of course, was that Arthur simply incorporated this real-life incident into the film. After shooting ended for Kipps, Arthur quickly appeared in three other pictures, eventually becoming a celebrity in London, with Shaw as his manager. One was based on another Wells story and was called The Wheels of Chance. The savvy Arthur always had a gift for self-promotion. Charlie Chaplin was in London and said that he wanted to meet H.G. Wells while he was there. Arthur heard of this and sprang into action; he went to Wells and told him that he had just come from a meeting with Chaplin, who told him he wanted to meet Wells and see Kipps. Arthur then approached the unsuspecting Chaplin and played the same ruse. The gambit was successful, and the London papers ran photos of Arthur with the two men.7 Although he could barely afford it, Arthur took a leap of faith. In 1922 he booked first-class passage to New York on the S.S. Olympic. Like Karl, he, too, sailed with very limited finances (only $20 in his case); but, amazingly, he won $400 en route.8 Arthur also made the acquaintance of some rich and influential people, like Ivor Novello, the British matinee idol. Arthur’s demeanor, poise, and style convinced his new friends that he was already a man of society, and they invited him to stay with them upon their arrival in New York. He told the September 1927 Motion Picture Classic magazine that he had no idea why these people befriended him, and that perhaps they mistook him for a millionaire’s son, since he was playing the part.

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Once in Gotham, Arthur hit the town and quickly spent most of his newfound winnings. After making his way to Hollywood, he was almost broke again, down to just twenty cents and the five dollars that he had previously wired ahead. He rented a small room for $7 per week and started looking for work at the studios.9 He found it tough going and would have been lost had it not been for friends like Viola Dana, whose sister Edna Flugrath he knew in London. Dana helped him get work, including a part in the Fox feature The Madness of Youth, with John Gilbert.10 Arthur also met Chaplin again in Hollywood, who agreed to endorse him by posing for another publicity photo together. This friendship with Chaplin would last for decades. Things looked rosy for a time, but eventually Arthur’s funds again dried up and he needed work. By chance he heard that director James Cruze was looking for a pair of unknowns to play the leads in his big-budget satire of the movie business, the now-lost Hollywood. He chose Arthur and Hope Drown, a now-forgotten ingénue, for the lead roles.11 The production went on for months, and things improved so much financially that Arthur sent for his wife Milba back in England. They moved into a small house in Hollywood, and a daughter, Jeanne, was born to the family in 1924. After failing in a few other business ventures, Arthur decided to try his hand at producing his own feature. He wrote his own story, called Just Plain Buggs.12 He met a film cutter named Joe Stern who had directing aspirations, and signed a contract with him in December 1924 to shoot a film treatment of the story in four weeks. Joe then changed his name to the one by which he is better known, Josef von Sternberg.13 Upon further discussion, Joe revealed that he had a story of his own that would make a better project. He called it The Salvation Hunters, and the partners immediately shifted gears. Sternberg attended to the artistic details of the film, while Arthur starred and worked to raise funds. The film was shot on a budget of $5,000 and starred then-unknown actress Georgia Hale. Far from Arthur’s usual comedies, the film was about an impoverished boy, girl, and child who live on a waterfront mud dredge. Hunters was shot on the barge of a Japanese fishing fleet in San Pedro, so chosen because they finagled its use for free.14 Arthur recalled in his memoirs the dire financial straits he and Sternberg found themselves in many years later. More film was needed to finish the picture, but they did not have enough funds left in the kitty. Being literally down to their last dollars, Arthur was reduced to stealing a can when a guard turned his back at 2 A.M. just outside the Eastman Company. When the film was finally finished, Arthur persuaded Chaplin to back

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it, which he did, prodding Douglas Fairbanks Sr. to screen it at Pickfair. United Artists, which Chaplin and Fairbanks helped co-found, finally released it, to mixed reviews. Later on, Chaplin claimed that he had exaggerated the film’s merits to obtain the support of his fellow partners. In the end, though, the studio came out ahead, since Arthur and Sternberg had sold sevensixteenths of the film to UA for a mere $10,000— and it grossed more than $400,000.15As a direct result of this success, Chaplin went on to sign leading lady Georgia Hale for his new film The Gold Rush. Arthur was, in turn, awarded a contract with MGM. Although they had worked at the same studio for several years, and their cubicle-type dressing rooms were on the same floor, Karl and Arthur had never actually met before. Rapf called each of them to his office separately to inform them of the pairing, and Karl immediately sought George out. The two men briefly discussed their new venture, but did not go out to celebrate. Arthur later said they were just so completely different in nature that it never occurred to either of them. Nevertheless, as time wore on, they developed a deep affection for one another.16 The fact that the two did not socialize was not unusual, given that many other comedians have compared the rigors of maintaining a successful comedy

Karl (left) in Rookies (1927), with George K. Arthur (courtesy Bruce Calvert).

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team with those of marriage. Spending too much time together can actually be viewed as counterproductive to the creative process, and comedians often made a point of keeping business and pleasure completely separate. Laurel and Hardy are a prime example. Yet, the pair seemed to have enormous fun making their films. Both of them relished playing practical jokes on the other. Arthur claimed that many of the on-camera gags he pulled on Karl were real, and that he only escaped being murdered because his partner’s “brain moved very slowly,”17 which seems to infer that he did not think too much of Karl’s intelligence. However, it seems that Karl did get his own revenge. During the filming of a dental office scene in the film Baby Mine, Karl filled Arthur’s mouth with real plaster of paris, which took hours to painstakingly remove and really infuriated his partner. Karl also did not know his own strength, according to Arthur, and took every opportunity to give him bonecrushing handshakes. The diminutive comic reported finishing many a day with all the feeling removed from his fingers.18 When the duo was christened, Karl’s name took precedence, which caused some resentment since Arthur felt he was the more experienced actor. In a 1957 oral interview, Arthur said that the reason the decision was made was because “Dane and Arthur” was more “euphonious” than the alternative.19 The two men never clashed, except for one incident which occurred when they were finishing up their 1928 film Brotherly Love. Arthur wanted to go to Europe and asked to be released a day ahead of schedule in order to catch his boat. Rapf was agreeable, saying that they would have to work on a Sunday to finish up their remaining scenes, and that Karl would also have to agree. Arthur assumed that his partner would be a real pushover and approached him with his request. Karl’s response was a bit unexpected. “You little ‘so-and-so’ (I can’t tell you what he actually called me), I wouldn’t work on Sunday if your whole family was dying!” I lost my temper and hit him. I know I hit him because my fist almost cracked in two at the impact. I doubled over in pain, and groaned and grimaced, and when I came to, I heard Karl saying in that great deep voice of his, “Of course, I’ll work.”20

Whatever ups and downs the duo experienced, the partnership was a happy one overall, and they started off strong. The film Rookies, directed by Sam Wood, is generally regarded as their best. An army-themed vehicle, it went through many different rewrites as the studio struggled to find the winning formula for the new duo. Some early titles were Red, White, and Blue; Flat Feet; Marching Through Georgia; 30 Days; and Fresh Air.21 Also, Arthur’s character, originally conceived as spoiled and rich John Jacob Fish III, became Greg Lee, a cabaret dancer. Perhaps the original conception of the character

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On the set of Rookies (1927) at the very beginning of filming. Left to right: director Sam Wood, George K. Arthur, and Karl.

was too close to that of John Gilbert’s in The Big Parade, and that’s why the change took place. Karl’s character in the film, Sgt. Diggs, was the bullying drill instructor (an early title card announces that he was “a born fighter — his father was married five times”) who tangles with Lee in the cabaret in one of the first scenes. When Lee takes his revenge by humiliating Diggs when the troops are on parade, the former is sentenced to 30 days at a military training camp — under the direct supervision (and in the very tent) of Sgt. Diggs. Much of the comedy involves Lee doing everything he can to undermine the Sergeant’s authority (such as putting ants in his clothes on inspection day), particularly after both men become rivals for the affections of the same girl, played by Marceline Day. Eventually, however, Lee gets into the Army spirit and finds that he really wants to become a good soldier, in part to win the girl (a formula used in other subsequent films). In the end, Lee heroically saves his sweetheart from a runaway hot air balloon, besting, and even winning the respect of, Diggs, and becoming a better man in the process. The film featured broad comedy, but it also demonstrated the duo’s range by including moments of pathos.

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The film was a smash hit when released on April 30, 1927, and one review in the Charleston (WV) Gillette rapturously declared, “Rookies Hailed World’s Funniest Picture Comedy.” It also turned a handsome $255,000 profit for MGM.22 Arthur recounted that it was held over for eight weeks at the Lyric theater in Indianapolis. When Karl and Arthur later toured together, they were told by the Lyric theater manager that he had had to tighten the screws that held the chairs to the floor because they had been loosened by audiences literally rocking with laughter.23 The formula from this film was re-used throughout their career together. Arthur was invariably cast as the spoiled, cunning, and lazy half of the duo, with Karl’s character more slow-witted, jealous, and bullying. However, sometimes the two characters joined forces to accomplish a heroic goal. One example came in their last silent feature, China Bound, when they had to rescue the women they love from Chinese revolutionaries. In terms of finances, each one of their seven co-starring films earned respectable profits.24 This trend continued right up to the end of their partnership. When one compares the production costs and profits earned on Dane and Arthur features versus those of the legendary Buster Keaton, the former earned more for MGM. For example, Keaton’s classic The Cameraman cost $362,000 to make, more than twice that of any of the team’s films, but only realized a profit of $67,000.25 Keaton’s first talkie, Free and Easy, in which Karl appeared, cost $463,000 and made only $32,000 back; while China Bound cost only $98,000 but took in $129,000.26 In fact, in late 1928 film exhibitors were asked to rank their top ten money makers for the year, and the duo came in second in the comedy team category, beaten only by Raymond Hatton and Wallace Beery. Karl himself made the list in the leading man category.27 Rookies was made with the cooperation of the U.S. government, which provided assistance in showing life in a citizen’s training camp. The camp movement was started in 1921 as a means to provide voluntary military training to further good citizenship and national defense, and was enormously popular in its day. Summer programs were held each year for boys age 17 to 21, and they consisted of different levels: basic, red, white, and blue (which explains one of the picture’s early proposed titles). After this initial success, both men were employed almost continuously, alternately making features together and appearing independently in other productions. The same month Rookies premiered, Karl was already at work on a big-budget MGM production, the Klondike adventure The Trail of ’98, directed by Clarence Brown. He was given third billing, after co-stars Ralph Forbes and Dolores Del Rio. (Director Brown later remembered Forbes as “a

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lousy leading man,” according to Kevin Brownlow’s The Parade’s Gone By....) Curiously, according to the March 4 Denver (CO) Post, Joan Crawford was originally cast as the female lead, but for some unexplained reason was replaced at the last minute. The Trail of ’98 was a major production based on a book of the same name by Robert Service. (According to the March 3, 1927, Denver Post, it

Karl in the hot air balloon scene in Rookies (1927), with Frank Lussier (left), Marceline Day and George K. Arthur (back to camera) (courtesy Bruce Calvert).

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carried a budget of $2 million, $375,000 of which was spent on filming in Colorado.) The film chronicled the adventures of several people of varying backgrounds as they travel to Alaska in search of riches during the famed Gold Rush of 1898. Brown even based some of the episodes in the film upon the files of The San Francisco Chronicle. Since most of the old files were destroyed in the infamous 1906 earthquake, he sought out the owner of the paper, who had a complete archive at his home. According to the March 1928 New York Times, photostatic copies of every page from the year 1898 were made and studied for vital historical detail on the canned foods, tobacco, snowshoes, and other supplies which travelers to the Northwest were using, and the studio began its task of duplicating these accessories to ensure authentic detail. Several members of the cast and crew were involved in the real Gold Rush thirty years before, including San Francisco–born Russell Simpson, who played “Old Swede” in the film, and Frank Smith, the production manager. Two other old-timers appeared as extras: Slim Morgan, who was a prospector, and Scott Turner, who won fame under the sobriquet “Cherokee Ed,” one of Dawson’s leading gamblers. The New York Times said that Brown’s original intention was to take the company to the real Chilkoot Pass in Alaska, but studio executives declared this impossible. Searching for a more accessible locale, scouts found a mountain pass near Corona, Colorado, which was said to bear close resemblance to the original place. Brown and his company traveled by train far north for the production, from the Klondike, just east of Alaska, to Colorado and the Rocky Mountains, becoming the first American film company to do so. Due to the high altitudes in which they would be working, each member of the company also had to have a health exam before he or she embarked on the journey. The March 3 Denver Post reported that Ralph Forbes had to undergo a nasal operation before he was allowed to leave with the rest of the company. The March 6, 1927, Rocky Mountain (CO) News excitedly reported on the Denver arrival of the 14-car train, which carried 34 members of the cast, plus directors, cameramen, and technicians — the largest special locomotive ever to take a movie company on location. Once in the location camp, the railroad cars would serve as sleeping quarters, commissaries, laboratories, storage areas, and projection rooms. Upon arrival in the capital for some rest before climbing to higher elevations, the company received an enthusiastic welcome. Existing photos show Karl featured prominently in a group with the mayor and Lieutenant governor. Not surprisingly, he managed to position himself between the visiting ladies, who seemed happy to be the object of his attentions.

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The company spent five weeks at 11,600 feet, enduring fifty to sixty mileper-hour winds. Some people were unable to bear these tough conditions and were sent back. The cold was so extreme — as low as sixty degrees below zero — that crew members attached little oil lamps to each camera to prevent the equipment from freezing up.28 Clarence Brown recalled the filming of this Chilcoot Pass scene in Kevin Brownlow’s The Parade’s Gone By...: When we came to the scenes with the two thousand people climbing up the Chilkoot Pass, we built a track parallel to their route, and built a sled for our cameras. We went through the city of Denver and picked up derelicts off the streets ... we got them to the railroad station ready to leave at two in the morning. During the trip to the great Divide, which took about four hours, the assistants clothed them. Now, this is two thousand people — they put rubber boots on them, heavy underwear, heavy socks, mackinaws, and dressed them just as they would have been at the time of the Gold Rush. They were given their breakfast en route. The train arrived at eight am. As they got off, we handed them their packs and steered them so that they had to climb the pass. Our cameras were all set and rehearsed, and I had telephones to each of the three or four camera locations. By the time they reached the top, and we had got what we wanted, it was two P.M. We picked them up in a train and fed them on the way to Denver. But we had a problem. We needed them for a second day of shooting. We couldn’t bring them back the following day — they didn’t get back to Denver until eight P.M. So we had to skip a day — we gave them a call for the second day at two A.M. We probably lost twenty per cent, but it didn’t matter so much because by then I had all my long shots.

All of this did not come without a price; the March 24 Denver Post said that 32 of these men had to be taken to the temporary hospital set up in the location camp, suffering from exposure. This same paper reported a tragic accident that took the life of a crew member, one of two that occurred during this ill-fated production. Apparently, Lafayette Bishop and Otis Steckler were inspecting a dynamite charge on an overhanging drift, preparing to begin a snow slide for a dramatic scene. Unfortunately, the snow gave way under their own weight before they could set off the charge, and the men were swept away, narrowly missing Karl, Ralph Forbes, and George Cooper. Director Brown, the cameraman, and a few others raced down to where the snow stopped and were able to dig Steckler out after hearing his faint cries under 6 feet of snow, but Bishop was killed. The incident had actually occurred earlier that month, but the studio may have tried to cover it up, according to the March 8 Rocky Mountain News. Apparently, the first report on the avalanche was made by W.J. Murphy, the publicity manager for the company. He said that a construction foreman had been in a snow slide, which killed his horse and left him with a broken

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kneecap. However, business manager Charles Stallings denied that a slide had even occurred, claiming that the foreman had simply slipped on some ice. Stallings later admitted his falsehood and offered the weak excuse that he was angry at being forced to walk three miles in the snow to reach a telephone. To make matters worse, in late June three stuntmen, Ray Thompson, F.H. Daughters, and Joseph F Boutin, were killed while rehearsing the famous rapids scene on the Copper River, about 50 miles from Cordova, Alaska. J.J. Cohn, a production manager at MGM, later recalled that the men were without lifejackets but were provided long stretch cords to grasp for protection. Unfortunately, due to an oversight, these ropes were never reinforced with wire, and when saturated with water, the men were unable to hold on.29 One man fell from the boat, while another moved to grab him and fell in himself. The third man similarly was lost trying to save the others. Although the crew searched for ten days, the body of Ray Thompson was never found.30 When Brown finally filmed the scene after the tragedy, dummies were used.31 The December 6, 1927, Exhibitor’s Daily Review described an impressive in-studio shot that replicated the ride in the rapids of two of the female actors, Dolores Del Rio and Emily Fitzroy. Brown placed giant containers of water on either side of the “boat,” and one after the other the contents of each would be dumped over the heads of the hapless women. Dozens of strong crewmen held onto ropes attached to the platform which held the fake vessel in place, and this created a rocking motion to simulate the waves of the storm. In March 1928 the New York Times reported that, despite the tragedies that befell the production, the film company created some diversions to take their minds off the hardships of the shoot. They established a small broadcasting station, and sent out a radio program from the Divide. Polly Moran, who played Karl’s wife in the picture, was a former vaudeville comedienne, and she staged an impromptu show for the company each evening. The only existing known photograph shows the cast and crew at dinner on the train in which they lived, with the tall figure of Karl seen in the background. The Denver Post reported that these accommodations were extremely uncomfortable, since the storage batteries ran down within days of arriving at Corona, leaving the train cars unheated and without lights. The film climaxed with the burning of Dawson City, home to most of the Klondike mining community in that era. Brown relied heavily on Cherokee Ed as a technical advisor, as the crew reconstructed the town in minute detail, from the rude wooden huts which the prospectors called home to the gambling hall owned by the villainous Jack Locasto. When the time came to film the fire, Brown placed cameras at a dozen different places, and the

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conflagration was started, with scores of extras milling through the streets. Future funnyman Lou Costello, then 21 years old, appeared in The Trail of ’98 as an extra and stuntman, and volunteered to leap from a window of the burning hall, doubling for one of the stars. Thankfully, no accidents marred the recording of this scene. In the film, Karl plays strapping Swedish farmer Lars Petersen, who escapes early on from a shrewish wife, played by Moran, who appeared as Karl’s love interest in several other films (“Who’s this woman Alaska you’ve been calling to in your sleep?” she demands, smacking him in the face). By the end titles, Lars becomes rich and prosperous, the co-owner of the Flat Iron Mining Company. Although his performance in ’98 is a comic one, Karl’s role is more than one-dimensional. Although the last line of the film, “Holy Yumpin Yimminy!” does reflect Nordic stereotypes, Lars is not a silly character. He helps save the day at one pivotal point in the film when the evil Locasto attempts to steal the group’s hard-won claim. While his friends are ready to give up and slink away in defeat, Lars rebels and literally tears the place apart in a fit of rage. A closeup of Karl’s face shows the inner buildup to this explosion (the title card reads,

Karl in a comical publicity photograph for The Trail of ’98 (1928) with a sled dog puppy used in the film.

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“I think I want to yump [sic] on somebody!”) as his expression passes from initial confusion to indignation and, finally, to violent rage. In this sequence Karl destroyed an entire set single-handedly, smashing through walls, pulling hapless clerks out of their seats, and breaking tables and chairs. Similar comically violent scenes appear in some of Karl’s other films in which he harnesses his anger and sheer physical prowess to right an injustice, no doubt designed to draw cheers from the audience. In Navy Blues, for instance, he rips a chandelier out of the ceiling and uses it as a weapon against some haughty club patrons, thereby helping his buddy William Haines “rescue” his girl, played by Anita Page. Far from protesting against these roles, Karl seemed to welcome them. A January 1928 Los Angeles Times article entitled “Comedy Star Likes Being Big Swede” related that Karl was called “the Big Swede” by everyone on the lot, even though he was a Dane, since the average American could not differentiate between the Scandinavian countries. Those of Norwegian, Danish, and Swedish descent were all simply known as “Swedes.” The amenable Karl, it went on to say, would always interpret each of his roles according to this preconceived notion of “‘the Big Swede.’ It is his graceful bow — to ‘his public.’” This suggests that Karl did not find these stereotypes offensive in the least. Of course, given the tightly controlled studio system in place at the time, Karl would hardly have been in any position to complain. Other funny moments abound in The Trail of ’98, such as a running joke that centers on Lars and Samuel Foote, a.k.a. “The Worm,” a lazy and shiftless fellow traveler who tricks Lars into doing all of his manual labor. When scaling the Chilkoot Pass, to avoid exerting himself, Foote grasps a flat iron strapped to Lars’ backpack and lets the bigger man unknowingly haul him up the mountain. Later on, the two men are on opposite sides of a tall platform sawing wood. They are supposed to be helping each other with the long saw, but since Foote has surreptitiously attached his end to a low-hanging tree branch, Lars ends up supplying all the muscle. Becoming more and more (comically) frustrated, since he cannot understand why he is always so exhausted, Lars eventually catches Foote dozing on the platform. Again, a close-up of Karl’s face shows his character’s thought process as he comes to realize the extent of the parasite’s treachery. Then he explodes in another justice-meting scene that must have delighted audiences: he kicks “the Worm” repeatedly in the rear. (By the end of the film, Foote shows an even darker side when he abandons the hero in a blizzard, taking what he thinks are Forbes’ matches. However, when he is out in the storm and tries to build a lifesaving fire, Foote discovers that he has only stolen the match container, and perishes alone in the snow.)

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The incongruity in Karl’s character is amusing. Lars is very tough and physically imposing, punishing not only Foote but also a devious little peddler at the beginning of the story. The huckster sells Lars a completely useless product called “Death to Mosquitoes”— two little wooden blocks between which the user must catch and crush the insect’s tiny body. Minutes after affably making the purchase, Lars storms over and angrily confronts the departing salesman who shortchanged him. Yet, Lars is absolutely cowed by his bullying wife, from whom he flees. For ’98, Karl was still doing some tricky stunt work, even though he was then a star. In one scene Lars is chased by his angry wife down a hillside toward an oncoming train. He stumbles and falls, and, after quickly regaining his footing, runs right in front of the locomotive to cut off her pursuit. The train was slow-moving, but Karl could still have been seriously injured had anything gone awry. Then Lars impulsively decides to use the train as a getaway vehicle (other men riding on top shout to him in encouragement, “Come on, Lars! There are no wives in the Klondike!”) and lifts himself very gracefully onto the caboose, the flatiron which his wife flings missing him by mere inches. Scenes like this demonstrate Karl’s great athleticism, which was used to great effect in many other films. No expense was spared in the making of the picture. According to the 1927 Los Angeles Times, five hundred sled dogs were used, rented from wellknown sweepstakes teams, while the city pound provided other four-footed extras. New technology was also developed for the premiere to enhance the audience’s viewing experience. The March 22 Syracuse Herald reported on the so-called “Fantom” screen, which was unveiled at the premiere. This device permitted the scene to seemingly enlarge to several times its original sixteenfoot width without leaving the screen and without interruption to the story. The Trail of ’98 opened on March 20, 1928, to fine reviews, and was still doing excellent business at Manhattan’s Astor Theatre three months later. By this time, Karl’s career was at its absolute height. But ominous cracks were beginning to show in its foundation. Although the picture received critical acclaim, the same issue of the Syracuse Herald announced that talking pictures had finally come to stay, mentioning the recent premiere of The Jazz Singer. The article predicted that sweeping changes would occur in Hollywood. These changes would come in the form of waste reduction and increased efficiency at the studios. Since sound was now being recorded at the same time as the action in a picture, shooting extra footage would now be discouraged. Many directors tended to shoot 100,000 feet of film only to trim it down later to six or seven reels. Additionally, the current method of starting production before the story

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Karl (left) with Tully Marshall (center), Dolores Del Rio and Ralph Forbes in the ending scene of Trail of ’98 (1928) (courtesy Kevin Brownlow).

was even completed, á la The Mysterious Island, would have to cease. Production would become more formalized and regimented. A final, approved script would be given to the director before a frame of film was taken. Another, more ominous article appeared in Variety on October 10 entitled “33 Percent of Actors Are Out.” The writer predicted that soon the number of strictly studio-bred actors and actresses available for lead parts would be reduced by a third. Stage talent would fill the gap, mostly from the Broadway stage. Indeed, all the signs already pointed to the monumental changes that were to come. If Karl was on a roller coaster now, the coming months would prove to be an even more dizzying ride, a ride that would prove lifethreatening.

9 1928, a Tumultuous Year By early 1928 Karl had appeared in at least sixteen films since his discovery, and was working almost around the clock. Those that visit Hollywood today can find very little evidence of the world that Karl Dane inhabited. Much of its history has disappeared at an alarming rate, and only recently have activists called for the preservation of some of these precious links to the past. In the decades since Karl’s time, all of the old MGM soundstages have been torn down, and Hollywood’s dirt roads have been paved over. Much of the open space was taken over by new development and strip malls. Hollywood Boulevard, now rather run-down, was once a place to see and be seen, and eagle-eyed fans could catch a glimpse of their idols there. A reporter from the April 9, 1928, Syracuse Herald reported seeing Pola Negri being driven to the studio in the early morning by her liveried chauffeur; Clara Bow in her convertible with her two dogs dyed red to match her hair; and Karl himself dining at a roadside stand on hotdogs and coffee. Yet, a few of the old haunts still remain, including some legendary restaurants. Musso and Frank Grill is one example, frequented by stars for years. The Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel remains, which held the first Academy Awards ceremony, although it has since been remodeled. The theaters in Los Angeles’ old downtown Broadway district still stand, although many are in sad shape. Some of them started out as vaudeville houses that featured legendary performers like Sophie Tucker and the Marx Brothers. Opulent palaces with grand marble staircases and plush velvet seats, they were the main places to see films until Sid Grauman built his famous Egyptian Theater. Studio life changed dramatically after the death of the silents. George K. Arthur recalled a simpler, homey atmosphere. Those who worked at MGM during these years said that it was like a family, with Louis B. Mayer acting the part of a “Jewish papa” over the company.1 It also rapidly became the place at which every aspiring player wanted to work. William Haines recalled that those at MGM tended to look down at those employed by other studios, saying, “We were snobs. We believed our publicity.”2 Sets were built alongside those of other films in production, and the sounds of construction could easily be heard. Directors coached the actors 116

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through their scenes, to the accompaniment of musicians on the set to help set the right mood.3 (Usually three instruments were used — an organ, violin, and cello.) Although the audiences could not hear the dialogue being spoken, actors still had to learn the lines that would eventually match the titles. Timing was important, too. Before an actor spoke, he or she had to express the emotion to be communicated to the audience. This would give the editor space in which to fit the applicable title for the scene.4 The coaching method used depended upon the director. Actress Madge Bellamy remembered that Allan Dwan, who worked with her on Summer Bachelors (1926), “used sarcasm. He would say ... ‘to the left, you see your love approaching. You believe that he doesn’t love you anymore. He comes up and kisses you tenderly. You burst into tears of happiness and relief— if you can manage it!’”5 At this time there were 45 actors on the MGM lot, of which only eight were considered “stars,” and the rest featured players. Dane and Arthur fell into the latter category. The stars were Greta Garbo, Lon Chaney, Marion Davies, John Gilbert, Lillian Gish, William Haines, Ramon Navarro, and

“Traffic duty”: Karl horsing around as a traffic policeman in front of the executive offices on the MGM lot in the late 1920s.

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Norma Shearer. Another star who was added to MGM’s constellation in 1928 was Buster Keaton, who would soon become friendly with Karl.6 The studio was a city unto itself, even containing a hospital and barbershop. Lot One was where everyone reported to work early in the morning for wardrobe and makeup. The famed Commissary was situated here, and starting at noon, companies were assigned staggered lunch breaks to prevent large crowds. (The Commissary’s chicken soup was very popular, according to Samuel Marx, story editor at MGM. Mayer had suffered such an impoverished childhood that he made a promise to provide chicken soup, “with real chicken in it,” every day.) Lot Two was made up entirely of outdoor sets ready to be used whenever needed, from European villages to train stations.7 George K. Arthur remembered that all the actors were housed in one building, in small cubicles, rather than in the private and luxurious bungalows stars demanded decades later.8 The men occupied the main floor, and the women were upstairs. Jean Hersholt, also from Denmark, and future president of the Motion Picture Actor’s Relief Fund, was assigned the cubicle to Arthur’s left. To his right was Lon Chaney, who was described as a “terribly sensitive man,” always arriving at work on time in a very conservative business suit. He would then proceed to apply his intricate makeup for whatever picture he was making, “in the same fashion that a druggist would put on his spectacles and open his doors for business.”9 Several partitions down was actor William Haines, Karl’s frequent costar, who Arthur remembered as “irrepressible” and always ready for mischief, much like his screen characterizations. Arthur was a little cooler in his description of John Gilbert, however, saying that the other players regarded him with a combination of “anger and awe,” since Jack had enough pull with the studio executives to obtain two entire cubicles while everyone else was stuck with one.10 This emphasized the fact that Jack was regarded as an exception, and that, by and large, the major stars rubbed shoulders with lesser luminaries and enjoyed the same accommodations. Arthur did not record the exact location of Karl’s cubicle. However, the Los Angeles Times reported an amusing anecdote about construction crews moving Karl’s dressing room over from its old location to a place in a newly erected building. Karl watched the entire process, complaining to onlookers that this was the third time they were moving him, and that “they wouldn’t let him stand in the darn thing long enough in one place for him to get into it and change his clothes.” In his memoir, Arthur recalled how one could ferret out the latest gossip at the studio. One person in the know was an African American man

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nicknamed “Slick ’em,” a part-time chauffeur to Irving Thalberg and a parttime shoe shiner. He not only polished shoes, he also entertained the clients at his stand with an impromptu song and dance.11 He was everyone’s father confessor and knew better than anyone the inside scoop on the studio executives, including who had won and lost in the previous night’s poker and pinochle games played by Harry Rapf, Mayer, Thalberg, and their associates.12 Soon after the success of Rookies, Karl and Arthur were paired for their second feature together, the now-lost Baby Mine, co-starring the lanky stage comedienne Charlotte Greenwood. Baby Mine is about two student chiropractor pals, Oswald (Karl) and Jimmy (Arthur), and their domestic exploits. Jimmy wants to marry his pretty girlfriend Helen, played by Louise Lorraine, but her big ungainly sister Emma (Greenwood) must be wed first. After a blow to the head, a dazed Oswald agrees to propose to Emma, but after the wedding night he leaves, fearing that he made a big mistake. Jimmy and Helen hatch a plan to trick Oswald into returning a year later — by making him think he has become a father. Of course, various complications result when three borrowed babies and a cigar-chomping midget are thrown into the mix. Eventually, Oswald discovers the deception, but is so relieved to discover that he is not really a father that he forgives all and decides to stay with Emma. Charlotte Greenwood recalled years later that the film was “a rough and tumble comedy, made in a haphazard sort of way, and it took us the greater part of the winter to finish it.” She also commented on the more relaxed production schedules of yes- George K. Arthur tries none too successfully to restrain teryear, saying that they Karl in Baby Mine (1928).

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were not “obligated to turn out a given number of pictures on a definite schedule, [and] therefore there was plenty of leeway for repeated takes, relaxation breaks and script rewrites, which were often as not done while the camera was cooling between takes.”13 Baby Mine was a stage play that was transferred virtually unchanged to the screen. For the movie version, Charlotte and Karl performed an unusually lengthy comedy scene of about 400 to 500 feet in length, when scenes usually ran about 15 to 300. As originally conceived on paper, the scene was not this long, but Charlotte and Karl improvised as the camera rolled.14 The April 1928 Motion Picture magazine declared that although most of the picture was “awful,” this scene alone was worth the price of admission. For the premiere, programs were handed out showing Charlotte costumed as a bride and Dane holding an unhappy baby. Advertisements crowed, “If you thought you learned about laughing from Dane and Arthur in Rookies, just wait until you see this one!” The film did well, despite a highly negative review by the New York Times critic Mordaunt Hall, who said that “horseplay, and not the play, is the thing.” He complained about the films “peculiar humor,” and that gymnastic activities and grimaces were employed to ratchet up the fun, indicating that he considered this to be low class entertainment indeed. Dane and Arthur immediately moved on to their next project, Detectives, which started filming on February 20, 1928, with director Chester M. Franklin at the helm. Here the pair’s formula was altered somewhat from their previous work, as the picture is basically a straight mystery thriller, with the laughs occurring when the boys blunder by accident into the different serious situations, only escaping due to their own stupidity. The duo both work in a hotel, Arthur as a bellboy who longs to be Sherlock Holmes, and Karl as the lumbering hotel detective. Rivals for the same girl, played by their Rookies co-star Marceline Day, they find themselves trying to solve a real-life mystery involving Orloff, a master jewel thief masquerading as a respected Egyptologist. Elaborate sets were constructed for the production, including a subterranean vault filled with mummies, and a house with hidden trapdoors into which the duo blunders while in pursuit of the villain. Also featured was Polly Moran, Karl’s wife from The Trail of ’98. Her role in Detectives was a departure for the former vaudevillian, who usually played drab maids and waitresses. Here she got to play a society matron whose jewels are stolen. The July 7 Mansfield (OH) News described different bits of funny detail, such as when Karl is all wrapped up in mummy cloth as he hides in a sarcophagus to spy on the villain in his lair. Meanwhile, Arthur’s character runs

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Karl (left) and Gwen Lee in a publicity shot for Detectives (1928).

off with the stolen jewels. A police battle ensues, and mistaken identity leads to slapstick when the real detective on the case is confused for a burglar in the hotel corridor. Experimenting with this new formula was a risky move, but apparently a successful one, since the reviews by and large were positive, with the Helena (MT) Independent calling it, somewhat sweepingly, “the funniest thing the screen has ever seen.” The Hamburg (IA) Reporter, reflecting the huge popularity that Dane and Arthur enjoyed in the Midwest, commented that their comedy was fun and natural, and that this was the reason “they have the whole world roaring with them.” Also worthy of note was a cross-dressing scene featuring Arthur in a hotel maid’s uniform and blonde wig, in which he is wooed by an unsuspecting Karl, leading one reviewer to comment, “Julian Eltinge, [a famous female impersonator of the day] with all his fame, had nothing on George K Arthur.” The Hamilton (OH) Daily News reported on some unusual equipment used in the making of the film. In one scene, Karl is supposed to walk into a hurricane-force wind and be knocked to the ground. To accomplish this realistically, the crew used a state-of-the-art wind tunnel built for testing air-

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Danish poster for the 1928 Dane and Arthur film Brotherly Love ( © 2008, Artists Rights Society [ARS], New York/COPY-DAN , Copenhagen).

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planes. This demonstrates that the duo’s comedies were not small-budget films, and that they were valued commodities. During this period the studio was changing over from orthochromatic to panchromatic film stock. Orthochromatic was oversensitive to red and not sensitive to blue, while the new panchromatic was sensitive to the full spectrum of colors. (According to David Wallace’s Lost Hollywood, opera star/ actress Geraldine Ferrar recalled that when making a picture in 1915, her blue eyes photographed as blank. Her director, Cecil B. DeMille, had a technician hold up a piece of black velvet. When she gazed at it, her pupils dilated, resolving the problem.) With the new film stock came a new lighting system. Cooler incandescent lights, or “inkies,” were gradually phased in to replace the hotter, hissing arcs, although the older technology continued to be used whenever extremely high wattage was needed, such as with Technicolor film.15 This necessitated a change from the thick white makeup foundation that performers previously wore. In fact, studio technicians specifically expressed concern about how Karl’s preferred old-fashioned greasepaint would photograph. Although not a star of the magnitude of a Valentino or Gilbert, Karl was riding a wave of popularity that year and kept continuously busy with a frequently brutal schedule. His on-location productions took him from Colorado to Arizona to the Bahamas. According to MGM production reports, he reported to work each morning at 8:30 or 9:00 A.M. at the latest. Work generally went on until 5:30 or 6:00, but sometimes the company worked late into the night. Detectives required several such workdays. Several times the company fell behind on its 24-day shooting schedule. Consequently, director Franklin would keep the cast and crew working late in order to catch up. On March 11 they were called in at 9:00 A.M. and toiled until 4:05 A.M. the next morning, a grueling feat they repeated two days later. The last day of filming was especially hectic, and the exhausted company did not wrap up until dawn.16 The daily production reports from nine of his films show that Karl had a rock-solid work ethic. He was late on only two occasions, with one of those caused by studio-ordered publicity photos being taken. The other time he was late by only ten minutes. Other players who starred with him experienced many instances of lateness or illness that held up shooting, including William Haines and Anita Page. The tipping point happened in the spring of that year. During the making of his next film, Brotherly Love, Karl was injured falling from a bicycle while filming a scene, breaking his left shoulder. Several days later the April 19 Modesto (CA) News Herald announced that he was admitted to a hospital for bronchial pneumonia, a direct result of the injury. The piece said that he

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was “out of danger,” which inferred that there was some earlier anxiety about his condition. He was sidelined for over a month. (Another source, the April 21 Waterloo [IA] Courier, said that he, in fact, fractured his collar bone. The injury led to pneumonia because of his limited mobility and the fact that the pain prevented him from taking adequately deep breaths. In the 1920s, antibiotics had not yet been developed, so pneumonia was frequently a fatal disease. Patients received a newly discovered anti-pneumococcal serum developed at Cornell University, as well as more old-fashioned treatment, such as an oxygen tent and mustard plasters.) Soon after his recovery, Karl had another brush with death, according to the June 9 Manitoba Free Press. Barely out of the hospital, he was involved in a car crash. While not injured, his unnamed companion was badly bruised. No mention was made of any other vehicle being involved. Karl had a small part in another Lillian Gish feature that year, heralded as her first, much-anticipated “modern” picture at MGM, The Enemy. Although his role was a small one, Gish did award him a stirring monologue on the horrors of war. A strongly anti-war film, The Enemy concerned the destructive effect of the conflict on an Austrian family. Victor Seastrom was originally scheduled to direct, but Fred Niblo ended up helming the picture.17 It starred Lillian Gish as Pauli, the daughter of a university professor. Two of his students, Carl, from Vienna (played by Ralph Forbes, from The Trail of ’98), and Englishman Bruce (Ralph Emerson), are longtime chums who both fall in love with Pauli. She and Carl eventually marry, with Bruce’s blessing, when war suddenly breaks out. Karl plays Jan, a valet who appears in only one or two comic scenes or two before the men go off to the front. In one, he cheekily greets Polly Moran, who plays Pauli’s cook, and attempts to steal a kiss; she rewards him with a sound slap. Rather than following the soldiers’ struggles, as in the later anti-war classic All Quiet on the Western Front, the film centers on the hardships experienced by the civilians left behind. Pauli becomes pregnant, and her father loses his job at the university. Eventually driven to prostitution, Pauli’s desperate decision is rendered in an emotional close-up of Gish’s face.18 The final reel no longer exists. However, the film ends happily when her husband, believed lost in battle, returns home after the Armistice. This somewhat improbable climax was criticized by the Film Spectator,19 who referred to “the blundering incapacity reflected in the ending.” The original script called for Gish receiving the news that her husband was killed in battle. In the alternate, he survives, and Karl was given an amazing dramatic scene, a testament to Gish’s faith in him as an actor. According to the program from the film’s premiere:

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Then slow dragging steps sound on the stairs. It is Carl’s orderly, Jan, wounded and battle stained. Through torn, anguished lips, comes the horrible story. They were on their way back from the front when an unexpected attack had occurred. Jan had lost sight of Carl, and now believes him dead. “No one could live in that hell,” he says.

The program had this to say about Karl: “Karl Dane ... brings more than mere comedy to his part in ‘The Enemy.’ The scene in which, as a war-weary soldier ... is as powerful a bit of acting as ever recorded by the camera.” Following the Gish vehicle, Karl was back with Arthur for Circus Rookies. The original synopsis, as written by Richard Schayer, who would later work on Universal’s The Mummy, went as follows: Hobo Karl, persistent applicant for a job with Burgling’s Circus, is employed after the gorilla has floored his third cage-cleaner. He enters the cage, and lets Bimbo escape, but later tames and recages him by the simple act of grimacing back at the anthropoid. A Master of the performing gorilla, he becomes the Star performer at the Circus, and woos pretty Belle, the aerial gymnast who scorns him.20

In the film, Karl’s character, Oscar Thrust, continually escapes danger unknowingly. In one scene he leans back against the lion cage, oblivious to the fact that the sleeping lion’s claws are within a few inches of the back of

Karl in Circus Rookies (1928).

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his neck. He also narrowly escapes a falling tent pole and a horse’s kick, all completely without his knowledge. Oscar is, of course, too dumb to realize the chances he takes, but he senses the fact that he has become a hit with the animal men. This emboldens him to pressure the boss for another job. Karl is then allowed to lead the elephant in parade, clad in a turban and bespangled kimono. Schayer wrote several different climaxes for the film, since they could not decide on whether Karl’s or Arthur’s character should emerge the victor. The original ending had Arthur disgraced, and included a close-up of him, standing helpless and ashamed, as the others all walk out on him. By February 12, however, the writers altered it so that now Arthur was awarded not only the girl, but the job of press agent for the circus. As a result, more scenes were shot which showed Karl bested by the gorilla: Medium shot: Bimbo picks up Oscar Medium Close-up: Bimbo puts Oscar in water and pushes him under. Medium Close-up: Bimbo pushing Oscar down under water. Fade out.21

The April 26 San Mateo (CA) Times related that director Edward Sedgwick directed a crowd of several hundred for one key circus performance scene, using an elaborate radio loudspeaker system that allowed him to keep his own voice barely above a whisper. Most of the extras were non-professionals, members of the public allowed in for free to play the audience, and also to enjoy the acts of the real-life circus company hired for the production. Brotherly Love, Karl and Arthur’s next feature, started shooting on May 29, directed by Charles “Chuck” Riesner, who had just finished Steamboat Bill, Jr., with Buster Keaton. The picture was an adaptation of a short story called “Big Hearted Jim,” which had just appeared in a national magazine. In this satire of reform prisons, Karl plays an overbearing guard and Arthur an inmate at the otherwise progressive Newberry Prison, described by the Helena (MT) Independent as a place “where pink tea and muffins take the place of bread and water, and the way of the transgressor is paved with roses.” The guards are actually there to prevent other criminals from breaking in, and no one wants to leave. The prison, or “dear old Newberry,” as the inmates call it, is run more like a college, in which each prisoner has a private bath, radio, and bellboy/maid service. The warden actually lies awake at night trying to think of ways to keep his boys happy. A very young Jean Arthur played the warden’s pretty daughter, who is pursued by both Karl and Arthur. According to the latter’s memoirs, he was very much taken with Jean in real life, and asked her to dinner, which she accepted. However, Arthur did not tell her that he was still married, and when Jean found out she refused to see him anymore.22

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Arthur (left) and Karl in a scene from Circus Rookies (1928).

The film climaxes with a big football game between Newberry and another jail. Karl’s character schemes to eliminate his rival by arranging a pardon for him on the eve of the game, but Arthur commits a series of felonies to get himself back behind bars to play and win the girl. Complications arise when Karl is arrested on his day off and sent to the rival prison, meaning that the two must go head to head on the playing field. Members of the University of Southern California’s football team, the Trojans, appeared as the players on the other team. According to the December 1928 Syracuse Herald, a special brace was made for Karl by his physician for shooting the football scenes due to his still-healing broken shoulder. Many years later, Lou Costello, who doubled Arthur in the football game sequence, recalled an injury he received during filming. According to the June 20, 1954, Ogden (UT) Standard-Examiner, Riesner instructed him to run with the ball and get tackled by the entire opposing team. To protect him from being crushed, the crew dug a hole to fit Costello’s shape and then covered it over. However, they failed to make it big enough to give him ample room to breathe; and the footballers piled onto him, Costello was almost asphyxiated and had to be hospitalized. An interesting photograph exists from this picture showing Karl sitting

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in a chair waiting for a shave and gazing uneasily at his would-be barber, Buster Keaton, who is studying his straight razor. Keaton is not credited with appearing in this Dane and Arthur comedy, so this may have simply been a publicity photo, since “The Great Stone Face” was then newly signed to MGM. Brotherly Love was released at the same time as Show People, a film in which Dane and Arthur made a cameo appearance in the famous studio Commissary luncheon scene. Karl appears wearing an arm sling, indicating that he was still suffering from the after-effects of his previous injury. Show People was literally a close-up look at the film industry in Hollywood at the time. This timeless classic starred Marion Davies and William Haines, with whom Karl had worked several times before. Davies plays Peggy Pepper, a small-town girl who hits the film city with her father, determined to make it big. Haines is the slapstick actor who falls in love with her. Many people make cameos in the picture — Chaplin and King Vidor are two examples. In one scene, Davies and Haines are outfitted on the set of The Big Parade as they prepare to be directed by Vidor. Other people that appear include Douglas Fairbanks, Renee Adoree, Leatrice Joy, Rod La Rocque, Mae Murray, John Gilbert, Norma Talmadge, and William S Hart. (Although Haines and Davies were on the set of Parade, Davies was actually in costume for her film Marianne [1929], according to Kevin Brownlow in an August 2009 letter to the author.) Aside from his grueling schedule, Karl had problems fitting in with others at the studio. Illuminating information about his coworkers’ perception of him can be found in the MGM Script Collection at USC. Richard Schayer introduced Karl’s character Oscar Thrust as follows for Circus Rookies: A close view introduces the elongated figure and exceptionally stupid face of Karl Dane. He is attired in a suit of ancient vintage and in general, gives every evidence of being the worse for wear, physically and sartorially. But he shows no sign of mental strain. He couldn’t.

This verbiage is a bit jolting, since Karl is mentioned by name specifically, suggesting that the writer was making a mocking inside comment, not just against Karl’s character in the film but against him personally. Another example of this snide attitude appears in the script material for another Dane & Arthur feature, All at Sea (1929). Karl’s character, who was initially named Olaf Jensen, was insultingly redubbed “Stupid” McDuff. No reason was given for the change in the notes that accompany the updates. This time, the writers were Robert Hopkins, Byron Morgan, and Ann Price. One wonders how Karl reacted when he received the final script. Another piece that appeared in the May 1928 issue of Vanity Fair was

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Karl (at left), George K. Arthur, and Louise Lorraine in Circus Rookies (1928).

especially telling. The author, former boxer Jim Tully, viciously dismissed Karl as “the gigantic ex-carpenter moron, Karl Dane.” Tully took cruel jabs at many others during his career, most notably John Gilbert, who was the subject of this article. (Tully said that Gilbert “is not a gifted actor. He plays every role the same.... [He] is a young man with romantic face ... and a conceit that through pampering and soft handling has passed all belief.”)23 The reason for this apparent contemptuous attitude was twofold: Karl’s blue-collar origins and his still awkward grasp of the English language. Despite MGM’s efforts to claim a legitimate theater background for him, Karl expressed pride in his ability to work with his hands. He was no intellectual and not embarrassed by this, although he was sometimes posed in elegant publicity shots, wearing a silken dressing gown and thoughtfully gazing at a book. With respect to the language issue, Arthur recalled in his memoir that Karl was friendly, but many got the wrong impression about him. He understood what others said but had a hard time choosing the right words to make himself understood. As a result, a rumor spread around the studio that Karl had “gone Hollywood.” A typical example occurred during the filming of one of the pair’s come-

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dies. According to the script, Arthur was supposed to punch Karl in the stomach, and Karl was supposed to double over in pain. Karl protested, using the somewhat unfortunate words, “My public won’t like that!” He simply meant that being on the receiving end of the abuse was not consistent with the duo’s usual comic formula. Unfortunately, the crew misinterpreted the remark as self-important and began to view him in a negative light. Arthur recalled that Karl was completely “helpless” and could not understand the reason for the change in attitude towards him. He was a simple and direct man, unfamiliar with subtle shadings in the English language.24 In this particular example, the word “audience” can be directly translated into “publicum” in Danish. Karl simply performed a direct translation of the word “audience” and had no idea there were negative connotations behind it. Others, particularly children, had more positive perceptions of Karl. Coy Watson had a small part in Show People, and later on, in the early 1930s, was a photographer who covered Hollywood parties and publicity stunts. At 94 years old, Watson remembered the filming of the studio lunch sequence very well, and remembered that Karl was “a happy sort ... we all liked him.”25 One would think, however, that if English was the sole issue, Karl would simply have focused on those people with which he could easily communi-

Dane (left) and Arthur (fourth from left) in All at Sea (1929).

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cate — such as other Scandinavians in Hollywood at the time. Most of the Nordic artists were at MGM and included Victor Seastrom, Mauritz Stiller, Greta Garbo, Benjamin Christensen, Lars Hanson and Jean Hersholt. Yet, it does not appear that he became close to any of them. One countryman’s viewpoint is especially enlightening. Peter Freuchen, a famous Arctic explorer who had a role in W.S. Van Dyke’s Eskimo, worked at the studio as a writer. When asked about Karl in an interview by the Aarhus Stiftstidende in January 1958, he recalled that he never met Karl personally but was acquainted with others who worked with him. Freuchen had the impression that Karl did not care to make friends during his years of stardom. As a result, they “hardly knew him,” and he was “unpopular among the artists.” Freuchen’s choice of words suggests that Karl was invited to social events but elected not to participate. Indeed, this remoteness from other people was a definite pattern in Karl’s life. The general consensus was that he was a friendly man but not someone you knew very well. Evidence for some mingling does exist, however. Karl did show up at certain group events, like the welcoming party that greeted Garbo when she arrived in Hollywood in September 1925, but this may have simply been an MGM-ordered photo opportunity. Karl also invited the entire cast and crew of Brotherly Love to spend their vacations with him at his new beach house, according to the January 10, 1929, Hamilton Daily News. (The article reported that 12 people accepted the invitation; Arthur, who wanted to go to Europe instead, did not. Karl started right away on an addition to the cottage.) Taken at face value, this anecdote suggests that Karl was a sociable person. Looking deeper, however, it also points to a rather lonely man, one with few true friends to share his leisure hours. We do know of one relationship from this time period — his romance with the Russian actress/ dancer Thais Valdemar. Other than that, we know no details about Karl’s love life from 1926 through 1928. Nevertheless, George K. Arthur reported that Karl adored women, and they responded to him in kind. Despite his gawky Karl, Hollywood portrait, December 1929.

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persona, he was a strapping, virile man and had a natural friendly charm that his partner recalled with envy.26 Thais, or Tania, as she was known to her friends, had as colorful and adventurous a background as Karl did. Even her grandchildren are not entirely sure what is fact and what is fictional about her life. A beautiful and mysterious figure, she was also a tough survivor who reinvented herself many times as the years went on. Tania was, in turn, a princess, dancer, fashion model, actress, backgammon teacher, hat check girl, hotel owner, and society wife. According to her family, Tania was born December 20, 1897, as Anastasia Georgini Kisselova in Rostodon, Russia. Other sources, like the Internet Movie Database, say her true birthdate is the more realistic 1894. Her father was a colonel in a Cossack regiment of the Tsar’s Imperial Guard. The tiny 4'11" girl was already a trained ballerina when the First World War broke out. According to an unidentified movie magazine, she was married to Prince Valdemar Walonsky, a young naval officer, but two hours after the ceremony he was shipped out and promptly drowned at sea in battle. This story is suspect, though, since she admitted in a September 1932 Los Angeles Times article that this marriage was a “mythical press agent ceremony.” More tragedy was soon to come. According to the same source, when the Revolution broke out, her entire family was imprisoned by the Bolsheviks in the Siberian town of Ekaterinberg, where the Tsar was assassinated. Tania’s father was similarly executed, which she may have witnessed, and her mother either jumped or fell to her death out of her cell window. Her brother managed to escape but went missing and was eventually presumed killed. Terrified that the same fate awaited her, Tania was helped out of the country into Manchuria. Perhaps she married her benefactor; later records uncovered by her grandchildren lists one of her surnames as “Wong.” This would not be surprising in a time in which she must have had to live by her wits in order to survive. Soon afterwards she met and married American businessman Paul Samuel Crawley in Mukden, China, in March 1917. They had two children, Paul William and Annette Louise. The marriage proved a disaster, since Crawley was a cruel and brutal man who battered Tania. The situation was so desperate that when the family sailed to the United States in 1921, she took the opportunity to flee. The couple divorced in San Francisco on July 14, 1921, and Crawley promptly took the children back to China with him. Tania had no contact with either of them again for many years, and, in fact, Crawley spitefully refused even to tell the children their mother’s name. Stranded in California, Tania faced some hard times. Like Karl, she had no English skills, but she knew what she did have: guts, beauty, and great skill as a dancer. This ensured a good living on the vaudeville circuit, and she

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eventually saved enough for a train ticket to New York. There she met some fellow Russian exiles who had sufficient connections to get her a spot in the Metropolitan Opera Ballet Company at Lincoln Center. Hollywood beckoned, however, and she was back out west by 1923. Tania told her family that she became a WAMPAS Baby Star, but she is not listed in the complete directory of those young actresses who achieved this distinction.27 WAMPAS was an acronym for the Western Association of Motion Picture Advertisers, an organization of publicists in the industry. From 1922 to 1934 they chose thirteen young actresses whom they promoted as having the best chance of achieving stardom in the coming year. Winners were feted at the “WAMPAS Frolic,” a party held in the grand ballroom of the Ambassador Hotel. There, the young women were presented to successful actors, directors, and producers.”28 Many of these actresses became prominent in the industry, such as Clara Bow, Mary Astor, Dolores Costello, and Joan Crawford. However, Tania definitely never made it into their league, and co-starred in only half a dozen pictures. While we know no details about how Karl met Tania, he did perform at the 1927 Frolic, so there is a chance they became acquainted there. What Tania was good at was getting herself noticed and written about in the newspapers. When she was cast in Bluebeard’s Eighth Wife, with Gloria Swanson, her fashion sense was the draw. The September 23, 1923, Ogden (UT) Daily Examiner reported that director Sam Wood wanted a unique clothing style for the movie. Ethel Chaffin, Paramount’s chief fashion designer, was unable to suggest anything that fit the bill. Then Chaffin saw Tania in one of her “quaint Russian costumes” and designed three gowns for Swanson to wear in the picture. Several other films followed, other exotic fantasy-type pictures and also, surprisingly, some westerns. One was The Range Terror, with Bob Custer. She also appeared as one of the “fourteen beautiful models” in The Dressmaker from Paris, a Paramount film. Her co-star was Sally Rand, the legendary burlesque dancer. When she was not acting, Tania was a fashion model, and was declared in one publication as “the most perfectly formed woman in the country.” No activities or films in which she participated were recorded for 1927, and her career seemed to be going nowhere. However they met, she and Karl were definitely an item by June, and the relationship must have moved quickly, since the September 13 Athens (OH) Messenger, announced that the couple was married the previous May. They were wed secretly in Tijuana, the piece explained, but it went unnoticed since they both used their real names. Yet, no record has ever been found of a marriage between the pair, in Mexico or in the United States.

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Why Karl and Tania would live this lie seems curious, until one understands the social and moral climate of the era. If it had become publicly known that Karl was living with a woman without the benefit of marriage, the reaction would have been swift and severe. Like most stars, he had a morals clause in his contract. Section 10 of the contract that Karl signed on July 3, 1925, stated: The artist agrees to conduct himself with due regard to public conventions and morals and agrees that he will not do or commit any act or thing that will tend to degrade him in society or bring him into public hatred, contempt, scorn, or ridicule, or that will tend to shock, insult, or offend the community or ridicule public morals or decency or prejudice the producer or the motion picture industry in general.

Sex was easy to come by in Hollywood, even for a gawky and raw-boned man like Karl. After all, he was a star with money and influence. Living together openly without marriage was another story. The film colony in those days was a rather puritanical place, and one had to be discreet. The “It” Girl and screen siren Clara Bow learned that to her detriment, as she found herself friendless and isolated by Hollywood society due to her frank and uninhibited attitude about sex.29 Only one picture of Karl and Tania together is known to survive: it shows the couple sitting in the sand in front of Karl’s Santa Monica beach house. The photo was printed in the Helena (MT) Independent Record under the November 8, 1928, headline “A Famous Movie Hero and His Bride at Play.” Karl is grinning and pointing out something in the distance. Tania, clad in a fashionable swimsuit, seems poised to throw something, perhaps a small ball. This suggests that the couple may have been playing catch with Fawn, Karl’s beloved German shepherd. On November 18 the Decatur (IL) Herald disclosed some disastrous plastic surgery that Tania received. The article said that Tania had had a nose job, and as a result she lost all feeling in her lips and her sense of taste. She therefore refused to pay the $500 bill from her surgeon, Dr. Josef Ginsburg. Eventually Ginsburg sued Tania, naming Karl in the suit, and they settled out of court. This fiasco led to Tania being proclaimed “The Girl Who Does Not Feel a Kiss” by reporters at the time. Despite the seeming carefree frolic on the beach, the romance would all come crashing down within a matter of days. According to later court records, on November 12 they had a big blow-out fight, and Tania moved out. The December 11 Los Angeles Times reported her Breach of Promise suit against Karl, saying that he persuaded her to live with him as his wife, promising they would be married in six months. According to Tania, on the day of the

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Karl and girlfriend Thais Valdemar sitting in front of his Santa Monica beach house, November 1928 (courtesy the Wisconsin Center for Film and Theater Research).

final argument he informed her that he would not wed her then or any other time. Tania sought $75,000 in damages, complaining through her lawyer that the defendant Karl Dane did succeed in seducing the plaintiff and in prevailing upon plaintiff to have and permit sexual intercourse between the plaintiff and defendant.... [T]he plaintiff was prevailed upon to and did live with the defendant as [his] wife, and did permit the defendant to introduce plaintiff to friends and acquaintances as the wife of the defendant.

Breach of Promise was an old statute, a holdover from the days when women were completely dependent upon men. It was designed to protect their virginity and reputations. As women gained more autonomy, these court actions became rarer, although they still occur from time to time.30 Making the suit even more nasty, Tania referred to Karl as “Karl Dane, sometimes known as John Doe,” remarking in the complaint that “he has another true name which is unknown to the plaintiff and which the plaintiff designates as John Doe, and begs leave to insert the true name when the same shall become known.” This is especially amusing because the pair had previously told the newspapers they had married under their true names, which they helpfully supplied for the article.

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Karl, represented by attorney and personal friend Albert Kidder, Jr., who helped him during his 1926 divorce case with Emma, asked for a time extension to answer Tania’s complaint. When Karl and his attorney did finally respond on January 5, 1929, they fired back with both barrels. Karl denied that he promised to marry Tania, and furthermore “believes ... that at all of the times mentioned in plaintiff ’s complaint, [she] was a married woman.” This suggests that he had been aware of her previous marriage to Crawley. He also stated that Tania “was an unchaste woman” and accused her of being “guilty of criminal intercourse with other men” and of being “of immoral, lewd, lascivious, and unchaste character.” Karl also accused her of having different “aliases,” among them “Thais Walkonsky, Mrs. P.S. Crawley, Anastasia Georgina Crawley, and Anastasia Georgina Kisseleff.” After January 5, all was quiet for several months. Then on May 14, Tania mysteriously withdrew the suit. Nothing in the court records explains why this happened. However, a tantalizing item appeared in the June 18, 1930, Galveston Daily News. While it did not mention Tania by name, this article obviously referred to the case and may shed some light on why Tania dropped the suit. It explained that con-men and women posing as royalty had brought

Karl reacts badly when he fails to get the girl in All at Sea (1929).

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trouble to the Hollywood elite in recent years. As an example, the article offered “a girl who posed as a Russian Countess [sic] involved Karl Dane in a serious charge,” noting that the matter was dropped when she was exposed as a fraud and was forced to leave. (If Tania was exposed as a fake, Karl was not the first to be fooled. A number of Russians who fled the Revolution came to America and pretended to be nobility, like the famed Mdivani family. The so-called “Prince” David Mdivani married Mae Murray, and his brother Serge wed Pola Negri. Both ungallantly abandoned their spouses when the money ran out, according to a post on the Alexander Palace Time Machine Discussion Forum.) Another piece of evidence was recently uncovered that shows Tania was no innocent in this case. Several years before meeting Karl, she apparently used the same trick in an attempt to gain a rich husband. According to the July 12, 1925, Port Arthur (TX) News, actor and prince Youcca Troubetzkoy embarrassed Tania publicly by denying that he was to wed her, declaring, “I hardly know the young lady in question.” Troubetzkoy was a co-star of Tania’s in the lost Paul Bern–directed film Flower of Night, also starring Pola Negri. Tania remains a mysterious figure today, since we don’t know which parts of her story were fact and which were fiction. Determining what truly happened to her in Russia is almost impossible at this late date, not to mention whether she really had noble blood. Although the events surrounding her violent marriage to Crawley seem to be pretty accurate, her true character remains murky. Surviving relatives were too young to get to know her well before her death, and none of her friends are still living. Yet she did make one significant comment to her family, recalling that she always prided herself on “never letting her heart get in the way of her loves.” This suggests that she simply regarded her relationships as a means to an end, rather than a way to establish intimacy. Karl’s feelings about the affair are also unknown. He did not speak about it to the press, and none of his friends or associates, like George K. Arthur, mentioned it in their memoirs either. We don’t know what attracted Karl and Tania to each other. Nevertheless, there were certain things they had in common. They were foreigners in a strange land who spoke English with heavy accents. They both had a son and daughter from whom they were estranged. They both experienced tragedy in their past, and were fearless adventurers. We will never know the exact depth of the relationship, nor how much they knew about each other as people. Tania never spoke about Karl publicly in later years. Nevertheless, an enigmatic quote appeared after her death in a 1974 Oakland Tribune article under the title “What the Ladies Wanted,” offering a tantalizing glimpse into her roman-

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tic mindset: “From a beautiful face, you can no drink.... I no can love a man unless he is ugly. Then he will have character.” Aside from George K. Arthur, the actor with whom Karl appeared the most frequently was William Haines, the breezy romantic lead who was the first actor to lead an openly gay lifestyle in Hollywood.31 Karl appeared with Haines in Slide Kelly Slide, The Duke Steps Out, Speedway, Navy Blues and Alias Jimmy Valentine. Haines would also lose his career not long after the advent of talkies, although his voice was not to blame. Part of the reason was his refusal to cover up his homosexuality. Haines remained with his partner, Jimmy Shields, for many decades and became a highly successful interior decorator in Hollywood once his screen career ended. He also was the longtime best friend of actress Joan Crawford. Almost all of Haines’ films offered the same formula. He typically played ambitious and brash young upstarts whose selfishness alienates all around him. Finally, by the closing credits, he learns some humility and wins the girl and the respect of his peers. The first film in which Haines and Karl appeared was the baseballthemed Slide, Kelly, Slide; it followed this same format. Edward Sedgwick directed, and it sported an impressive cast: Harry Carey, Warner Richmond, Sally O’Neill, and the child actor Frank “Junior” Coghlan. Many prominent professional ball players also made cameos, such as Bob and “Irish” Meusel, Tony Lazzeri, Vic and Ernie Orsatti, and Mike Donlin, who served as technical director for the film. According to the November 26, 1926, San Antonio (TX) Express, these ball players were incorporated into the picture when they were headed west to Harry Carey’s ranch to do some hunting. Along the way they all ran into Edward Sedgwick, who arranged for their cameos. Sedgwick also filmed that year’s World Series, and incorporated many of the important plays into the fabric of the picture, which included scenes with Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig. Junior Coghlan also remembered that they used the old Wrigley field in downtown Los Angeles for the playing field scenes, then the home park of the Los Angeles Angels.32 The June 19, 1927, Lima (OH) News claimed that Sedgwick’s sister Eileen was originally cast in the film as a Swedish servant girl, yet her footage was apparently cut before the final release. From the looks of the existing publicity stills, her blonde-braided character may have been conceived as a romantic interest for Swede, Karl’s character. Frank “Junior” Coghlan, then just eleven years old, played the street urchin Mickey who is befriended by Kelly (Haines’ character) and Swede.

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Coghlan, now over 90 years old, still remembers the production with fondness. Although his exposure to the adults on the set was limited, he remembered Karl’s friendliness and the time that he and Haines played catch with him between scenes. In his autobiography, Coghlan recalled an incident on the set in which Karl was called upon to summon real tears for a scene (in which Mickey’s bicycle is struck by a car and he is almost killed): William Haines, Harry Carey, and Guinn “Big Boy” Williams cried on their own with the help of a menthol blower, but Karl Dane had his own method.... Just prior to his close-up, he went over to the nearest and brightest klieg light on the set and stared into it. Soon his eyes were brimming with moisture and due to this cruel irritation he continued to produce tears for the length of his close-up and for several minutes after.33

No one knows if any lasting damage was done to Karl’s eyes as a result of this highly dangerous “method.” Klieg lights were powerful carbon-arc lights used in early filmmaking and often led to a form of conjunctivitis that could result in blindness. In all of their films together Haines played an obnoxious thorn in the side of Karl’s hardboiled, slightly dimwitted characters. Then, as the film progresses, they eventually become pals. Early on in Slide, unbearably obnoxious Kelly (Haines) riles up Swede (Karl) by lecturing him on the fine points of his swing minutes after joining the Yankees from the minor leagues. In Navy Blues he steals Karl’s breakfast, dirties his clothes on washday, and steals Anita Page’s character from him at a dance sponsored by the Ladies’ Uplift Society. It is almost cathartic when Karl knocks him cold, as he does twice in the film. Their next film, Alias Jimmy Valentine, opened on November 18, 1928, right at the time of Karl’s breakup with Tania. This third film version of the O. Henry story “A Retrieved Reformation,” was directed by Jack Conway. First completed as a silent film, Valentine was sent back into production for the principals to record some sound sequences, which only amounted to a few minutes in the latter part of the film. However, Karl’s voice was not included — his own talking debut would have to wait another year. Valentine was about a safecracker, portrayed by Haines, his two criminal cohorts (Karl and Tully Marshall), and the stubborn detective (Lionel Barrymore) hot on his trail. Determined to go straight, Jimmy abandons his criminal career and gets a job in a bank. Over time, he falls in love with the bank president’s lovely daughter, played by Leila Hyams. His past finally catches up with him when a little girl is accidentally locked in the bank vault and threatened with suffocation. The tension builds as Jimmy must choose

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between offering his expert safecracking services and saving the child, thereby blowing his cover, or taking no action and allowing her to perish. The film was warmly received when it premiered that year, earning $478,000 in profits for the studio — more than any other film that season.34 The April 14 Montana Standard noted the chemistry between co-stars Haines, Karl, and Marshall, saying that the three “bring a new idea of comedy to the screen, a comedy team, instead of a comedy duo.” Despite its success, the film earned the wrath of the censors, according to the William Haines biography Wisecracker, by William Mann35: Specifically, Joy [Colonel Jason Joy, the censor36] objected to a scene set in a church. Upon entering, Karl Dane cracks, “This one’s on me. I’ll get the tickets.” Looking around, he says, “Packed house. Doin’ a great business, aren’t they? Hope we haven’t missed the opening chorus.” Billy then has to keep him from picking the pocketbooks left on the pews.

Joy had suggested the scene be cut, but Bernard Hyman, the film’s producer, held firm, arguing it symbolized Billy’s conversion from a life of crime to the straight and narrow path. “There will probably be protests from these strict religionists to whom a hearty laugh seems completely irreligious. This is the only class of people who could possibly be offended by this sequence, which has been carefully, forcefully, and splendidly handled.” Karl and Haines next appeared in Navy Blues, an all-sound picture. The daily production reports illustrate its long and drawn-out production. It was originally started on January 31 under the original title The Gob, with Edward Sedgwick again at the helm. The February 8 Hollywood Daily Citizen reported that the crew started production on the U.S. destroyer Drummond in San Diego for the first five days, before heading back to the studio for filming. Already two days behind schedule on the 11th, the crew then left the lot for a Wilmington location. Sedgwick was dissatisfied, however, saying it did not provide a “naval enough” atmosphere, and decided to move everything to a wharf in San Pedro. He also took the company to Lincoln Park for lake shots, and to an ostrich farm to film the date scene with Haines and Anita Page. Personnel problems began when the crew returned from location: Haines was late to the set on five occasions over the next few weeks, but Karl remained unfailingly punctual. One wonders what occurred on March 2. Haines was 45 minutes late, and that very day filming was shut down. When it finally resumed on July 3, Sedgwick was out, replaced by The Trail of ’98 director Clarence Brown. Shooting continued until August 13, but then shut down once again, nine days behind schedule. The reports don’t say what happened with Brown, but

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William Haines (left) and Karl in the talkie Navy Blues (1929).

a third director, someone named Burton (no first name recorded, but probably David Burton37), was assigned to finish the project, which he accomplished on October 12. For Karl it must have been déjà vu all over again, since he had already suffered through the making of The Mysterious Island. The record is silent about how Karl reacted to all of this fuss, but he later told the September 1933 Woodland Daily Democrat that what he really disliked most about moviemaking was the bickering between directors and actors. He may, in fact, have been thinking precisely of his experiences on Navy Blues. Despite its troubled production, Blues was a fun film that featured Haines as Kelly, a “love ’em and leave ’em” sailor on leave who falls for the lovely Alice at a dance. After she takes him home to meet her parents, a family argument ensues, since her domineering mother bears a grudge against sailors. The men are called back to the ship earlier than anticipated, and the two lovers are separated. The extended time apart matures the selfish Kelly, and he returns months later ready to prove himself to the embittered Alice, now working as a dancer in a cabaret. She now wants nothing to do with him, however, and this provides a golden opportunity for Swede, Kelly’s pal, to step in to save the day. He begins a spectacular brawl in the club against the haughty patrons as Kelly steals Alice away.

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By this time Karl had discarded his cud of chewing tobacco that had been his trademark since The Big Parade, and added another. In his fight scene he utilized a funny side-arm jab to take out anyone idiotic enough to physically challenge him. Asking his hapless target to gaze upon his left fist, saying “See this?” he then proceeds to knock him out with his right. In an interview from the January 4, 1930, Chillecothe (MO) Constitution Tribune, Anita Page described how the fight scene was filmed. What started out as a straightforward sequence got out of hand when the extras became overly exuberant and started coming back at Haines and Karl with table legs and fists. Director Clarence Brown was pleased at the realism of the scene, but Page recalled being a bit frightened, saying, “I never knew how fast I could dodge!” Karl also enjoyed some fun interplay with Gertrude Sutton, the gawky actress who played Hilda, his Swedish sweetheart. In one scene the sailors are “rewarded” for their ship’s high efficiency rating with a mandatory dinner at the Ladies Uplift Society. The party is given by some prune-faced matrons who match the boys up with dance partners by pinning numbers to their uniforms. Swede is paired with Alice, but she is disappointed with his unconventional looks. Kelly is similarly disgusted with Hilda, his date, but succeeds in tricking Swede into switching partners. Swede is delighted by his new compatriot, however, and they exchange a few lines in which they apparently speak together in Swedish. Curiously enough, almost no mention was made of Karl’s voice in the press, except for the December 31 Charleston (WV) Daily Mail, which said that he spoke with a “decided Swedish accent.” Despite this comment, all of the notices were good, so this apparently was not a distraction to audiences of the day. In between this picture’s frequent stops and restarts, Karl made another film with Haines that went a lot more smoothly, the racing-themed Speedway, directed by Harry Beaumont. Beaumont took the company (which included Karl’s idol, Ernest Torrence) to film on location at the Indianapolis Speedway. When the actors and crew arrived at the racetrack they attracted curious throngs who watched the filming of several scenes. Famous race car drivers, like “Deacon” Litz, Ralph DePalma and Louis Chevrolet, hung around to observe the camera setups, chatting with Henry Sharp, the chief cinematographer. Litz also gave the 6' 4" Torrence a lesson on how to wedge his huge frame into a tiny racing car, a complex feat even for a small man. Haines and Karl were indeed the most popular people in Indianapolis during this time, and the entire cast was feted at the Aircraft Exposition Ban-

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quet, hosted by Governor Harry G. Leslie and the legendary World War I flying ace Eddie Rickenbacker. In this silent film with synchronized sound effects, Dugan (Karl) and Bill Whipple (Haines) work as crew members for a famous but aging racer, Jim “Mac” McDonald (Torrence). Bill, a brash up-and-comer who craves fame himself, is wooed away to a rival team. What Bill does not know is that Mac is suffering from a heart condition and shouldn’t drive anymore. When Mac collapses from a heart attack after stepping in for Dugan in a race, Bill comes to his senses and re-joins his old pals. Anita Page also co-starred as Haines’ love interest. By this time the mood in Hollywood was starting to shift. A reporter from the April 13, 1929, Exhibitors Daily Review commented that he had been away from the film city for a full year, and upon his return he found “conditions turned inside out,” and its atmosphere tense and sullen. Unemployment had risen, too, with actors and crew members alike now securing jobs for only a few days at a time on a film project, when in years past there would have been weeks of work. Claims made against the studios by angry players whose contracts they said were unfairly broken were skyrocketing, according to the 1930 Hollywood Filmograph, who cautioned executives about this trend. The reason for all of this was, of course, budgetary. The December 28, 1929, Exhibitors Film Review predicted what those in the industry could expect for the New Year. The Review stated that it would be a year of adjustment, “because of excessive prosperity and extravagance” during the last decade. With the introduction of sound, there were now extra costs in virtually every area of the film industry. Therefore, as the “novelty in sound ... ceased to attract,” studios would be forced to cut costs. To make matters worse, the easygoing atmosphere that highlighted the silent era gave way to a regimentation that stifled any sort of spontaneity. Visitors previously could just walk in during filming. Now the doors were guarded, since any extraneous sound would spoil a take.38 William Haines complained in an interview: When you make silent pictures, you leave the studio and go out to play. When you make talkies, you leave the studio and go home to study your lines for the next day ... dialogue cannot be ad-libbed. There are too many machines and appliances of all kinds that must be turned on and off and the time element is very essential. Things must be timed exactly.

He also expressed the anxiety that most actors were experiencing at the time: “One bad portrayal, voice or action, is liable to set a man back from the highest spot to the lowest. No screen player is definitely sure of his or her position now.”39

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Even the physical landscape of MGM was rapidly altering. The need for more space to accommodate new soundproof stages meant that the green lawns, willow trees, and magnolias were obliterated, much to the chagrin of Tony, the studio gardener.40 In these uncertain times, studio executives were anxious to calm the fears of their players — especially those from overseas. Irving Thalberg was inter-

Karl posing in his Hollywood home in 1927 or 1928 (courtesy of the Wisconsin Center for Film and Theater Research).

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viewed in the January 13, 1929, Los Angeles Times under the headline “Will European Accents Take them Out of a Career?” Thalberg soothingly said that while the studios would not be able to import future new European talent “indiscriminately,” he saw no reason to suppose that successful foreign players would see their careers impeded by the coming of sound. Indeed, he said, the American and English performers would have no advantage over those from Sweden, Mexico, or South America, since, with the coming of sound, all actors were being forced to learn things they didn’t have to worry about before, such as the cadence and inflection of their speech. Thalberg specifically singled out two Scandinavians in the article to praise, Greta Garbo and Nils Asther. This casual attitude is striking to the modern eye, given the eventual ruin of so many careers several years later. Additionally, Mayer was known to repeatedly tell those in his employ, “People who do their jobs have one for life.”41 If the direct and literal-minded Karl kept hearing these messages from his bosses, then one cannot really blame him for being short-sighted about planning for his future. During this period, each player was given a voice test, the results of which could literally make or break a career. The stress was enormous. As Clara Bow told Motion Picture Classic magazine, “All of us in pictures are so frightened.”42 MGM hired a speech professor from the University of Southern California, who invented a diagnosis sheet assigning letter grades in seventy-one categories. Anita Page received her own sheet in July 1928, which gave her a B in Inflection, and a C in Accent.43 Karl must have had his own similar sheet, but the results have not survived. That year, as if to display his confidence in his position, Karl purchased a house in Beverly Hills for $10,300 from a Charles and Rose Kraus. He finalized the sale on November 13, 1929, just several weeks after the Stock Market Crash. The deed of sale does not specify the exact location, but it probably was either 520 North Elm Drive or 322 Oakhurst Drive, since Karl did reside at both of these addresses in the 1920s.44 One photo still exists of Karl posing in what seems like a new house. He is standing in the archway of a sparsely furnished room, with what look like suitcases visible in the room behind him. His proud smile seems to say that he has finally arrived and achieved his own American Dream. Sadly, like so many others during the Great Depression, he would see this house, and almost all the things he loved in his life, torn from his grasp.

10 On the Road By 1928, MGM started making their first films with synchronized sound. The MGM executives, particularly Louis B. Mayer, were not fond of change and preferred to stick to the same type of pictures that had made the studio a success. However, by that time, public demand forced the studio to change course. People were starting to turn their backs on the silent movie houses altogether.1 This heralded the beginning of the end for Karl. The last silent film he made in this time period was China Bound, released in January 1930, the fifth and final Dane and Arthur feature made for Metro. The picture concerns an antique salesman, played by Arthur, who loves his boss’ beautiful daughter Joan ( Josephine Dunn). After he is rebuffed as unworthy by her father, she is packed off on an ocean liner to China. Accidentally stowed away onboard after falling down a coal chute, Arthur meets the ship’s stoker, Sharkey Nye, played by Karl. It turns out that Sharkey’s long lost love is Joan’s maid Sarah, played by Polly Moran. Initially hostile to each other, the boys soon team up to win back their respective sweethearts, and find themselves in the middle of a revolution. Joan and Sarah are captured and menaced by a lascivious rebel leader, paving the way for the pair to rescue the girls. At the end, Arthur wins the wholehearted blessing of Joan’s grateful father, and both couples marry. A few prestigious projects were planned that never came to fruition. Karl was slated to co-star in a Lon Chaney film called The Bugle Sounds, due to begin filming in August 1929, with a cast that included Robert Montgomery. The June 8 Hollywood Filmograph reported that these plans were abandoned when Chaney developed the throat cancer that would eventually claim his life the next year. The talkie Hollywood Revue of 1929 started production early that year. Dane and Arthur appeared with Jack Benny in a single scene, shot on March 22. The pair did not speak a word, but together warbled a song to Benny’s famed violin, after which Karl picked him up and carried him offstage. The sound log indicated that it had to be reshot since initially the three did not speak loud enough for their voices to register clearly on the new sound equipment. 146

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Dane and Arthur in Asian garb in their last silent MGM feature, China Bound (1929).

Karl appeared in two other films at the end of that year. One was Free and Easy, starring Buster Keaton, which began shooting on November 21. Montana Moon, helmed by Malcolm St. Clair, started a day later. Karl appeared in only one sequence in the former, a repeat of the “cave scene” that he also did for Moon. Here, in this “film within a film,” Karl is almost blown up when Keaton absent-mindedly sits on a detonator and blasts the set to smithereens. The shooting took place two days into production, and then Karl had a respite of several weeks, until December 7, when he was called in for his scenes for Moon. Part of the reason for the delay was that star Joan Crawford injured her ankle during rehearsal for a dance scene, and everything was shut down until she had sufficiently recuperated. Karl spent several days in December on location before shooting ended in early January 1930. As the 1930s started, Karl appeared in some high profile sound films, although making smaller contributions. Billy the Kid (1930) was one, which King Vidor directed. Nevertheless, Karl’s role, that of a Swedish ranch hand, was a minimal one, with almost no lines at all. A Lady’s Morals was another example, in which he was simply credited as “Swede in Audience.”

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Karl was also cast in The March of Time, a big-budget, all-star sound musical with luminaries such as Bing Crosby, Marie Dressler, Polly Moran, and Buster Keaton, who had become friendly with Karl. Conceived in the hopes of repeating the success of Hollywood Revue, the film was to be shot completely in Technicolor. Yet, after director Chuck Riesner filmed about twenty-four segments, executive Irving Thalberg decided to abandon the project, saying it was probably not worth the investment.2 Today, Karl’s scenes can be seen in a short entitled Crazy House, in which comic actor Benny Rubin takes a tour of a mental institution called Lame Brain Sanitarium and meets its unusual residents. Karl appears in two sequences, playing himself. Both are somewhat painful to watch, as he is made the butt of gags seemingly designed to humiliate him. In the first one he is garbed as a chef and watches in horror as Benny Rubin and Gus Shy try out the effectiveness of some “unbreakable plates.” The scene ends with a reaction shot of Karl getting a cream pie right in the face. In Karl’s other scene, the three appear in tuxedoes discussing how to get “to Copenhagen by way of the Panama canal,” the fast talking Benny and Gus furiously arguing over the best route as they draw a map all over the shirt front of a hapless Karl. While not particularly funny, the short does provide a first glimpse of Karl in color. It also shows that Karl was, in fact, a handsome man, since here he Karl and Arthur warble to Jack Benny’s famed violin in doesn’t contort his face into rubbery comic Hollywood Revue of 1929.

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expressions or drool tobacco juice, as he did in Parade and so many other films. Decades later, Arthur recalled in his memoirs how he was not surprised by the advent of talking films, but that they were a “great blow” to Karl. In the first big shock wave, he maintained, the studio heads decided that no one with a broken English accent could possibly be funny, so they forgot all about the contributions Karl had made and unceremoniously dropped him from his long-term contract. However, Arthur’s own British accent was regarded as more desirable, so they asked him to stay.3 Arthur’s claim that he was considered more valuable than his partner is a debatable one. Existing evidence actually supports the opposite conclusion — that MGM wanted to keep Karl around, even as they were cutting his roles. For example, the August 10, 1929, Havre (MT) Daily Promoter reported, “Karl Dane is still under contract ... but the option on George K. Arthur’s contract was not taken up recently.” The article went on to say that Dane is a type that could be used in almost any picture, but that Arthur is not so versatile. The August 19, 1929, Billings Gazette confirmed this version, saying that while Karl had been retained, “The Dapper Scot” was not so lucky, and his contract probably would not be renewed after production ended on their latest picture (which was China Bound). A third article backed up Karl’s precedence in the studio’s eyes. The July 23, 1929, Mason City (IA) Globe Gazette commented that he was “very successful in supporting roles,” and was not looked upon simply as Arthur’s costar. As for his partner, the article claimed the studio heads felt that not enough roles existed for Arthur’s style, which explained his relative lack of success compared to Dane. One possible reason for the discrepancy between Arthur’s version of events and what was reported in the papers was simply the passage of time. Several decades had passed between the end of Arthur’s heyday and his memoirs, and memories tend to fade or become selective. Another possible reason for the differing versions was that Arthur may have resented Karl on some level. Arthur himself admitted that he disliked the precedence of his partner in their team name. Also, sometimes Karl’s enormous persona overshadowed Arthur. On November 30, 1930, a journalist from The Capital Times (WI) attended a dinner given in their honor. Many officials and local politicians were in attendance, most notably Solomon Levitan, the Wisconsin state treasurer. An amusing incident occurred when Levitan, seated next to Karl’s partner, turned to Arthur and asked what he did for a living.

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Arthur, however, seemed to take the entire thing in stride, replying, “Oh, I play with Karl Dane — when he lets me.” Karl was definitely the more noticeable of the two, given his imposing size and distinctive features. And, of course, the incident was played for laughs. One wonders, though, how often Arthur was thrust into the background due to the extra attention given his partner, and what his true feelings were. If Karl was asked to remain, then why did he end up leaving the MGM “family” at all? Over the years, scholars have simply attributed a heavy accent to his lack of success, but this was actually only part of the problem. In Karl’s last interview he told the September 1933 Woodland (CA) Democrat that he suffered a nervous breakdown in 1930. He explained to the reporter that MGM offered to renew his contract at the time, but he turned them down since he was suffering from an emotional collapse due to a complete loss of confidence in himself and his work. He said that pantomime was his preferred style and knew that his voice was not really suited to talkies. Karl mentioned that simple exhaustion was another reason for his refusal, since he had made over 40 films in just five years. He received some sad news that year, too — his father died in September, which would have added even more stress to his fragile psyche. He didn’t explain the form his breakdown took, its severity, or if he attempted suicide at this time. However, statistics show that those who take their own lives have attempted it at least once before. Arthur recalled in his memoirs that RKO offered him an eight week vaudeville contract to perform stage skits based on the duo’s famous film scenes. However, the catch was that they did not want Karl. Times were tough, so Arthur agreed, and obtained a salary twice as large as he had received over at MGM: $2,500 per week. He had to hire another big man to play Karl’s part, but, luckily, “he didn’t cost too much.” By that summer the boys teamed to make a series of comedy shorts for Larry Darmour Productions. The June 27 Hollywood Daily Citizen reported that the pair completed six films in only eight weeks. Such speed was necessary because Karl was only loaned out by MGM for two months. Again, no mention was made of Arthur’s status, further evidence that he was not under contract by this time. The hectic schedule of these shorts was simply not sufficient to turn out a quality product, as producer Darmour complained to the September 27 Exhibitor’s Herald World. He said that the public now demanded more clever gags and sophisticated stories, so seven to eight weeks was necessary per film (about a month to prepare a good story, then a few weeks to construct sets and cast the actors, then ten days to two full weeks to shoot, followed by a week for the editing process).

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Dane and Arthur, right, with three unnamed actors in the Larry Darmour short Dumbbells in Derbies (1931).

Arthur claimed that he turned his solo vaudeville tour into such a success that his reputation was greatly enhanced in Hollywood. As a result, when he returned, the management of the Publix Theater houses offered both men $2,200 per week for a 22-week tour making regional appearances. Both accepted, and Arthur claimed that Karl left all the management decisions to him. If this was an accurate description of events, then goodwill still existed between the pair at this time.4 The duo was in Wisconsin first, making vaudeville appearances in various cities. The Milwaukee (WI) Press-Gazette featured a photograph of the pair, with Karl sitting as a passenger in the sister ship of Charles Lindbergh’s plane, the Spirit of St. Louis. The Appleton Post Crescent, reporting on the same event, said that Karl, a former licensed pilot, would be traveling by air exclusively while on tour in that state. Peggy Patton, a reporter from the Wisconsin News, interviewed the duo in December while they were on their road trip. She humorously commented that the smaller of the pair “fusses over Dane like a mother hen” one moment, but lords it over him the next. In response, Karl good-naturedly sat back in his chair with a sandwich and cup of coffee and let Arthur dominate the interview. A photo from this occasion shows Karl in his dressing gown cheerfully

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eyeing up a pretty girl who provided the musical accompaniment for the show. Patton was obviously a real fan, saying that the duo still had the right “stuff ” in them for great comedy but unfortunately had not found the right act. She said they were three times as funny offstage as on it. The writer lamented that their show would have been terrific had they been able to transfer one or two of the episodes that took place in the dressing room onto the stage. Their mistake was staying with old, stale material from their films, which worked in the silent days but lacked force when given a voice. After their dates in Milwaukee they made a quick stop on December 3 at Union Station in Chicago, where they posed for photos for photographers before proceeding to New York for engagements there. Karl had never liked New York much, since he found it “boring,” but now he was forced to spend the holidays there before traveling with Arthur back to Chicago from January 8 through February 3, 1931. By March the pair was in Texas. While in San Antonio, Karl got lonely and sent for his beloved German shepherd, Fawn, left behind in Hollywood. According to the April 5 San Antonio Light, he had to go to six different hotels before he found one that would let him keep the dog in his room. Being constantly on the road was a trying experience, as the boys revealed in interviews given to local papers. Arthur complained that since Karl was so tall, in all of the train sleeping cars he automatically got the bottom compartment. Karl also had to sleep diagonally across many of the hotel beds because of his long frame. Arthur fell ill with the flu in Galveston, which brought out Karl’s nurturing side. A concerned Karl hovered over his partner day and night, fixing hot water bottles, preparing hot lemonade, and anxiously summoning the doctor whenever his temperature went up. Arthur marveled that his own mother could not have taken better care of him.5 After Arthur recovered and the pair moved on to Dallas, the March 23 Morning News reported that four men would have the opportunity to appear in a Rookies skit with the pair, and asked anyone interested to apply at the Palace Information Desk. The act itself, which started in military costume and ended in full evening dress, received mixed reviews. One reporter snidely noted that Karl “mimes a hard-boiled Sergeant better than he talks him, with six feet of height, and three feet of voice.” Candid photos of the two men are almost nonexistent. However, a single one was found in Arthur’s personal collection. It shows them smiling and clinging to each other, as if to shield themselves from the cold. Karl’s hat is pulled down, and the collar of his camel hair coat turned up against the biting wind.

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Despite the sometimes negative notices, the tour was an overall success, given the enthusiastic crowds they attracted. Although their stars were definitely waning in Hollywood, Dane and Arthur were still popular in other areas of the country, especially the Midwest. Photos show them receiving local honors in various locales, being awarded keys to the city, and being feted at Rotary Clubs meetings. Paramount executive Walter Wanger was so impressed with the positive press the boys generated that he arranged for them to appear in a series of six short films. Arthur asked for $1,750 per week apiece, but Myron Selznick thought they deserved even more and awarded them $2,500.6 Filming took place in New York the summer of 1931. Arthur felt that two of the shorts were good, but the others were terrible.7 Part of the reason was that the studio’s writers were unable to create clever enough gags and storylines that would make Karl’s accent an asset. Arthur felt that these films were the finish of Karl as an actor.8 One of the comedies, A Put Up Job, is the only example of the pair’s work that is currently available on home video. Watching Karl perform in this 19-minute short is both poignant and enlightening. He and Arthur get jobs as carpenters with a company selling portable houses, with disastrous results. Karl was given a scene all to himself, which is played entirely in pantomime. While he attempts to erect one side of the house, it tips over and falls, Karl and Arthur together on the road , date leaving him crouching in unknown (courtesy Wendy Brest-Sani, George K. the space for the window. Arthur Collection, Museum of Modern Art).

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Karl stands, reacts with astonishment at his close call, and makes another attempt, this time wrestling with the window frame as it comes apart from the wall. The scene is rather illuminating in that it shows him stuck doing the same shtick from the previous decade. This gag and others are similar to those in the Buster Keaton films One Week and Steamboat Bill, Jr. Another scene is also similar to one found in One Week. At the end, when the finished product is presented to Mr. and Mrs. Blimpo (portrayed by Marjorie Beebe and Neely Edwards), everything is topsy-turvy: the kitchen sink is out of reach on the ceiling, the chandelier sticks out of the floor, and the bathroom fixtures are off-kilter (including the toilet, which is modestly hinted at but not shown). During the making of this short, Karl performed a variety of challenging stunts. In the opening scene an irate café owner (the place is ironically called the “Peaceful Inn”) fires the boys for incompetence. Karl is thrown out bodily, taking a running tumble and crashing through the closed door of the restaurant. Later, Mrs. Blimpo chokes on her son’s whistle, and Karl turns her upside down and vigorously shakes her to help dislodge it. All of these efforts must have taken a toll on Karl’s body, since the July 14 Film Daily reported that he had strained some ligaments in his side during production and was laid up for several days. The writing in many of these shorts was pretty abysmal. In A Put Up Job the same pun is shamefully used twice in a mere 19 minutes (“house erectors” vs. “house wreckers”). However, the duo and their co-stars are so enthusiastic that they somehow manage to make it work. This is also true in the earlier Darmour Dumbbells in Derbies. Here the boys are not total incompetents, but valued oil prospectors who quit their jobs, vowing that they want to leave the countryside for the lure of the big city, where there “are lots of beautiful things.” Desperate to get them back, the boss plans an elaborate charade to scare them back to their rightful place in the oil fields. This includes a setup to make the pair believe they have witnessed a stabbing, and that the murderer is now stalking them. In one scene the terrified men are fitted with bullet proof vests, supposedly to protect them in the urban jungle. Karl (very sensibly) asks, “Hey, what if this thing doesn’t work?” to which his benefactor replies, “Aw, that’s OK. You’ve got the government behind you.” Again, there is almost no plot, so timing and delivery make all the difference here. One can almost hear the two beats as Karl struggles to process this nonsensical information. Then, very reluctantly submitting to what he assumes is the other man’s better judgment, he slowly says, “Oh, yeah.” In January 1932 Karl received a painful reminder of his past glory when The Big Parade was re-released with sound effects, such as cannon fire, machine

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guns, airplanes, truck noises, even the ringing of bells and factory whistles. The resulting review noted that it was “disconcerting” to watch the picture now, given “what the years have done to the principals.” This stinging comment must have been embarrassing not only for Karl, but for John Gilbert, who had a myriad of his own problems by this time. Their female co-star, Renee Adoree, also on a downward spiral, was then in a tuberculosis sanitarium in Arizona. Right after A Put Up Job, Karl appeared in a 17-minute solo vaudeville act in Boston’s Loew’s Orpheum Theater on February 23, 1932. The reviews in Variety were poor and the jokes cringe-inducing. The show was summarized as “fifteen minutes of dud gags, mostly puns, in Swedish dialect,” with Karl wearing a World War I uniform throughout. It started out with some weak interplay between Karl and a girl “foil” before going into a scene from The Big Parade— a dramatic death scene on the battlefield, but with a humorous twist for the vaudeville audience. Upon dying in the arms of his buddy, Karl gasped out a final message: “Tell Minnie she was the only girl I ever loved. And tell the same thing to Belle and Charlotte and Anna and Blanche.” It all ended with a musical number as Karl sang in more dialect. The reviewer noted that the audience responded with polite applause, and diplomatically recommended that Karl scrap this act and try again. Despite this setback, Karl still had some reason to be hopeful about his future in show business. Mary Pickford was planning another film, called Shantytown, in the latter part of 1932, and wanted to give him a role. The October 21 Modesto News Herald announced he would play a Scandinavian part again, a character named “Ole Olesen.” Sadly, Shantytown would turn out to be just another one of those great projects that never came to fruition. By November 12 the Gettysburg Times reported that Mary now favored producing Secrets over Shantytown, and the idea was abandoned. This letdown was only one in a series of many for Karl Dane over the next months to come. At this time Karl had many strikes against him. Not only was he struggling with this uncomfortable new medium, but he suffered from emotional instability. He was also in his middle 40s — old by Hollywood standards. Karl bravely soldiered on and tried to adapt, and turned his attention to a new — and desperate — goal.

11 Mining Over Movies Nineteen thirty-two was a bleak year for Karl, as he struggled to find employment. Yet a few bright spots came in the latter half when he won two new parts. One came from his friend Buster Keaton in the film Speak Easily, also starring Jimmy Durante. According to the November 4 Ogden Standard Examiner, Karl had two hours’ work as a quarrelsome baggage handler challenged by Keaton in one scene. Karl did appear in the released film, but not in the role mentioned. He can actually be seen in a nonspeaking part as a policeman in a back alley who menaces Buster as he makes an escape down a fire escape. Luckily, a more substantial offer came from the Mascot studio for the serial The Whispering Shadow. Mascot Pictures was formed in 1927 by Nat Levine, formerly Marcus Loew’s private secretary,1 and famous for its serials and B-westerns before a 1935 merger with Monogram Pictures and Consolidated Film formed the larger Republic Pictures.2 When comedian Harry Langdon fell ill, Karl stepped in to play Sparks, the dim-witted dispatcher at the Empire Transport and Storage Company, which was being menaced by the title villain. The Whispering Shadow, a maniacal but brilliant crime boss, is in pursuit of the Imperial Russian jewels, and slays anyone who interferes with his deadly radio wave. Shadow has a large number of former stars in its cast, among them Henry B. Walthall (from The Birth of a Nation); a smirking and scenery-chewing Roy D’Arcy, who co-starred with Karl in La Boheme and Bardelys the Magnificent; and Robert Warwick, a former matinee idol. Shot in just 18 days in December, and led by two directors, Colbert Clark and Albert Herman, Shadow was truly a marathon production, with the cast and crew often working 12- to 18-hour days.3 In typically confusing but enjoyable Mascot fashion, there are a large number of highly suspicious characters introduced who could possibly be the Shadow, among them Professor Strang, played by Bela Lugosi, the owner of a nearby wax museum. (Lugosi reportedly earned $10,000 for his role, the most he had ever earned in his career.) Yet, in the final chapter, Karl’s bumbling Sparks is revealed to be the true culprit, his little puzzle toy the means of transmitting the deadly ray. Flashbacks then reveal earlier scenes with him 156

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showing that what we first assumed to be innocent behavior in fact masked pure evil. The Whispering Shadow turned out to be Karl’s last job as an actor. Ironically, he possessed certain similarities to his villainous persona. Karl was constantly underestimated in Hollywood, and was a man with things to hide. In real life he had an estranged family, trouble with the law, a bout with syphilis, and serious emotional problems. A couple of unsubstantiated reports stated he was a heavy drinker. Of course, all of this would have contradicted the image of the lovable “Great Dane” that everyone had grown to love. Another sign of Karl’s gradual deterioration can be found in the serial. A close shot of his hands reveals one interesting detail: his filthy and unkempt fingernails. This suggests a man who was slowly letting himself go in the last months of his life. By this time Karl started shifting away from his career as an actor to that of gold miner. Karl gave an interview to the Woodland (CA) Democrat on September 18, 1933, which appeared under the headline “Karl Dane Prefers Mining over Movies.” He was a weekend visitor in Woodland on his way back from Oregon when he took a rest on his search for “the perfect mine.” He declared that he had completely turned his interest away from films to this new pursuit. The reporter described Karl as a quiet man with an easy grin who was more polished than his screen characterizations allowed. The article also noted Karl’s advancing age (although he was only 46 at the time), mentioning his thinning brown hair and silver-rimmed spectacles. She also commented on Karl’s accent, saying his voice was deep and “a trifle hard to understand.” The earliest record of his involvement in this new career can be found in the incorporation paperwork for Avelina Mines, Inc., formed in Las Vegas, Nevada, on September 15, 1930. The actual property was near the town of Alamo, Estado de Sonora, in Mexico. The paperwork indicates that Karl became vice president on November 27, 1931, along with his lawyer, Albert A. Kidder, Jr. Another officer was someone named Fred Leslie, a building contractor from Glendale, California. The president of the company was a man named Cyrus Gossert. (In the document, Karl was described as a “Professional Man” and residing at 168 Alamont Drive in Los Angeles.) Not much is known about Cyrus Gossert. Born in 1876 in Missouri, he worked in gold and silver mining promotion his entire life. By 1920 he had a wife and son, and lived in Los Angeles. Mining was a family profession, since census records show that his Uncle George was in the same business. Cyrus’ job as a promoter was to raise money from investors in order to make development possible on a given property. According to his living descen-

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dants, Cyrus searched for that mother lode his entire life, but in vain. He died in San Bernardino, California, in 1950. Cyrus may also have been an unsavory character. A search of the Los Angeles County court records show that a few people brought lawsuits against him for fraud. The first was filed in 1923 by an Anna E. Bingham, and another in 1925 by Walter and Edith Humphry. The Humphrys testified that Gossert had fraudulently conspired to obtain title to their property. They requested that the court set aside the sale of their land for this reason. Whether Karl knew about his partner’s checkered past is anyone’s guess. We do not know what made Karl settle on gold mining as a profession. Certainly some of the newspaper headlines on the subject were tantalizing enough for those who thought they could get rich quickly. Before the 1930s, gold prices were fixed, and miners were forced to sell gold to the United States Treasury Department at the price fixed way back in 1837, almost a century before: $20.67 an ounce. In an effort to revive the economy at the height of the Great Depression, reported the Las Vegas Evening Journal, President Roosevelt issued an executive order permitting miners to sell at prices prevailing in the global marketplace. This was a definite advantage since the world markets had exceeded $30 an ounce. As a result, prospectors enjoyed a mini-boom in the gold market, and many people scrambled to take advantage of it. Another interesting question is how Karl’s experiences working in Colorado on The Trail of ’98 influenced his later career change. After all, at the end of the film Karl’s character strikes gold and becomes a great success. The following scene is from the original plot synopsis, it no longer appears in the released version: At that moment, in through the door, comes the Big Swede. He is gorgeously dressed. There is a huge diamond on his shirt front. The pattern of his suit is wondrous to behold. He tosses his derby to one side and sits down at the table.4

The upcoming construction of the Boulder (later renamed Hoover) Dam near Las Vegas also gave rise to enthusiasm for mining in the western states. Under the September 17, 1930, Las Vegas Evening Review headline “Las Vegas’ Mining Prospects Are Praised,” mining engineer Harry Beane stated, “The trend in mining is to develop gold.” He went on to predict that the cheap power provided by the dam would make it possible to open up old mining property long sitting idle. However, like almost everything else in Karl’s life at the time, the venture proved unsuccessful. The firm went bust when Karl and the other officers could not raise the required capital for operation, and they abandoned the project in 1933. At the time of Karl’s death, all of the shares that he possessed were completely worthless.

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We know that he did not give up on the idea of mining, however. In September 1933, as the Woodland (CA) Democrat article showed, Karl was still optimistic. Just prior to the newspaper interview he was desperately trying to raise cash for a new venture. He sent the following Western Union telegram to his friends Homer and Rhoda Preston on September 7, 1933, from Redding, California. Homer was a 31-year-old businessman then residing in Chicago, Illinois. (All of the following is now part of Karl’s probate file). Dear Homer and Rhoda, am in a bad fix. Can you wire me eleven hundred dollars at once? Will give guaranty and return soon. Karl Dane

He sent a follow-up cable to the couple the next day, September 8, from the same location: Dear Folks, am buying valuable property. Fellow supposing to be partner walked out. Must have eleven hundred to save my interests of twenty two hundred or be assaulted for fraud. Will give papers of property as security. Return payment three to six months. Karl

On September 10 came the following update: Dear friend, have wired friend in Los Angeles for one hundred failing can raise that on car here [sic]. Will and can sell part interest when straightened and return inside ninety days. If not, production will take care of amount in less than six months. Please do your best. Karl

Homer and Rhoda provided the loan, since the Probate file also contains a receipt for a telegraphic money order in the amount of $1,000 from Homer to Karl in Redding. Karl sent the following confirmation on the same day, September 11: Thanks friends, letter follows. Everything all right. Karl

Karl sent the following letter to them that day: Again thanks, and then let me explain what it’s all about. Without doubt you know by Eve that I have been travelling around the coastal states for the last three months trying to find a good mining proposition. A deal turned up in Oregon and I associated with a fellow and we were going to put it over, and we went to San Francisco. This fellow had four shovels and nine trucks, beside many other parts for mining work and that was his investment, my money tied up the property. In San Francisco we incorporated some fellows to go work on a share deal and they made a small investment. We went here to Redding to pick up the machinery, and that is where the trouble started. Four weeks ago the machinery was free but now it was not.

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KARL DANE This other fellow did not have money to release it and we already had spent some of other people’s money and we stood and couldn’t do a thing. To make things worse my partner takes a run out powder and left me here stuck with all my men. I am returning partly their investment and am free to go ahead on my own. Am leaving now for “Wolf Creek Oregon,” that’s the address, to go to work the best I can and am advertising right away for a partner with enough cash so that I can return you your money. Then I have a place to live and a helluva lot of hard work ahead of me but the property has a value of one to two hundreds of thousand [sic] in it and it is not hard or difficult to mine. As soon as I can get around to it I shall take some pictures and send you [sic]. I am not going to wait for your letter here but have it forwarded to me there. That will save me time and time costs now. As soon as I get it I shall write you. I hope you can see the situation I was in. I tell you I have never been in so tight a spot before. I know just about how you stood and hated to ask you but couldn’t leave here and there wasn’t any choice. Now the whole thing is going to come out all right. Best to you both, Karl.

Homer sent the following note to Karl that same day, expressing both his own care and concern for Karl, and also his own financial difficulties. Dear Karl: We just finished sending you a Western Union money order in the amount of $1,000. Believe me, old fellow, we sincerely hope that this will enable you to overcome the difficulties that you have encountered. We had one hell of a time raising this amount for, as you know, money is a pretty damn scarce article these days. So far as we are concerned, we have been experiencing a pretty tough struggle in our own business and have invested everything we own in it. We seem to have very excellent prospects for success but, of course, the Lord only knows how it will eventually work out. If it doesn’t work out satisfactorily within the next few months, we too will be in a hell of a fix. Now about the money we have secured for you. I want you to know the details so that you will thoroughly understand the basis upon which we were able to secure the loan. In the first place, you remember Herb and Lenore Andrews, and possibly you will recall that Herb died a little better than a year ago. His widow, Lenore, received a small amount of insurance. She has been working steadily at about $85.00 a month since the death of Herb so, of course, it is obvious that her circumstances are none too healthy. However, she had the balance of her insurance invested in a Fourth 41 ⁄ 4% Liberty bond. This, of course, represents her all. Rhoda has known Lenore for many years and she, as she told us, would not do this for anyone else. I am sure you will be interested to learn that it was entirely through Rhoda that we were able to make the grade. The details of the loan are as follows: She cashed the $1,000 bond on the understanding that she is to receive 6% interest from date and that upon repayment the sum will be repaid in the same type of bond of the same issue that she cashed. This by reason that she suffered a bit of a loss in having sold it two or three points under what she paid [sic]. We have given our joint judgment note to her for the full amount, guaranteeing repayment in ninety days with interest of 6%. The cost of sending the money

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amounted to $4.99 including tax. There might be a small loss to you involved in repurchasing the same bond at time of repayment in case the market price goes up, but this shouldn’t amount to a great deal. I want you to know all of these details for, of course, it would be impossible for us to make repayment on the due date. I know that you will understand that had we had this amount that we could have sent to you ourselves, we would not indulge in all of these details but again I will say that I am sure you will understand. The cost involved seems insignificant if the amount makes it possible for you to accomplish your purpose. In case something should happen to you, it might be well if you would forward to us a note which we will in turn convey to Lenore. This will, of course, safeguard her insurance money. We both sincerely hope that you will pull out of this situation and that it proves as profitable as you anticipate. We will be might [sic] interested to know what it is all about and how you progress. Best Regards, Homer.

A note was added as a postscript to the bottom of this letter in Karl’s probate file: “No reply was ever received to this letter. Subsequent letters addressed to Wolf Creek were returned unclaimed. No word was ever received since the above letter was sent.” What happened to this last mining venture in Oregon is a mystery. Since Karl dropped all contact with these friends, the venture apparently did not work out, and he lost all of the money they raised for him. Also unknown is whatever became of widow Lenore Andrews, who lent Karl her life savings. This was a huge loan, especially for someone with limited means: $1,000 then was worth over $16,000 in today’s dollars. Also, Homer’s letter suggests that Karl did not even know Lenore very well; that she made this gesture at all shows the depth of feeling she apparently had for him. That Homer asked Karl to write a note to safeguard Lenore’s money “in case something should happen” is significant. Since Homer declined to lend any of his own funds, he may have sensed that Karl would not be very reliable. The fact that Karl simply disappeared was an unfortunate pattern that he repeated several times over the course of his life. It first occurred when Karl came to the United States and lost touch with his family. In 1930 he drifted away from them a second time, after only intermittent correspondence, when his fortunes took a downturn. It suggests that when Karl was ashamed of himself he simply took the path of least resistance. In the case of Homer, Rhoda and Lenore, he severed all contact rather than admitting he had made an error in judgment and lost their money. The probate record does not specify whether Karl ever made it out to Wolf Creek. He is not listed in the city directories from 1933. Also, a search of period newspapers shows no advertisement for a new partner, which Karl

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mentioned in his letter. The closest hotel is the still-popular Wolf Creek Inn, which was a favorite vacation spot of golden-age celebrities like Clark Gable and Carole Lombard, but no one knows if Karl stayed there. All of the Inn’s ledgers disappeared years ago. However, the entire region, including the nearby abandoned town of Golden, was a prosperous mining hub in the late 19th century. Homer did make an attempt to get this money back from Karl’s estate after his death, which was why the letters and telegrams are included as part of the probate file. Since he was reduced to such poverty at the time of his suicide, nothing was left for his friends to collect. September 1933 marked the beginning of the end for Karl Dane. With no money and few prospects, he returned home at some point to Los Angeles. Gradually, he slipped into a deepening depression and malaise. The timing could not have been worse for him. The entire country was in the grips of an economic catastrophe. 1933 was the height of the Great Depression, and 13 million people, or 25 percent of the country’s workforce, were unemployed. Five thousand banks had gone bust, and industrial production had been cut in half.5 Many people were looking for someone or something to blame for all of this suffering, and the so-called excesses of the 1920s was a common target. A good number felt that economic depressions were caused by dissipation rather than economic realities. Therefore, as Karl and many of his compatriots in Hollywood saw their careers come to a grinding halt, they experienced very little compassion from the common folk. People were simply suffering too much to have any sympathy for former stars who made more in one year than they would see in a lifetime. It would be a painful lesson for Karl in the months to come.

12 Last Days The months after the Oregon mining deal fiasco were shadowy ones for Karl Dane. At some point he took up residence in his final home, at 626 South Burnside Avenue1 in Los Angeles. Newspaper articles say that he had a modest furnished room in the four-story building, which still stands today. There would be no more newspaper interviews. No more rave reviews. No more film work. In fact, there would be very little work for Karl anymore, period. There was, however, one cartoon. It appeared in the February 1934 Los Angeles Examiner, under “Hollywood Oddities,” with the headline “Did You Know that Karl Dane Operates a Hamburger Stand in Hollywood?” It showed a lanky caricature of a seemingly befuddled Karl clad in an apron and wielding a spatula. He is faced with a customer sitting at the other side of the counter who breezily informs him, “I’ll pay you Tuesday.” The cruelty is a bit jolting, but Karl never went on the record with any reactions. Despite the mocking tone, the piece is historically valuable as the only known mention of this business before Karl’s death. If the cartoon is historically accurate, it tells us that the “hot dog stand” was probably not one of the small portable carts that we know today. Rather, the stand was a more permanent structure and counter, with seats for people to sit on and eat the food they ordered. An April 1934 article from the Danish newspaper Politiken also said the stand was similar to those in that country at the time. In his memoir, George K. Arthur provided some nuggets of information about the location of the business, as well as some thoughts on the sad circumstances of Karl’s last days: People have said to me many times: “He had been a carpenter before. Why couldn’t he go back to being a carpenter?” Those who say that did not know Dane and they do not know Hollywood. When you have had success in Hollywood and lost it, you make others uncomfortable. You are a reminder that it can happen to anyone unless you can laugh it off or get out of town. Karl was too hurt and baffled and bewildered for that. He could only sit and lick his wounds. Another man might have kidded and clowned and made a feature of being “mine host” in a restaurant, but when Karl opened his hot dog stand in Westwood, his own feeling of despair must have

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Karl’s last residence at 626 South Burnside Avenue in Los Angeles (photograph by Dan Balogh). been served across the counter with the hamburgers. People could not bear to watch it. So they didn’t come to buy his hamburgers.

The April 19, 1934, Mirror (NY) also provided valuable detail about the business, saying that Karl became a waiter in a “tiny café,” and finally bought a part of the business. Poignantly, one day not long before his death, while washing dishes with some co-workers, he expressed a dream of saving up enough money to open a beer garden in Westwood. He wanted the neon sign to read “Karl Dane’s Place.” (A beer garden was an open air establishment that legally served alcohol, and was first popularized in Bavaria in the 19th century. Karl would have remembered the one in the Tivoli in his native Copenhagen.) Sadly, his stand “failed the other night ... and on Saturday, Karl killed himself.” The Hollywood story claims that Karl’s hot dog stand was right outside the studio gates. Given the fact that both Arthur and the New York Mirror place it in Westwood, in western Los Angeles, this is probably the more believable version. The dramatic assertion that Karl was humiliatingly hawking frankfurters only feet from the site of his former triumphs only appeared in scandal books written decades later, such as Kenneth Anger’s Hollywood Babylon II. This story has lived on for years, and many people otherwise unfa-

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miliar with Karl as a performer only know this one so-called fact about him. If it truly had happened that way, it certainly would have been mentioned quite prominently in Karl’s many obituaries. The press certainly printed the other salacious facts surrounding the incident. It appears that “the tipping point” for Karl was the fact that his final business attempt failed and he was reduced to complete poverty. Up until the day he finally closed up shop, Karl still held onto a dream of a better life for himself. He hoped to see his name up in lights again, even if not as a film actor. Working the stand was not the only job Karl had in those last desperate days. According to the dozens of stories published in the days after his demise, Karl also worked as a carpenter and car mechanic. Another source, the April 16 Daily Inter-Lake (MT), said that Karl operated a garage at one time. However, these jobs only lasted for a short time. The Los Angeles Times even reported that Karl was taking classes to learn a new trade, that of a plumber. Before he took the job in the hot dog stand, the April 1934 Politiken said that he worked as a waiter in a restaurant whose owner believed that the former film star would be a good attraction. When this did not work out, Karl was simply fired. This same source disclosed that soon before his death Karl went back to his former studio bosses and begged them for a job. He asked to be hired as a humble extra or studio craftsman, of which there were over 1,000 employed at the time, but he was refused on both counts. No one specified if he approached MGM or Paramount, or who in particular turned him down. Apparently, he was refused the job of an extra because his “type” wasn’t useful anymore. Harsh as it may seem, the studio’s position was understandable. Karl’s gangly and distinctive look made it all but impossible for him to blend into a crowd. This had worked to his advantage before in his career, but not now. He would have been a distraction from the main action in any scene in which he appeared. In the January 1958 Århus Stiftstidende, Danish journalist Tage Elmholdt explored yet another possible reason behind Karl’s decision to end his life. He posited that Karl was literally on the run his entire life — from his homeland to America, to his farm in California, to his career in Hollywood — and that the reason was “an insidious, incurable blood disease.” He attributed Karl’s final desperate act of suicide to this disease finally overcoming him in the end. The disease’s name is not mentioned. However, Karl suffered from syphilis years before, and given the delicacy of the subject matter fifty years ago, one can easily read between the lines. Elmholdt strongly inferred that Karl had never been truly cured from his bout with this unnamed disease,

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saying that due to his “incurable illness” he became more and more withdrawn over the years and seldom opened up to reveal his problems. The theory that Karl committed suicide because he was ill is intriguing, but one has to consider the source. He had been estranged from his family in Denmark since 1930, so they would hardly have been privy to any medical problems he supposedly suffered from at the time of his death. Therefore, unless some other evidence surfaces, this idea can be safely discounted. Many stories at the time of Karl’s death mentioned one close friend at the end, Frances Leake. Frances was described by the April 16, 1934, Los Angeles Examiner as a 28-year-old who lived at 3616 Third Avenue in Los Angeles. She aided Karl financially in those last desperate months. The April Politiken said that Karl had completely withdrawn from all of his former acquaintances, except for his “warm friendship” with Frances. She visited him almost every day and did everything she could to encourage him, even “acting as his spokesman at the film studio.” Frances was referred to as an “actress” in the Danish article, but according to federal census records she was actually a hat designer. Also, the claim that she was Karl’s “spokesman” in Hollywood is curious. Even if Frances had been an extra in pictures, she would hardly have had any influence to manage Karl in any way. Where the Danish newspaper received this information is unclear. Articles contain conflicting information about both the duration and exact nature of their relationship. The Danish piece suggested that the two were friends for awhile, but other newspapers said that Frances only “occasionally” befriended Karl. The Los Angeles Daily Examiner said that Frances had “befriended him in the last dark days of his life.” The reason for the disparity is unknown. Evidence points to a definite downward spiral in Karl’s very last days. Frances told reporters that he had been despondent and had lost interest in life. He was also overwhelmed with anxiety about his financial situation. The April 15 Los Angeles Examiner stated that every evening, after yet another exhausting day out searching for a job, Karl paced the floor of his apartment for hours on end. One small article in the April 23, 1934, Los Angeles Times mentioned a pivotal event that occurred the day before Karl’s death. The paper reported that “the meanest pickpocket in the world” robbed him of $18, all the money he had, the previous night. This theft would have explained why Karl was almost literally penniless the next day, and it underlined poverty as the true catalyst for Karl’s decision to end his life. Another open issue was whether Karl was a problem drinker at this time.

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Rumors circulated that he may have had a problem, but no documented proof exists. None of the newspaper accounts pointed to empty liquor bottles or drunken behavior, and George K. Arthur remained silent on this subject. Yet we know several important facts. First, a correlation does exist between suicide and alcohol abuse.2 Second, Karl’s father was a problem drinker, and sometimes substance abuse is biological in nature. Third, the fact that someone was able to take Karl’s money away from him the night before his death is significant. Karl was a big and imposing man, and not someone that would have normally been chosen as an easy mark. This suggests that Karl was possibly incapacitated or not paying close attention to what was going on around him that evening. In any case, the loss of this money was probably the event that put him into his final desperate crisis state. On Saturday, April 14, The Chicago Tribune related that Karl had plans to meet Frances and go to the theater in the evening. When he failed to show up, she called his apartment. Upon receiving no answer, she went to his building and repeatedly knocked on his door. Truly alarmed now, Frances summoned the manager, a Mrs. B. White, who retrieved her passkey and unlocked the door. What greeted them was a ghastly scene. There they found Karl, slumped dead in his armchair, clad in trousers, a shirt and slippers, a gaping hole in his temple. Frances fainted at the sight of her friend’s body. The Los Angeles Examiner posited that the loud jazz music blaring in the apartment directly above Karl’s had muted the sound of the gunshot. According to the April 18 New York Herald Tribune, a large scrapbook was on a table near his body, filled with all of Karl’s old film contracts, pictures of himself, and clippings from magazines and newspapers detailing his past triumphs. He had apparently spent the last hour of his life sadly pondering his older, happier days before finally putting the gun to his temple. Next to the scrapbook was his farewell note, which, according to the April 16 Piqua (OH) Daily Call, simply said, “To Frances and all my friends — goodbye.” The pistol used in the suicide was described as either a .38 caliber (per the New York Herald Tribune) or a .32 (according to the coroner’s report). The coroner’s report, an official document, is likely to be the most accurate. How the weapon came into Karl’s possession was never explained. If he had only recently purchased or borrowed it, it would suggest that he had planned his death. If he owned it for a while, then his suicide could have been a spontaneous act. No one will ever know. According to the coroner’s register, the call was made to the police at 8:15 P.M., and an Officer Christiansen from Hollywood Station was the official who reported the case. The investigating officers were Detective Lieutenants

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Robert L. Parker and N.R. McRae of the Wilshire Division. Politiken related that one of the officers informed MGM of what had occurred soon afterward. Parke and McRae interviewed the distraught and sobbing Frances, and also many of the neighbors in the Standish, Karl’s apartment building. The residents seemed well aware of his predicament, and commented to the April 15 Los Angeles Examiner that Karl was “melancholy,” could only get small parts now and then, and was flat broke. The police took Karl’s body out of the building and registered it at the morgue at 10:00 P.M.3 The information noted in both Karl’s death certificate and the coroner’s register is spotty. Apparently, those at the scene knew his original birth name but misstated it as “Rasmus Karl Thekelsen Gottlieb,” rather than the correct “Therkelsen.” (This mistake was repeated down through the years.) His age was listed as “about 47,” and his marital status on both documents read “unknown.” Whether Karl and Frances were just platonic friends or romantically involved remains an open issue. Some journalists hinted that the “friendship” might have been something more, since Frances was described as “blonde and comely” in articles covering Karl’s death. Also significant is the fact that Karl addressed his suicide note to her. The fact that Karl chose to write “To Frances and all my friends,” setting her apart from others in his life, can be interpreted in two ways. She could have been his closest friend, or they could have been lovers and therefore not “friends” in the traditional sense. In any case, the fact that Frances did not know Karl’s exact birthdate, his marital history, or any information about his family in Denmark casts some doubt on their level of intimacy. Such secretive behavior, however, was part of a general pattern in Karl’s life. Just as he failed to disclose his past marriages to both Helen and Emma, Karl again chose to keep certain parts of his life completely secret from Frances. No autopsy or inquest took place. The Los Angeles Examiner stated that the coroner’s office tied a tag to Karl’s body which read, “May have relatives in Denmark. Hold for awhile.” Many articles about Karl claimed that he almost ended up in a pauper’s grave. The reality is that this would never have actually occurred, even had MGM not eventually intervened. An upset Jean Hersholt, a fellow Dane and former MGM colleague, gave an interview that was printed in the April 26 Mansfield (OH) News. He insisted that half a dozen of his countrymen contacted him offering to pay the expenses, but before anything could be done, MGM made their own plans. As to the accusations that Karl’s body was allowed to lie unclaimed due to indifference, Hersholt explained that no one knew Karl had died until they read about it in the Sunday papers, and then nothing could be accomplished until the weekend was over.

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If true, this information seems to finally put to rest the longstanding rumor that humanitarian Jean Hersholt had to talk MGM into doing the right thing, saving Karl from an ignominious burial. Hersholt stated that the studio, “without solicitation from anyone, took over the funeral.” One of these countrymen willing to pay funeral expenses was the Danish actor Carl Brisson, a Paramount studio player and a total stranger to Karl. The April 27 San Mateo Times reported that Brisson sent word to the morgue, but by this time all the arrangements had already been made. Some newspaper articles mentioned that ads were placed in Danish newspapers to try to locate family members to take charge of the body. While no one came forward, Carla and the children did know about Karl’s death as early as April 16. Politiken interviewed Carla that day, with Ejlert and Ingeborg (although not specifically named) in tow. The article related that Karl’s body lay in a Hollywood mortuary, and that he probably would be buried in Hollywood. However, before a final decision could be made, authorities were trying to locate relatives in Denmark. If family could be reached who wished him to be buried there, Karl would have been cremated and his ashes transported by ship to Copenhagen. The piece then took a decidedly melodramatic turn, painting Carla as an almost martyred figure, referring to her as “heroic” and “the famous film actor’s abandoned wife” who toiled away at her sewing machine for the upkeep of her son and daughter who barely remembered their father. Carla spoke of her errant husband as “the love of my youth,” and poignantly related that she had forgiven him long ago, although he did not treat them as he should have. She was also confident that his thoughts were with them during his final moments on earth. Carla also expressed some positive memories of Karl. She was amazed that they could not use him in sound films, since “he used to sing so beautifully,” and recalled him as a clever and skilled person who “could make anything imaginable.” One wonders if the words of forgiveness represented Carla’s true feelings, or if they were simply platitudes expressed by a woman who wanted to say what was socially acceptable. Aside from the 1918 formal separation document, we have no other example of Carla’s voice on the subject, even from her descendants. Strikingly, the article mentioned that they were searching for relatives when actual family members were being interviewed. The tone of the article seems to be that it wasn’t Carla’s responsibility to bring Karl’s body home to Denmark. Under the circumstances, this is understandable, since Karl had not seen them for 18 years. Nevertheless, the natural question arises as to

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whether Carla knew where Karl’s other relatives were located, and, if so, did she provide the authorities with his information? It does not appear that she did, since Reinald later claimed to have found out about his brother’s death later, after being sent some clippings from American newspapers. This suggests that someone in the States may have alerted Reinald. In any case, by Monday morning, April 17, MGM notified the morgue that they were taking charge of Karl. The coroner’s register states that the person from MGM who made the call was Ralph Wheelwright, the “friend in charge” listed on the death certificate. (Wheelwright was a writer and producer at MGM at the time, whose screen credits included the story for The Man of a Thousand Faces at Universal years later.) Karl’s body was immediately sent to the Pierce Brothers Undertakers for embalming, and the funeral was planned for that Thursday, April 18, at the fashionable Hollywood Memorial Cemetery, which is known today as Hollywood Forever. His former costars Rudolph Valentino and Renee Adoree were already both interred there. Karl’s death deeply shocked many people, both in Hollywood and Middle America. How could someone who had once earned so much money end up in utter poverty? How could the fall happen so fast? In the days before the funeral, newspapers were filled with stories about Karl’s death, some compassionate and others rather cruel. One particular obituary, in the April 16, 1934, Middlesboro (KY) Daily News (KY), actually called Karl a failure, and stated that he took “the easy way out” by killing himself. It said that few people can stand prosperity, and less can bear poverty; and in order to discover a person’s true character, that individual needed to be tested under pressure. Karl, the writer declared, achieved fame and fortune due to his many undoubted talents, but ultimately, “just couldn’t take it” when the inevitable reverses came. The April 17 Fresno Bee was more sympathetic, slamming those who did not assist Karl in his time of need. After explaining the basic facts of Karl’s tragedy, and lauding MGM for doing the right thing, it strongly condemned those who completely forgot Karl when he was down and out, those people “who in better times had helped him spend his money.” The harshest criticism of Hollywood’s treatment of Karl came from The Olean Times Herald, which opined that MGM plucked him out of obscurity in his carpenter’s shop, shot him to fame, and then “dumped him into a shabby furnished room where he stopped his broken heart with a bullet.” Fellow countryman Peter Freuchen, who worked at MGM as a writer, had a different viewpoint. He told the January 1958 Århus Stiftstidendes that he did not share the media’s view that Karl Dane was “hunted to death.” Freuchen was not acquainted with Karl, who was away performing in vaude-

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ville when Freuchen worked in the film colony as a writer. However, he knew that Karl tried to return and establish a career again later on, but was unsuccessful due to his “awkward figure.” Freuchen admitted that the film industry was ruthless, but laid the blame squarely on the public rather than the film companies. He decried the fact that very often actors were misled, thinking they have “magnificent renown,” when in reality it lasts but a short time. As to Karl’s fate, Freuchen said that he deserved pity since he was “confused” by the glamour of fame, but it would be unfair to lay any blame on the studio, since “he who journeys out must accept the risk and pay, whatever the cost.” Svend Gade, who had directed Asta Nielsen in Hamlet (1921) and then worked at United Artists on Mary Pickford’s Rosita (1923), expressed some particularly harsh sentiments about Karl to the April 1934 Politiken soon after news of his death hit the papers. Gade said that while he greeted Karl at the premiere of The Big Parade, he didn’t see any reason to continue the acquaintance. Furthermore, he did not feel that Karl had any talent and was simply one of those “distinct types who can be fun to make use of in rather particular undertakings.” Nothing existed in him to “cultivate or develop.” Therefore, when talking films came in, there were no chances left for Karl. Ironically, Gade’s career in Hollywood also faded with the coming of the talkies, and he returned to Denmark in 1928, with no further works of note appearing to his credit. The circumstances of Karl’s death also resulted in some discussion about how much a movie star should really earn. The April 17 Jefferson City Post Tribune commented on the resentment that many people felt about the so-called “unconscionable” paychecks that actors earned “for little real merit and distinction.” President Roosevelt even expressed shock that the incomes of many screen personalities far surpassed his own. However, the article went on in defense of these salaries, since “a film star’s day is a short one,” using Karl’s tragic end as a case in point. Also, the journalist pointed out that prominent people are pursued by parasites and hangers-on, and that the government took a large chunk of his or her earnings in taxes. The writer concluded that a screen actor was actually someone to be pitied rather than envied, when all was said and done. George K. Arthur was in London rehearsing for a play that fateful day, when he received a phone call conveying the tragic news. He remembered being completely devastated.4 Arthur commented bitterly in his memoirs that his partner’s death could have been termed “negligent manslaughter,” since he was never given a fair chance to prove himself in talkies.5 MGM decided to open Karl’s funeral to the public, and about 50 peo-

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ple attended, many of Scandinavian heritage. The April 18 New York Herald Tribune reported that Reverend Nels Gravengaard, pastor of the Danish Lutheran Church, conducted the service. (The same source revealed that Jean Hersholt arranged for Gravengaard to officiate at the service.) The reverend told reporters that while he was not acquainted with Karl personally, he knew that he was “a good man who found it too painful to live.” Flowers were draped all around Karl’s 6' 7" blue-gray redwood casket, which had to be specially ordered for his extra long frame.6 The only two actors in attendance were Jean Hersholt and Tom O’Brien, but John Gilbert did send a floral remembrance, as did King Vidor, Frances Leake, and Mrs. George K. Arthur. MGM Studios also sent a large blanket of roses. Those that gave Karl a send-off were truly a mix of Hollywood elite and humble workers. In addition to Hersholt and O’Brien, the other pallbearers at Karl’s funeral were Howard Stivers, Tom Enton, F. Bielefeldt, and Anton Elcar (per the April 18 New York Herald Tribune). Nothing is known at all about Karl’s relationship to these other men. Elcar is especially intriguing, since he was a 29-year-old Danish house servant. Whether Anton knew Karl personally, or was just paying his respects to a fellow countryman whom he admired, remains a mystery.7 The April 1934 Politiken commented acidly on the event, saying it was ironic that his former associates and friends ignored him when he needed help, only to throw him a fancy funeral after he had given way to despair. They opined on his being embalmed by the most fashionable undertaker, clad in an elegant tuxedo, and placed in an expensive coffin with a sea of flowers, simply to show the world “how beautiful the funeral was.” The writer ended the story on a disgusted note, with the line, “Such are people!” A copper memorial plaque was placed for Karl, simply saying, “Rasmus K.T. Gottlieb,” with “Karl Dane” listed in smaller letters below. It also incorrectly gave his year of birth as 1887 rather than the accurate 1886. Why his birth name was chosen, a nod to his Scandinavian heritage, is another mystery in Karl’s story. This old marker was eventually replaced in 1989 with the current one that is inscribed “Karl Dane, Actor.”8 After the funeral, the authorities packed up the contents of Karl’s apartment and inventoried all of his possessions. This listing, in Karl’s probate file, shows just how little he owned when he died. Karl had a mere $1.57 in cash at the time of his death, and after his personal affects were tallied and appraised, his estate was worth a paltry $225. Among the items were his 1928 Buick Coupe, a wristwatch, fountain pen and pencil, and a box of clothing. (Other items included a mantel chime clock that sounded on the hour like London’s Big Ben, a bird cage and stand

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Karl’s grave marker at Hollywood Memorial Cemetery, now known as Hollywood Forever (photograph by Sara Henderson).

[the pet bird was apparently long gone], a Majestic radio, an electric heater, a smoking stand, a bag of golf clubs, a bundle of pictures, and a trunk of personal effects.) Sadly, the only evidence left of Karl’s great dream of running a gold mine was a pile of certificates for the failed Avelina Mines, Inc. They represented 30,000 shares of the company’s capital stock. Their value was listed on the probate record as “nil.” An auction of his possessions was held on July 10, 1934. A listing of who purchased each item can be found in the official county record. Many people with Scandinavian names successfully made bids, and by the time everything (except the car) was sold, the net profit of the sale was a mere $115.60. (Karl’s clothing was sold to someone by the name of Petersen for $16, and someone named Jaffee bought the radio for $16.50. The car sold for $61. Other items sold for much more paltry sums, such as an electric heater, which went for fifty cents, and a brief case for $1.25.) Karl’s partner would face terrible hardship himself the following year as the Depression deepened. In March 1935, George K. Arthur was involved in a scandal when he was arrested in New York for jewel theft. According to the Charleston Gazette, he was taken into custody as he disembarked a ship from Nassau, accused of stealing an expensive diamond and sapphire bracelet from British banker Stephen Raphael, with whom he had shared a suite of rooms in Cannes a short time before. Arthur gave the bracelet to an acquaintance for safekeeping, saying that it belonged to his mother, and later pawned the

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gems for $275. Upon his arraignment, he was asked by a reporter why he committed the deed. His reply was especially telling, given his partner’s fate: “What the hell can you do when you’re up against it?” The case was subsequently dropped, with no explanation; some speculate that MGM may have quashed the charges to avoid negative publicity.9 The May 12 Huntington (PA) Daily News discussed the lack of family members to claim Karl’s personal possessions. Nonetheless, by the time Karl’s estate was settled, his next of kin had finally been located. His daughter Ingeborg signed a certificate of heirship at the American Consulate in Copenhagen on May 20, 1934. The probate doesn’t list exactly what articles Ingeborg finally claimed. However, one of her sons now owns Karl’s mantel chime clock, and recalls that his mother cherished his watch and articles of his clothing, which her own husband later wore. (The family reported that Karl’s mantel clock kept time accurately and chimed for over 50 years on the hour until it finally stopped working.) One of the many mysteries that surround Karl’s suicide is the fate of his cherished scrapbook. Karl’s descendants know nothing about it, and no scrapbook was included in the auction list. The coroner’s registry does mention a “notebook” in the listing of items received when Karl’s body went to the morgue that fateful night, but it does not sound like the “bulging scrapbook” the newspapers describe. One possibility is that Karl’s friend Frances took it. Or perhaps the scrapbook was not fit for release to anyone due to the circumstances of Karl’s death. Nevertheless, most accounts reported that the book was found on a table across the room from Karl’s death chair, indicating it would have been free of bloodstains. Once Karl was buried and his estate settled, he slowly faded from the public’s memory. Very little would be written about him in the next seven decades. With the exception of George K. Arthur, virtually none of Karl’s co-stars, directors, or former friends mentioned him in their memoirs. This can be attributed to lingering guilt about the circumstances of his lonely death and what could have been done to prevent it. Or it could simply have been due to the fact that Karl died many decades before most of his colleagues and had gradually faded from their memories completely. After a while it would have been difficult to separate the real Karl from his persona of the Big Swede: big, amiable, lumbering and dumb. Thus was born the idea that Karl was not a gifted natural actor but a softheaded studio carpenter who simply got lucky one day and played himself onscreen. Therefore, when the talkies came and he fell, Icarus-like, to his death, some felt that he deserved his fate by aiming too high above his station in the first place.

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Karl was a flawed individual, and his blunders hurt other people. Yet, by most accounts, he was essentially a kind and well-meaning man. Ironically, his flaws were also his greatest virtues. He was a risk-taker who never hesitated to reinvent himself at various times of his life. The flip side was an impulsiveness that impaired his judgment and ultimately destroyed him when he chose to trust the wrong people. In addition, although Karl’s end was ultimately a tragic one, there are inspirational aspects to his story. He dared pursue his dreams and, as a consequence, reached the very height of his profession. When he was down and out, until the very end, he maintained a stubborn hope that things would improve in his life. Looking back after 75 years we have more perspective on his life and career. Although his is not a name readily recognizable to the average person, he is far from forgotten. Many of his films are beloved classics that have recently been re-mastered for home video and enjoy a devoted following among film buffs. The Big Parade also consistently appears on many film critics’ lists of top silent films. Therefore, Karl Dane’s performances and those of other silent film icons are continually being rediscovered by a new generation of film lovers. Through the World Wide Web, information about him and other artists is being shared, as dedicated fans build websites and newsgroups in their honor. Perhaps the fact that Karl is still fondly remembered, and his performances appreciated, today can be viewed as the happy ending that he long sought, and which tragically eluded him during his lifetime.

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Epilogue Karl’s death, while tragic, did serve a purpose. After the sensational headlines hit the papers that April, people started to pay better attention to their own finances. Karl’s death shook Hollywood artists to their core, and many took steps to ensure they would not meet the same fate. According to the May 12, 1934, Lowell (MA) Sun, current actors “have no intention of being caught as Karl Dane was, and so are preparing for that rainy day.” They started employing business managers and financial experts. (Chester Morris had started the new era of thrift three years before when he incorporated and allotted himself “a very meager living salary.” It is ironic that fellow Big House co-star Morris would eventually commit suicide himself, via barbiturate overdose, when he developed inoperable cancer in 1970 [per Hollywood Babylon II, by Kenneth Anger]). Years before Karl’s death, Hollywood had already taken steps to protect their own with the establishment of the Motion Picture Relief Fund in 1921. With the advent of the Depression, Mary Pickford conceived of the Payroll Pledge Program, in which studio workers who earned over $200 per week were asked to pledge one half of one percent of his or her earnings to this pool.1 Jean Hersholt, who had acted as Karl’s chief pallbearer, became president of the Fund in 1939, and expanded its humanitarian efforts even further. He purchased the 48 acres of property that would become part of the Motion Picture & Television Country House and Hospital in 1948, which operates under the motto “We Take Care of Our Own.” Many former actors and crew members have lived and died there in comfort and with dignity in the ensuing decades, among them Norma Shearer, Johnny Weissmuller, Mary Astor, Chester Conklin, and Donald Crisp.2 Unfortunately, due to financial difficulties, the long term care facility and hospital are scheduled to close by October 31, 2009, which will displace the many elderly and infirm residents. However, a concerned group has joined forces to protest this injustice, and anyone interested in finding out more can contact www.savingthelivesofourown.org.

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Appendix A: Personalities and Postcripts George K. Arthur With the advent of the talkies, George K. Arthur was also faced with a scarcity of work and dimming prospects. His personal life took a hit when he was divorced from his wife Milba. Like Karl, Arthur attempted many ventures in order to stay afloat, with differing levels of success. He tried his hand at producing plays in Hollywood, and even appeared on stage in London. After a dry spell, he found himself working for $50 per week as a film salesman in Michigan for MGM, and at one time was a radio commentator on WQXR, reviewing Broadway plays in New York. During this stint he developed his own New York entertainment guide, which he named Go and sold for 25 cents a copy. Eventually he married again, to Elaine McAllister, and had another child, a daughter, in 1945. Arthur also enlisted in the U.S. Air Force at the age of 44 following the bombing of Pearl Harbor. During the war he staged numerous shows for the troops, and directed a musical called Skirts, which played a command performance before Queen Mary. After the war, and the advent of television, Arthur turned his attention to producing again, this time developing short subject films that he sold to TV networks. This proved to be highly successful and made him financially comfortable for the rest of his life. Arthur died on May 30, 1985, in New York, and left his papers and unpublished autobiography to the Museum of Modern Art in Manhattan.

John Gilbert John Gilbert, Karl’s co-star in The Big Parade, was another notorious victim of the changeover from silent to sound film. According to Hollywood legend, he possessed a high-pitched voice that produced titters at the debut of his first sound film, the romantic drama His Glorious Night. Yet a study of 179

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the facts shows that his voice was not so much to blame as the inane dialogue and his awkwardness with the new medium. What was previously left to the public’s imagination now seemed silly when heard out loud for the first time. By 1934, although still contracted to MGM, he was not assigned to any films, and on March 20 he took out an ad in the Hollywood Reporter, which simply stated, “Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer will neither offer me work nor release me from my contract.”1 His old lover Greta Garbo managed to have him cast opposite her in the classic Queen Christina, but the damage was already done. Gilbert died on January 9, 1936, at the age of 37; the official cause of death a heart attack.

Renee Adoree Like Karl and John Gilbert, Big Parade co-star Renee Adoree also died too young. She appeared in many films after the 1925 hit, including La Boheme, also directed by King Vidor, and Mr. Wu, with Lon Chaney Sr. Nonetheless, her career eventually slowed to a halt by the end of the silent era. Ill with tuberculosis, she retired. She died just after her 35th birthday and was buried in Hollywood Forever Cemetery. Ironically, Karl’s funeral was held in the same chapel just six months later.

Tom O’Brien Although fellow Big Parade co-star Tom O’Brien was signed to a contract by MGM in 1926, he never became a star. He appeared in films until 1936, and then worked for the State of California. He died on June 8, 1947, at the age of 57.

King Vidor King Wallis Vidor continued directing films into the sound era. He was nominated for Oscars five times as Best Director but never won. He was given an honorary Oscar in 1979 for Lifetime Achievement. His film The Big Parade has withstood the test of time and won several awards down through the years including the Photoplay Award in 1925 and the OCIC Award — Honorable Mention at the San Sebastien International Film Festival in 1983. The film was placed in the National Film Registry by the National Film Preservation Board in 1992. Vidor died November 1, 1982, in Paso Robles, California.

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Charles Hutchison Charles Hutchison, Karl’s friend from his serial days, saw his star fall as Karl achieved fame in The Big Parade. He produced his own independent features for a while, and then ended his career as an extra in serials such as Captain America, The Mysterious Dr. Satan, and The Masked Marvel. Since Charles was not mentioned as a mourner at Karl’s funeral, it suggests that the friendship between the two had faded. He died on May 30, 1949, and, like Karl, is buried in Hollywood Forever Cemetery. His poignant memorial plaque was erected by his wife Edith, with whom he remained happily married for 30 years. It simply reads “Sleep My Dear.” Edith lived on until February 13, 1984, when she finally died at age 88.

Reinald Gottlieb According to family members, two events haunted Reinald’s life: his younger brother Karl’s suicide and his disastrous business reversals due to his partner’s money mismanagement. An energetic and warm-hearted family man, he continued to work hard for the rest of his life. He assisted his son Svend with his own business, and even had to step in as company head when Svend was hospitalized for two years. A proud veteran of the Danish Army, just as his brother Karl had been, Reinald enjoyed acting as a standard bearer at the funerals of other old soldiers, lowering the Danish flag, the Dannebrog, over the graves. Reinald also helped raise one of his grandsons, who never knew his biological father. He was loved by all family members, including his niece Ingeborg, with whom he forged a caring relationship.

Carla Dagmar Hagen Gottlieb After her short-lived second attempt at marriage to Knud Alfred Olesen, Carla never remarried and lived with her sister Ingeborg for many years. She died in Copenhagen in a home for the elderly on February 14, 1949, at the age of 63.

Ingeborg Gottlieb Hartmann Ingeborg signed a certificate of heirship to claim some of Karl’s meager possessions after his death, which suggests she felt some sort of connection to

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the long-lost father she barely remembered. She went on to marry and have a family. She wed Svend Aage Hartmann Pedersen on November 14, 1937, and they had two sons. Although they were proud of Karl and his accomplishments, they did not speak of him often. She died on February 23, 1985, in Tarnby, Denmark.

Ejlert Carl Gottlieb Ejlert trained as an electrician and moved from Copenhagen to Hellerup in 1940, living at the same address up until his death. He married Emmy Nørregaard and had one son. He was widowed in 1978 and died January 11, 1987. He did not show any interest in obtaining any of Karl’s belongings, as his sister did. A quiet and private man, he never spoke publicly about his famous father.

Frances Leake Not much is known about Frances’ life before or after Karl’s death. According to census records, Frances Cecelia Leake was born on July 26, 1905, in Colorado. She married George Price and died on April 19, 1983. She had no children, and her surviving family members never heard of her one-time friendship with Karl Dane.

Emma Sawyer Emma Awilda Peabody Sawyer disappeared from public life following her divorce from Karl in 1926 and the resulting financial settlement. After her stint as a house servant, she became a nurse and worked in that profession for 20 years. Emma never remarried and kept the Dane name until her death. She died of congestive heart failure on April 3, 1970, in Greenbrae Convalescent Hospital in Marin County, California. Curiously, she is listed as “widowed” on her death certificate.

Thais (“Tania”) Valdemar With the advent of sound, Tania’s thick Russian accent made her as unsuitable for the screen as Karl was, so she packed up and left California for New York. There she was offered a role in the Ziegfeld Follies as a ballet

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dancer. From there she made her way to Broadway, appearing in the stage version of Grand Hotel. Tania would never return to Hollywood, but this was by no means the end of her colorful story. She was a hat check girl in a New York night club, and taught backgammon for a while, even briefly becoming engaged to one of her students, according to the Daily News (NY). Then, while still appearing in Grand Hotel, she married a physician, Dr. Albert Blazer. However, this marriage was on the rocks within a year. The Los Angeles Times from September 8, 1932, announced that Dr. Blazer sought an annulment on the grounds that Tania “misrepresented her age, religion, and previous marital experience.” To add to the excitement, at one point during the proceedings Blazer’s attorney, David Schenker, jumped up and announced to the astonished spectators that Tania had punched him — although no one else witnessed this event. Several years later Tania was married again, to Henry L. Rosenfeld, a New York broker. By this time her long-lost son Paul was in the Army and 20 years old. A Los Angeles Times article from December 7, 1937, related Paul’s story under the headline “Actress Pleads for Son Who Went AWOL for Her.” Apparently, the troubled Paul, who had been separated from Tanya since he was a small child, left his regiment to search for her. He had heard after his enlistment that she was in Hollywood, and that prompted his flight. After arriving in California, however, he was told that she had remarried and moved to the East Coast, so he promptly followed to New York. Since he still did not have her name, however, the search was unsuccessful. Totally discouraged, Paul crossed the country again to give himself up in San Francisco, where he was placed in the guard house. When she found out about her son’s predicament, Tania rushed to his side. The article did not mention what occurred when mother and son were first reunited, but this marked the reconciliation of Tania with both of her children. Current family members verified this story and reported that when Paul went AWOL to go to Hollywood, he originally thought that Pola Negri was his mother. Pola, who was friends with Tania, was the one who alerted Tania about her son’s quest. After this incident, Tania remained active up to the very end. She stayed married to her husband until his death in Burma during World War II, and then went on to open the Valdemar Motel in Lantana, Florida, in 1950, according to the November 12, 1950, Lake Worth (TX) Ledger. Tania was back in New York within a few years, though, and died of cancer in November 1955.

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Postscripts Karl Dane, had he lived to see it, would have found bitter irony in the tiny article in the Los Angeles Times on July 26, 1937, which reported that producer David Diamond had announced that he was searching for “another Karl Dane.” The details of what film he was casting, or if he had any takers, is a mystery. In December 1934, according to the Tyrone (PA) Daily Herald, King Vidor was filming The Wedding Night, starring Gary Cooper, Ralph Bellamy, and Anna Sten when a certain stove selected to be used in a scene roused Vidor’s ire. “This is a French stove,” he exclaimed, and therefore was not historically accurate. The lid was lifted and the crew closely inspected the inside. There, scratched inside on the metal, were the signatures of John Gilbert, Renee Adoree, and Karl Dane. Vidor then remembered that this was the very stove used in The Big Parade, and that the troupe had carved their names inside it with a nail. One final sad postscript occurred on July 17, 1937. The Mansfield News Journal reported that the last of the sets from The Big Parade were finally being destroyed. The set was the French street in which the three buddies marched off to the front lines, and had been used in many other films since then, including Seventh Heaven. The article commented on the fact that it was terribly ironic that this flimsy canvas set had outlasted stars Karl, Gilbert and Renee Adoree, poignantly concluding that “bitterness and heartbreak found them before they died.”

Appendix B: Shorts Dane and Arthur Comedy Shorts (courtesy Richard Finegan) RKO Radio Series Produced by Larry Darmour. Directed by Lewis R. Foster. Copyrighted by Standard Cinema Corporation.

Title

Release Date

Copyright Date Running Time

Men Without Skirts

8/19/30 or 8/22/30 9/1/30 11/15/30

8/7/30

21 minutes

9/30/30 11/15/30

20 minutes 18 minutes

12/7/30 2/7/31 or 2/20/31

11/22/30 2/7/31

18.5 or 19 minutes 19 minutes

3/1/31 or 3/22/31

3/22/31

20 or 21 minutes

Broken Wedding Bells Knights Before Xmas; re-released as Christmas Presents Dizzy Dates Dumbbells in Derbies; re-released as They Wanted Excitement Lime Juice Nights; working title London Dry; re-released as Double Trouble

Paramount Shorts Filmed at Paramount’s New York Studio. All completed by the week of 8/29/31.

Title The Lease Breakers Shove Off A Put Up Job Summer Daze; working titles In the Good Old Summertime and Summer Blazes

Release Date

Copyright Date

Running Time

Director

9/5/31 10/31/31 1/23/32 4/15/32

9/12/31 11/7/31 1/23/32 4/14/32

18 or 19 minutes Two reels 19 minutes 17.5 or 20 minutes

Albert Ray Edward Cline Albert Ray Albert Ray

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Filmography Unnamed Vitagraph Film Released: 1917; Production Company: Vitagraph Company of America; Distribution Company: Vitagraph Company of America; Duration: unknown; Director: unknown; black & white, silent; Availability: unknown. Shot on Long Island, Karl was an extra in this film, portraying a railroad worker who provides directions to the leading lady, Betty Howe. Karl also was given a close-up, but it was cut from the released version.

My Four Years in Germany Released: March 10, 1918; Production Company: My Four Years in Germany Co. Inc.; Distribution Company: Warner Brothers, through First National; Duration: 9–10 reels; Director: William Nigh; black & white, silent; Availability: on DVD. Cast: Halbert Brown (Ambassador Gerard), Willard Dashiell (Sir Edward Goschen), Louis Dean (Kaiser Wilhelm), Earl Schenck (the Crown Prince), George Riddel (Field Marshall von Hindenberg), Frank Stone (Prince Henry), Carl Dane (Chancellor von Bethmann-Hollweg), Fred Hearn (Foreign Minister von Jagow), Percy Standing (Undersecretary Zimmermann). Shot in a semi-documentary style, the film chronicles the experiences of the American ambassador to Germany in the period immediately before World War I, and the atrocities he witnesses due to the Kaiser’s aggression. The climax shows America’s triumphal entry into the war. Germany was produced by what would soon become Warner Brothers Studios. It was so successful the brothers were able to purchase property on the West Coast and establish their legendary studio there.

The Triumph of Venus Released: May 1918; Production Company: Victor Film Mfg Company; Distribution Company: General Film Company; Duration: 7 reels; black & white, silent; Availability: unknown; Director: Edwin Bower Hesser. Cast: Betty Lee (Venus), Phyllis Beveridge (Diana), William Sherwood (the Sculptor), Hassan Mussalli (Pannas), Bonnie Marie (Cupid), Percy Standing (Vulcan), John Fedris ( Jove), Carl Dane (Mars), Beatrice Armstrong ( Juno), A. Freelan (Mercury). Set in a mythological world, this 7-part film tells the story of the jealousies and lovemaking of the gods and goddesses of ancient Rome. Venus, the goddess of love, is shot by Cupid’s arrow and falls in love with a mortal, a sculptor. They have a lovely daughter who

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incurs the jealousy of the goddess Diana. By story’s end, the god Jove saves the day by forcing Diana to humble herself before Venus. In Des Moines Iowa there were protests against this film in August 1919, led by an evangelist who accused its producers of “lewd advertising” (Des Moines Daily News, August 5, 1919). The film was billed as “A Magnificent Photodrama of the Class with A Bevy of Beautiful Girls — Expert Swimmers” (Logansport [IN] Tribune, November 5, 1918).

Her Final Reckoning Released: June 23, 1918; Production Company: Famous Players–Lasky Corporation; Distribution Companies: Famous Players–Lasky Corporation, Paramount Pictures; Duration: 5 reels; black & white, silent; Availability: unknown; Director: Emile Chautard. Cast: Pauline Frederick (Marsa), John Miltern (Prince Zilah), Robert Cain, (Count Menko), Warren Cook (Count Varhely), Joseph W. Smiley (Doctor Forg), James Laffey (Doctor Charcot), Carl Dane (Prince Tcheretoff ), Florence Beresford (Marquis de Nati). Based on the play and novel by Jules Claretie, Prince Zilah, the film concerns a gypsy girl who is kidnapped and seduced by a Russian prince. When the prince dies, their daughter, Marsa, inherits his wealth and goes to Paris. There she meets Prince Zilah, her true love. However, a villainous nobleman hears of their engagement and attempts to rape Marsa. She defends herself by setting her dogs on him, but Zilah hears of her complicated past and the two become estranged. Finally, the two are reconciled and find happiness by the closing reel. Pauline Frederick plays two roles, that of a mother and her daughter. A November 1, 1919, Newark Advocate ad read, “They crossed swords, one fighting for the honor of a woman, the other fighting for her, body and soul.”

To Hell with the Kaiser! Released: June 30, 1918; Production Company: Screen Classics, Inc.; Distribution Company: Metro Pictures, Inc., All-Star Series; Duration: 7 reels; black & white, silent; Availability: unknown; Director: George Irving. Cast: Lawrence Grant (the Kaiser), Olive Tell (Alice Monroe), Betty Howe (Ruth Monroe), John Sunderland (Winslow Dodge), Earl Schenck (the Crown Prince), Mabel Wright (Empress), Frank Currier (Professor Monroe), Carl Dane (Chancellor von BethmannHollweg), Walter P. Lewis (Satan), Henry Carvill (Bismarck). The film tells the story of the corruption of the Kaiser and Bismarck, and the events paving the way for the First World War, all the way back to the time of Frederick the Great. A lavish production, it shows scenes of American troops fighting in the trenches, and also an exciting air battle. June Mathis wrote the screenplay, and George K. Hollister, former war photographer and correspondent, was the cinematographer. Karl made his second film appearance as the German Chancellor in this film.

The Wolves of Kultur Released: October 13, 1918; Production Company: Pathé International (as Pathé Entertainment); Distribution Company: Pathé International (as Pathé Entertainment); Dura-

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tion: 182 minutes; black & white, silent; Availability: on DVD; Director: Joseph A. Golden. Cast: Leah Baird (Alice Grayson), Charles Hutchison (Bob Moore), Sheldon Lewis, Betty Howe (Helen Moore), Mary Hull (Marie Zaremba), Edmund Dalby (Zaremba), Austin Webb (Henry Hartman), Karl Dane (Carter, uncredited). Enemy agents murder a scientist for his plans for a radio-controlled submarine. His niece, Alice, and her fiancé, Bob Moore, attempt to recover the plans and avenge her uncle’s death. Eventually, Alice outwits the villains and blows them up with the device.

The Great Victory: Wilson or the Kaiser? The Fall of the Hohenzollerns (aka The Fall of the Hohenzollerns; Why Germany Must Pay; Wilson and the Kaiser) Released: January 1919; Production Company: Screen Classics, Inc.; Distribution Company: Metro Pictures Corporation; Duration: 5–7 reels; black & white, silent; Availability: unknown; Director: Charles Miller. Cast: Creighton Hale (Conrad Le Brett), Florence Billings (Vilma Le Brett), E.J. Connelly (Paul Le Brett), Helen Ferguson (Amy Gordon), Frank Currier (William Gordon), Fred C. Truesdell (Woodrow Wilson), Henry Kolker (the Kaiser), Margaret McWade (Edith Cavell), Earl Schenck (Crown Prince), H. Carvill (Bismarck), Carl Dane (Chancellor von Bethmann-Hollweg). Paul Le Brett is a young Alsatian man forced to fight for Germany (since Alsace-Lorraine was conquered). He is shocked by the brutal atrocities committed by the German troops and kills a soldier who has murdered a small child. Shot and wounded, he meets and falls in love with an American nurse, Amy Gordon. In the meantime, the lecherous German Lieutenant Ober kills Paul’s grandfather and rapes his sister Vilma. When Paul finds out, he fulfills Vilma’s dying request to go to America and beg that Alsatians be allowed to enlist to fight the Huns. Conrad joins the Americans, avenges his sister by killing Ober and marries Amy. This was billed under the tagline “Princeton or Heidelberg — Which Produced the Better Man? Wilson went to one and the Kaiser went to the other. The difference between them will be shown in the Great Victory” (The Evening Telegram, January 1, 1919).

Daring Hearts Released: August 28, 1919; Production Company: Vitagraph Company of America; Distribution Company: Vitagraph Company of America; Duration: 6 reels; black & white, silent; Availability: unknown; Director: Henry Houry. Cast: Francis X. Bushman (Hugh Brown), Beverly Bayne (Louise de Villars), L. Rogers Lytton (Baron von Steinbach), Karl Dane (Lt. von Bergheim), Jean Paige (Suzette). The film recounts two days in the history of Alsace, showing the catastrophic effects the war had on the region. Hugh Brown, an American on an auto trip through Europe in 1914, is caught in the chateau of Louise De Villars in Alsace at the outbreak of the war. He has difficulty reaching France to join the Lafayette Escadrille. Several years pass and he becomes a fighter pilot. His plane is damaged, and he is forced to land behind the German lines. Louise finds out about his capture and helps Hugh escape. He takes shelter in Louise’s home, but is followed by German troops and captured once again. Through a

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clever ruse, Louise secures his release, and the two escape in a hay wagon, reaching France on the day the Armistice is signed. This was one of the first times that Karl was singled out for acclaim, along with L. Rogers Lytton, who played the other villainous role: “[They] deserve mention for the way they handle their heavy roles. They certainly put all that is mean and contemptible into action and draw hisses from the audience” (Newark Advocate, November 14, 1919). The film was billed as a “Vitagraph Super Feature,” “a beautiful story woven around principal events in world history” (Cumberland Evening Times, December 4, 1919).

The Whirlwind Released: November 1919; Production Company: Allgood; Distribution Company: Allgood; Duration: unknown; black & white, silent; Availability: believed lost; Director: Joseph A. Golden. Cast: Charles Hutchison (the Whirlwind), Edith Thornton (Helen Graydon), Richard R. Neill (Neville Carnley), Ben Walker (Benson), Barbara Allen (Kate Delaro), Karl Dane (the Wolf ). In this 15-chapter serial, gangsters, led by the Wolf, pursue the Whirlwind for some bonds that he possesses. Edith Thornton, Hutchison’s wife and lading lady, was badly injured in a motorcycle stunt while filming this serial, resulting in paralysis on one side of her face that sidelined her career for a year. She recalled that every member of the cast was hurt during production.

Oh Buoy! Release: 1920 (exact date unknown); Production Company: Sammy Burns Co.; Distribution Company: unknown; black & white, silent; Availability: in private collection. Cast: Sammy Burns (Basil de Poorfish), Karl Dane (Muddy Rep, uncredited). Basil loves Hazel, a captain’s daughter, but the captain’s larcenous first mate, Muddy Rep, wants her for himself. Hazel is kidnapped and taken aboard ship by both father and Rep, to “prevent her from committing matrimony.” The cowardly Basil gets a chance to redeem himself when he disguises himself as a member of the crew and discovers that Rep is planning to steal all of the captain’s money. In the end, Rep and his gang are vanquished, and the grateful captain gives the couple his blessing.

Unknown Charles Hutchison Serials (circa 1924–1925) The Everlasting Whisper Released: October 11, 1925; Production Company: Fox Film Company; Distribution Company: Fox Film Company; Duration: 5,611 feet; black & white, silent; Availability: believed lost; Director: John G. Blystone. Cast: Tom Mix (Mark King), Alice Calhoun (Gloria Gaynor), Robert Cain (Gratton), George Berrell (Old Honeycutt), Walter James (Aswin Brody), Virginia Madison (Mrs. Gaynor), Karl Dane ( Jarrold).

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Cowboy Mark King meets a society girl, Gloria Gaynor, who is “tired of city sham” and seeks escape in the country. She marries him, but her motivation is mainly to avoid marrying another man. Since they are from different backgrounds, the couple inevitably experiences problems, and Gloria leaves Mark. By the closing reel, however, she realizes that she truly loves him, and they are reunited. This film also co-starred Noble Johnson, a black actor, director and producer who cofounded the Lincoln Production Company, the first studio that produced films for AfricanAmerican audiences. Johnson played literally hundreds of roles throughout his Hollywood career, often those of different ethnicities. He most famously appeared as the native king in 1933’s King Kong. Wyndham Gittens wrote the screenplay for The Everlasting Whispter. He also wrote the story for Karl’s very last film, the Mascot serial The Whispering Shadow.

Lights of Old Broadway Released: November 1, 1925; Production Company: Cosmopolitan Productions; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 7 reels (6,595 feet); black & white, silent; Availability: prints exist in archives; Director: Monta Bell. Cast: Marion Davies (Fely/Anne), Conrad Nagel (Dirk de Rhonde), George K. Arthur (Andy), Charles McHugh (Shamus O’Tandy), Eleanor Lawson (Mrs. O’Tandy), Julia Swyane Gordon (Mrs. De Rhonde), Buck Black (Young Theodore Roosevelt), Karl Dane (Roosevelt’s Father). Two orphaned baby girls are adopted by different families in old New York. Little Anne is taken in by the De Rhonde family, and she grows up a genteel young lady in Washington Square. The other, Feely, is taken in by the humble O’Tandys, raised in a Shantytown, and eventually becomes an actress. The story follows the romance between the headstrong Feely as she is romanced by the playboy Dirk De Rhonde. This was a sequel to Marion Davies’ previous film, Little Old New York, according to the November 22, 1925, Charleston [WV] Daily Mail.

The Big Parade Released: November 5, 1925; Production Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 130 minutes (11,519 feet); black & white with tinted sequences, silent; Availability: on VHS ; Director: King Vidor. Cast: John Gilbert ( Jim Apperson), Renee Adoree (Melisande), Hobart Bosworth (Mr. Apperson), Claire McDowell (Mrs. Apperson), Claire Adams ( Justyn Reed), Robert Ober (Harry), Tom O’Brien (Bull), Karl Dane (Slim), Kathleen Key (Miss Apperson), Rosita Marstini (Melisande’s mother). The film follows three soldier friends from differing socioeconomic backgrounds and their wartime experiences. (See chapter 6 for a complete discussion.)

His Secretary Released: December 6, 1925; Production Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration:

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70 minutes (6,433 feet); black & white, silent; Availability: unknown; Director: Hobart Henley. Cast: Norma Shearer (Ruth Lawrence), Lew Cody (David Colman), Willard Louis ( John Sloden), Karl Dane ( Janitor), Gwen Lee (Claire Bayne), Mabel Van Buren (Mrs. Sloden), Estelle Clark (Minnie). Ruth is a plain secretary in love with her boss, David Colman. While on a business trip together, she is hurt when she overhears his cruel comments about her looks. She goes to the beauty salon and has a makeover, returning as a gorgeous young woman. Her boss immediately falls for her, but Ruth has a few tricks up her sleeve. During a romantic interlude she arranges for the building janitor (Karl) to burst in on them and claim to be her outraged husband. After appearing to extort $1,000 from David, she confesses the ruse, and all ends happily.1

La Boheme Released: February 24, 1926; Production Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 9 reels (8,781 feet); black & white, silent; Availability: prints exist in archives; Director: King Vidor. Cast: Lillian Gish (Mimi), John Gilbert (Rodolphe), Renee Adoree (Musette), George Hassell (Schaunard), Roy D’Arcy (Vicomte Paul), Edward Everett Horton (Colline), Karl Dane (Benoit), Mathilde Comont (Madame Benoit), Gino Corrado (Marcel). Set in Paris’s Latin Quarter, the story concerns seamstress Mimi (Gish) who falls in love with tempestuous poet Rodolphe (Gilbert). They are happy for a while, but the predatory advances of Vicomte Paul (D’Arcy) towards Mimi stir up Rodolphe’s violent jealousy. Sacrificing everything for his artistic career, she leaves so that he can complete his play without any distractions. However, her delicate constitution is compromised by overwork and she develops tuberculosis. Realizing she is dying, Mimi makes her way back through the streets to her old home and is reunited with Rodolphe and her friends before she draws her last breath. Gish reportedly was so concerned with the realism of her death scene that she went to extreme lengths to ensure authenticity. According to Stuart Oderman’s Lillian Gish: A Life Onscreen, Gish asked director Vidor for three days to prepare. She did not take any liquids at all, and slept with cotton pads in her mouth to dry out her mouth, so that her lips actually curled inwards on the day the sequence was shot.

Monte Carlo Released: March 1, 1926; Production Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 7 reels (6,129 feet); black & white, silent; Availability: unknown; Director: Christy Cabanne. Cast: Lew Cody (Tony Townsend), Gertrude Olmstead (Sally Roxford), Roy D’Arcy (Prince Boris), Zasu Pitts (Hope Durant), Trixie Friganza (Flossie Payne), Margaret Campbell (Grand Duchess Marie), Karl Dane (the Doorman). Three small-town girls from New England (Gertrude Olmstead, Zasu Pitts, and Trixie Friganza) win a newspaper popularity contest and a trip to Monte Carlo. Comic misunderstandings arise when Olmstead falls for a man she believes to be a prince (Lew Cody), while he thinks that she is an heiress. According to the May 15, 1926, Wakefield (MI) News, a fashion show is featured in the picture entirely in color tinting.

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The Scarlet Letter Released: August 9, 1926; Production Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 9 reels (90 minutes); black & white, silent; Availability: prints exist in archives; Director: Victor Seastrom. Cast: Lillian Gish (Hester Prynne), Lars Hanson (Dimmesdale), Henry B. Walthall (Chillingworth), Karl Dane (Giles), William Tooker (the Governor), Marcelle Corday (Mistress Hibbens), Mary Hawes (Patience), Joyce Coad (Pearl). Based on Nathaniel Hawthorne’s classic novel, Hester Prynne (Gish) is a seamstress in 17th century Massachusetts, a free spirit who does not fit in with the Puritanical community. A romance develops between her and the well-respected and compassionate Reverend Dimmesdale (Hanson). He proposes marriage, but Hester reveals her secret — that she was forced into a loveless marriage to Roger Chillingworth, who was kidnapped by Indians and presumed lost. The reverend is sent back to England for an extended period, and while he is away Hester bears an illegitimate child, a daughter named Pearl. As a result, the community forces Hester to wear the letter “A” for adulteress, and both mother and daughter become outcasts, with no friends except Giles, the barber-surgeon (Karl). When her lover returns, Hester begs him to reveal nothing about his paternity so that he can go on doing God’s work. However, the knowledge of his own guilt torments him as the years go by. In the meantime, physician Roger Chillingworth (Henry B. Walthall) is released by the Indian tribe that held him and settles in the town. He cures Pearl, who was critically ill with a fever, but vows vengeance when he finds out that Hester was untrue to him. Eventually, the reverend completely breaks down in front of the entire town and reveals that he is the father of Hester’s child. He then bares his chest and reveals the letter “A” that he has branded into his flesh with a hot poker, and dies in Hester’s arms.

The Son of the Sheik Released: September 5, 1926; Production Company: Feature Productions; Distribution Company: United Artists; Duration: 7 reels (62 minutes); black & white, silent; Availability: on DVD; Director: George Fitzmaurice. Cast: Rudolph Valentino (Ahmed), Vilma Banky (Yasmin), George Fawcett (Andre), Montague Love (Ghabah), Karl Dane (Ramadan), Bull Montana (Ali), Binunsky Hyman (Pincher), Agnes Ayres (Diana). A sequel to Valentino’s earlier hit The Sheik, the film concerns his son Ahmed, who falls in love with dancing girl Yasmin (Banky). Her scoundrel father Andre and his villainous gang, led by Ghabah (Love), who wants Yasmin for himself, captures and whips young Ahmed. Believing that the innocent Yasmin conspired with them, Ahmed swears revenge. He forces himself on her, but regrets it later, and tells his manservant Ramadan (Karl) to bring her back home. On the way, however, they are overrun by the gang, and Ramadan is tied up. He overhears Ghabah taunting Yasmin about how they managed to turn Ahmed against her. The gang moves on, leaving Ramadan bound, but she manages to slip him a knife to free himself, begging him to tell Ahmed the truth. Ahmed, Ramadan, and Ahmed’s father the Sheik then race to rescue Yasmin from the clutches of Andre and Ghabah. The gang vanquished, all is forgiven and the lovers are reunited. Karl was loaned out by MGM to United Artists for this film.

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Bardelys the Magnificent Released: September 30, 1926; Production Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 9 reels (8,536 feet); black & white, silent; Availability: This film was long believed lost, but a print was discovered in 2007; Director: King Vidor. Cast: John Gilbert (Bardelys), Eleanor Boardman (Roxalanne de Lavedan), Roy D’Arcy (Chatellerault), Lionel Belmore (Vicomte de Lavedan), Emily Fitzroy (Vicomtesse de Lavedan), George K. Arthur (Eustache), Arthur Lubin (King Louis XIII), Theodore Von Eltz (Lesperon), Karl Dane (Rodenard). Bardelys (Gilbert) is a courtier in 17th century France who makes a bet with Chatellerault (D’Arcy) that he can win the heart of the remote Roxalanne de Lavadan (Boardman) in three months. He assumes the identity of another man, Lesperon, but finds that he is a rebel leader. While hiding on Roxalanne’s estate, the two fall in love. Eventually Bardelys is arrested for Lesperon’s crimes and sentenced to be executed. The villainous Chatellerault forces Roxalanne into marriage, leading her to believe that this will save her lover’s life. Bardelys escapes the scaffold just as the king drives into town with his entourage and clears up the case of mistaken identity. Bardelys then fights a dual with Chatellerault, who falls on his own sword before the king’s men can arrest him, and the two lovers are reunited. Harry Rapf created the team of Dane and Arthur during the making of this film.

War Paint Released: October 10, 1926; Production Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 6 reels (5,034 feet); black & white, silent; Availability: believed lost; Director: W.S. Van Dyke. Cast: Tim McCoy (Lt. Tim Marshall), Pauline Starke (Polly Hopkins), Charles French (Major Hopkins), Chief Yowlache (Iron Eyes), Chief Whitehorse (White Hawk), Karl Dane (Petersen). The story takes place in the 1880s American West. A young Army officer (McCoy) stationed at a fort in Indian country must cope with the threat of an uprising when he arrests medicine man Iron Eyes following a knife fight. Pauline Starke plays his love interest Polly, and Karl Dane plays the often-tipsy Sergeant Petersen. Tim McCoy was a former adjunct governor of Wyoming and was so respected by the Native American population that he was given the title “White Eagle” (Salt Lake Tribune, August 16, 1926). Chief Yowlache previously appeared with Karl in a brief scene in The Scarlet Letter.

The Red Mill Released: January 29, 1927; Production Company: Cosmopolitan Productions; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 7 reels (76 minutes); black & white, silent; Availability: on dvd. Cast: Marion Davies (Tina), Owen Moore (Dennis), Louise Fazenda (Gretchen), George Siegmann (Willem), Karl Dane (Captain Jacop Van Goop), Snitz Edwards (Timothy), William Orlamond (Governor).

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Set in the Netherlands, the story concerns Tina, a virtual slave to her brutal master Willem at the Red Mill of the film’s title. She falls for handsome visitor Dennis, and her friend Gretchen for Captain Jacop Van Goop, but comedic misunderstandings ensue when Tina masquerades as her friend to help her avoid a loveless marriage to a much older man. In the end, both pairs of lovers are reunited.

Slide Kelly Slide Released: March 12, 1927; Production Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 8 reels (7,856 feet); black & white, silent; Availability: prints exist in archives; Director: Edward Sedgwick. Cast: William Haines ( Jim Kelly), Sally O’Neil (Mary Munson), Harry Carey (Tom Munson), Junior Coghlan (Mickey Martin), Warner Richmond (Cliff Macklin), Paul Kelly (Fresbie), Karl Dane (Swede Hansen), Guinn Williams (McLean), Mike Donlin (Himself ), Irish Muesel (Himself ), Bob Muesel (Himself ). Kelly is an arrogant but very gifted minor league ball player who gets his dream job with the Yankees. He and pitcher Swede, after an initial rough start, become friends and “adopt” homeless waif Mickey, who becomes the team’s batboy. Kelly also romances the team manager’s girl, Mary (also the daughter of aging catcher Tom Munson). Despite Kelly’s talent, his ego gets in the way of his playing and alienates his fellow players. Discouraged, he quits the team. Tragedy strikes when Mickey is hit by a car and nearly killed trying to summon Kelly when they need him to play in the big game. Realizing the error of his ways, a chastened Kelly rejoins the team and leads them to victory.

Rookies Release Date: April 30, 1927; Production Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 7 reels (6,640 feet); black & white, silent; Availability: 35 mm print exists in archives; Director: Sam Wood. Cast: Karl Dane (Sgt. Diggs), George K. Arthur (Greg Lee), Marceline Day (Betty Wayne), Louise Lorraine (Zella Fay), Frank Currier (the Judge), E.H. Calvert (the Colonel), Tom O’Brien (Sgt. O’Brien). See chapter 7 for a summary. This film was the first Dane and Arthur pairing, and grossed $255,000 in profits.2

The Enemy Released: December 8, 1927; Production Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 9 reels (8,189 feet); black & white, silent; Availability: Last reel lost; Director: Fred Niblo. Cast: Lillian Gish (Pauli Arndt), Ralph Forbes (Carl Behrend), Ralph Emerson (Bruce Gordon), Frank Currier (Professor Arndt), George Fawcett (August Behrend), Karl Dane ( Jan), Polly Moran (Baruska). See chapter 9 for a summary.

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Baby Mine Released: January 8, 1928; Production Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 6 reels (5,139 feet); black & white, silent; Availability: believed lost; Director: Robert Z. Leonard. Cast: Karl Dane (Oswald Hardy), George K. Arthur ( Jimmy Hemingway), Charlotte Greenwood (Emma), Louise Lorraine (Helen). Oswald and Jimmy are friends and student chiropractors. Oswald is tricked into marrying Emma after a blow to the head, and leaves her the morning after the wedding night. To get him back, Emma, with the help of Jimmy and his girl Helen, tell Oswald that he is a father, borrowing a baby to help persuade him. After many mix-ups and the addition of two other “infants” (one played by a cigar-chomping little person), Oswald discovers his friends’ trickery, but decides he loves Emma after all and stays with her. The film went through three separate directors, and was initially shelved as “unsatisfactory” before its final release (Syracuse Herald, October 6, 1927). Despite this, Baby Mine grossed $113,000 in profits according to John McElwee, GreenBriar Picture Shows, via oral interview with unnamed MGM source in the 1960s.

The Trail of ’98 Released: March 20, 1928; Production Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 90 minutes; black & white, silent; Availability: on dvd; Director: Clarence Brown. Cast: Dolores Del Rio (Berna), Ralph Forbes (Larry), Karl Dane (Lars Petersen), Harry Carey ( Jack Locasto), Tully Marshall (Salvation Jim), George Cooper (Samuel Foote), Russell Simpson (Old Swede), Emily Fitzroy (Mrs. Bulkey), Tenen Holtz (Mr. Bulkey), Cesare Gravina (Henry Kelland). Gold is discovered in the Yukon in the year 1898, and gold fever spreads across America, affecting many different types of people. Karl plays Lars Petersen, a farmer who escapes his shrewish wife by hopping a train. He teams up with Salvation Jim, Larry and Samuel Foote, and, after many hardships, they stake a claim. Foote turns out to be a scoundrel who betrays them, but he meets his rightful end in a blizzard.

Circus Rookies Released: March 31, 1928; Production Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 6 reels (5,661 feet); black & white, silent; Availability: Believed lost; Director: Edward Sedgwick. Cast: Karl Dane (Oscar Thrust), George K. Arthur (Francis Byrd), Louise Lorraine (La Belle), Sidney Jarvis (Mr. Magoo), Fred Hume (Bimbo). Oscar Thrust, a gorilla trainer at a traveling circus owned by Mr. Magoo, loves Belle, the beautiful trapeze artist. His jealousy is aroused by the appearance of Frances Byrd, a former newspaper reporter who joins the company as a press agent. Oscar does everything he can to sabotage Byrd’s attempts to impress her. Bimbo the gorilla finally goes berserk, escapes his cage, and rampages through the company’s train, throwing it out of control. Byrd redeems himself by stopping the train and saving Belle. Thrust is punished for his duplicity with a good dunking by Bimbo.

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According to the June 12, 1928, Appleton (WI) Post-Crescent, MGM hired an entire circus troupe, who were spending the winter in California, for the film. Their real circus tent can be seen in the picture, as well as the railroad cars used to hold and transport the animals in their acts. For the scene in which the gorilla gets loose on the train, Sedgwick chartered a track in the California mountains. The cast did most of their own stunts in the scene, making it startlingly realistic. Circus Rookies grossed $175,000 in profits.3

Detectives Released: June 9, 1928; Production Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 7 reel (5,838 feet); black & white, silent; Availability: prints exist in archives; Director: Chester M. Franklin. Cast: Karl Dane (Detective), George K. Arthur (Bellhop), Marceline Day (Lois), Tenen Holtz (Orloff ). The story takes place in a swanky hotel, where Karl is the house detective and Arthur a bellboy who longs to be a real investigator. When a wealthy socialite is robbed of her jewels, the boys swing into action to solve the mystery. (See chapter 9 for a more complete description.)

Alias Jimmy Valentine Released: November 15, 1928; Production Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 88 minutes; black & white, silent with sound sequences; Availability: complete version is lost, but a 9.5mm abridgement of 4 reels was released in France and copies still survive4; Director: Jack Conway. Cast: William Haines ( Jimmy Valentine), Lionel Barrymore (Doyle), Leila Hyams (Rose), Karl Dane (Swede), Tully Marshall (Avery). An escaped safecracker attempts to go straight and takes a job in a bank, where he falls for the bank president’s beautiful daughter. However, he is dogged by a detective hot on his trail. (See chapter 9 for a more complete discussion.)

Brotherly Love Released: December 23, 1928; Production Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 67 minutes; black & white, silent with synchronized sound sequences; Availability: unknown; Director: Charles Riesner. Cast: Karl Dane (Oscar), George K. Arthur ( Jerry), Jean Arthur (Mary), Richard Carlyle (Warden Brown), Edward Connelly (Coggswell). Karl is a guard, and Arthur an inmate at Newberry, a progressive prison. Complications arise when the boys both fall for the warden’s daughter. (See chapter 9 for a more complete description.) Karl broke his left shoulder after falling from a bicycle during the filming of a scene. He developed pneumonia and almost died.

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The Voice of The Storm Released: January 13, 1929; Production Company: FBO Pictures; Distribution Company: FBO Pictures; Duration: 6,036 feet (7 reels); black & white, silent; Availability: believed lost; Director: Lynn Shores. Cast: Karl Dane (Spike), Martha Sleeper (Ruth), Hugh Allan (Tom Powers), Theodore von Eltz (Franklin Wells), Brandon Hurst (Dr. Isaacs), Warner Richmond (Dobbs), Lydia Yeamans Titus (Mrs. Parkin). When his lineman friend Dobbs is convicted of murdering his sweetheart’s grandfather, a crime he did not commit, his loyal friend Spike turns detective to find the real killer. When a storm brings down the telephone lines, he races to repair the line and get the message through to stop the execution. According to the Lima (OH) News from August 12, 1929: “Karl Dane is outstanding ... as the daring, impetuous, well-meaning, but dumb lineman.” For this production, the last film made by FBO (soon to be RKO) until the installation of Photophone sound recording equipment, Karl was loaned out to RKO (Charleston Daily Mail, March 3, 1929).

All at Sea Released: February 9, 1929; Production Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 6 reels (5,345 feet); black & white, silent; Availability: unknown; Director: Alfred J. Goulding. Cast: Karl Dane (Stupid McDuff ), George K. Arthur (Rollo the Great), Josephine Dunn (Shirley Page), Herbert Prior (Mr. Page). Arthur is a magician who hypnotizes and embarrasses sailor McDuff during a show. Trouble ensues.

The Duke Steps Out Released: March 16, 1929; Production Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 8 reels (6,236 feet); black & white, sound; Availability: unknown; Director: James Cruze. Cast: William Haines (Duke), Joan Crawford (Susie), Karl Dane (Barney), Tenen Holtz ( Jake), Edward Nugent (Tommy Wells), Jack Roper (Poison Kerrigan), Delmer Daves (Bossy Edwards), Luke Cosgrave (Professor Widdicomb). Haines is Duke, the son of a millionaire who becomes a boxer. He becomes enamored of a college co-ed named Susie and enrolls as a student to get to know her. Duke’s manager thinks Susie is a distraction, and attempts to get rid of her by telling her that Duke has another girl. However, the lovers are reunited when Susie discovers his true identity.

China Bound Released: May 18, 1929; Production Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 70

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minutes; black & white, silent; Availability: prints exist in archives; Director: Charles Riesner. Cast: Karl Dane (Sharkey Nye), George K. Arthur (Eustis), Josephine Dunn ( Joan), Polly Moran (Sarah), Carl Stockdale (McAllister). Joan’s father, learning that his daughter is in love with Eustis, his shop clerk, takes her and her maid on a business trip to China. Eustis comes to the dock to give her a bouquet of flowers but falls into the ship’s coal chute. He is dug out by the burly stoker Sharkey Nye, who initially torments Eustis. But when he learns that his own long-lost sweetheart, Joan’s maid Sarah, is also onboard, Sharkey vows to help Eustis. The duo land in China, disguised in Chinese garb, and are chased by both government troops and rebels. All is forgiven when Eustis and Sharkey rescue the heroine, her father and the maid from the unwelcome attentions of the revolutionist leader. This was the last Dane and Arthur film MGM made. The picture grossed $129,000 in profits.5

Speedway Released: September 7, 1929; Production Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 76 minutes; black & white, silent with sound effects; Availability: prints exist in archives; Director: Harry Beaumont. Cast: William Haines (Bill Whipple), Anita Page (Patricia), Ernest Torrence ( Jim MacDonald), Karl Dane (Dugan), John Miljan (Lee Renny), Eugenie Besserer (Mrs. MacDonald), Polly Moran (Waitress). Bill Whipple and Dugan both work at the Indianapolis Speedway as pit crew members for racer Jim MacDonald. Bill longs to become a racer himself but is headstrong and undisciplined, and is lured away by a rival racer who makes false promises to him. Meanwhile, MacDonald develops a heart condition and is told not to drive again. On the day of the big race, MacDonald collapses and Bill steps in to finish. As he emerges victorious, all are reunited.

The Mysterious Island Released: October 5, 1929; Production Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 95 minutes; Two-strip Technicolor, silent with sound sequences; Availability: on DVD; Director: Maurice Tourneur (whose version was remade by Lucien Hubbard). Cast: Lionel Barrymore (Count Dakkar), Jane Daly (Countess Dakkar), Lloyd Hughes (Nicholai Roget), Montagu Love (Baron Hubert Falon), Harry Gribbon (Mikhail). Prince Dakkar, an inventor on an island near the Kingdom of Hetvia, invents two submarines which he intends to use to explore the ocean for traces of a civilization he believes exists on the sea floor. When he sets out with his daughter Sonia and assistant Nicholai, the ruthless leader of Hetvia, Baron Fallon, hijacks one of the submarines and takes Sonia hostage in an effort to gain control of the island. Dakkar sets off in the other submarine, and soon both ships encounter a race of small, fish-like men. When Fallon is injured, and some of his blood is released through a hole in his diving suit, he is overtaken by the ravenous creatures. Dakkar, Sonia, and Nicholai then return to civilization to defeat Fallon’s men. In the end, a mortally wounded Dakkar destroys all evidence of his life’s work so it will not fall into the wrong hands again, and chooses to go down with his ship.

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Karl Dane’s scenes were cut before the film’s final release, and he goes uncredited on the film prints.

Hollywood Revue of 1929 Released: November 23, 1929; Production Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 116 minutes; Black and white, Technicolor, sound; Availability: prints exist in archives; Director: Charles Riesner. Cast: Conrad Nagel, Jack Benny, Norma Shearer, Bessie Love, Marion Davies, Joan Crawford, Buster Keaton, Lionel Barrymore, Laurel & Hardy, Anita Page, Gus Edwards, Cliff Edwards, Charles King, Polly Moran, William Haines, and Dane & Arthur. Revue is a series of skits and musical numbers led by Nagel and Benny as the Masters of Ceremony. The final sequences features an extravaganza “Singin’ in the Rain” number with the entire cast. Dane and Arthur appear in a brief scene singing, accompanied by Jack Benny’s violin, but otherwise have no speaking lines.

Navy Blues Released: December 20, 1929; Production Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 9 reels (6,936 feet); black & white, sound; Availability: prints exist in archives; Director: Clarence Brown. Cast: William Haines ( Jack Kelly), Anita Page (Alice Brown), Karl Dane (Swede Swanson), J.C. Nugent (Mr. Brown), Edythe Chapman (Mrs. Brown), Wade Boteler (Chief Higgins), Gertrude Sutton (Hilda, uncredited). Kelly is a fast-talking playboy sailor who clashes with Swede, another gob transferred to his ship. The men on the destroyer win a high efficiency rating and, as a reward, are forced to attend a mandatory dinner given by the Ladies Uplift Society. They are matched up with partners, and Swede ends up with the blonde Alice, while Kelly is paired with the gawky Swedish girl Hilda. The wily Kelly, however, succeeds in tricking Swede into switching dates. Alice brings Kelly home to meet her parents, but her domineering mother disapproves, since she bears a grudge against sailors. Alice promptly walks out of the house, since she already loves Kelly and assumes he will marry her. She has no idea that Kelly and Swede are shipping out the next morning for a six month tour. As soon as Kelly returns, he visits her home and finds that she has become an embittered dimea-dance girl at a cabaret. Kelly enlists Swede’s help to “rescue” her, and Swede rips a chandelier out of the ceiling to use as a missile to flatten the club’s haughty patrons. Meanwhile, Kelly persuades the distraught Alice that he, in fact, does love her, and they are reunited. This was Karl’s first talking role.

Montana Moon Released: March 20, 1930; Production Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration:

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10 reels (7,917 feet); black & white, sound; Availability: prints exist in archives; Director: Malcolm St. Clair. Cast: Joan Crawford ( Joan “Montana” Prescott), John Mack Brown (Larry Kerrigan), Dorothy Sebastian (Lizzy Prescott), Benny Rubin (Bloom), Cliff Edwards (Froggy), Ricardo Cortez ( Jeff Pelham), Karl Dane (Hank). Joan Prescott is a wealthy and spoiled flapper who weds a cowboy, Larry, on a whim after getting off a train taking her back to her family in Montana. However, she has trouble settling down, and, after dancing on her wedding night with her old flame Jeff, she and Larry have a big blow up. She again runs off, hopping a train, but is kidnapped by a gang of bandits. However, the lead bandit turns out to be Larry, who realizes he wants his wife back, and they are reunited.

The Big House Released: June 14, 1930; Production Company: Cosmopolitan Productions; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 10 reels (7,917 feet); black & white, sound; Availability: on DVD; Director: George W. Hill. Cast: Chester Morris ( John Morgan), Wallace Beery (“Machine Gun” Butch Schmidt), Lewis Stone (Warden James Adams), Robert Montgomery (Kent Marlowe), Leila Hyams (Anne Marlowe), George F. Marion (Pop Riker), J.C. Nugent (Mr. Marlowe), Karl Dane (Olsen). Naïve Kent Marlowe is sentenced to prison after being convicted of manslaughter. Karl appeared prominently in this film, but did not have any speaking lines. This film won the first Academy Award for sound.

Men Without Skirts (short) Released: August 19 or 22, 1930; Production Company: RKO Radio Series, Larry Darmour Productions; Duration: 21 minutes; black & white, sound; Availability: unknown; Director: Lewis R. Foster. Cast: Karl Dane, George K. Arthur, Yola d’Avril. The boys play wartime Army buddies and romantic rivals in this short which opens at a canteen where they entertain their company. Their unit is ordered to the front, and when the two of them go to dress, Karl steals Arthur’s pants so he can’t call upon their mutual love interest, a French shop owner. Undaunted, Arthur borrows a Scotsman’s kilt and chases after Karl. He arrives in time to see the girl selling Karl a kiss and a sausage. After Arthur gets his own kiss and sausage, they both head off to the front. After much comic misadventures when the duo is sent to install a telephone, they return to the village to figure out which one shall have the girl. However, upon their arrival, they see another soldier leave the girl’s shop with his arms full of sausages.

Broken Wedding Bells (short) Released: September 1, 1930; Production Company: RKO Radio Series, Larry Darmour Productions; Duration: 20 minutes; black & white, sound; Availability: unknown; Director: Lewis R. Foster. Cast: Karl Dane, George K. Arthur, Daphne Pollard, Irving Bacon, Henry Bowen, and Fern Emmett.

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Dane and Arthur interrupt a wedding in an attempt to collect a payment for a radio. The bridal couple leaves for their new home, and finally succeeds in getting rid of an accumulation of congratulating relatives. Their landlord, who lives in the other half of the house, meets the newlyweds and explains he has a nervous condition and needs complete peace and quiet. After he leaves, the boys arrive to install a radio which the couple believes is a wedding present from their Uncle John. Much hammering and smashing ensues, and the enraged landlord storms in and smashes the radio to pieces with an axe. However, the duo shows him a receipt indicating the radio actually belonged to him. Just as the newlyweds fall into a clinch, the alarm clock goes off.

Billy the Kid Released: October 18, 1930; Production Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 11 reels (8,808 feet); black & white, sound; Availability: prints exist in archives; Director: King Vidor. Cast: John Mack Brown (Billy), Wallace Beery (Pat Garrett), Kay Johnson (Claire Randall), Karl Dane (Swenson), Wyndham Standing ( John Tunstall), Russell Simpson (Angus McSween), Blanche Frederici (Mrs. McSween), Roscoe Ates (Old Stuff ), Warner P. Richmond (Bob Ballinger). In New Mexico in the 1880s, Billy is a former cattle thief recruited by rancher Tunstall to work for him. Tunstall and another cattleman, McSween, are being squeezed by Hatfield, who wants to run them off their land. When Tunstall dies in a fight with Hatfield’s men, Billy swears an oath to kill everyone connected with his murder. After a gun battle in McSween’s house, only Billy emerges alive, and Sheriff Pat Garrett corners him in a cave. After luring the hungry outlaw out with the smell of frying bacon, he finally sets him free. During filming, Johnny Mack Brown used the actual gun owned by the historical Billy the Kid, loaned by William S. Hart from his private collection. Hart agreed to the loan on the condition that the weapon not be fired, since the last time it had been was by Billy himself 50 years before (April 24, 1930, Galveston Daily News). Karl played a Swedish ranch hand known as Swenson.

A Lady’s Morals Released: November 8, 1930; Production Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 10 reels (7,856 feet); black & white, sound; Availability: prints exist in archives; Director: Sidney Franklin. Cast: Grace Moore ( Jenny Lind), Reginald Denny (Paul Brandt), Wallace Beery (P.T. Barnum), Jobyna Rowland ( Josephine), Gus Shy (Olaf ), Gilbert Emery (Brough), George F. Marion (Innkeeper), Karl Dane (Swede in Audience, uncredited). Paul is a young composer who meets and falls in love with the celebrated singer Jenny Lind, “The Swedish Nightingale” of the mid–19th century. When she loses her voice during a performance, Paul helps her get the treatment she needs to regain her ability to sing. However, tragedy strikes when he suffers a blow to his head and starts to go blind, just when Jenny travels to New York and meets the legendary P.T. Barnum, who launches her toward stardom in America. According to Samuel Marx in his book Mayer and Thalberg: The Make Believe Saints, Louis B. Mayer was captivated by star Grace Moore; she was the “first woman to personally intrigue him after 25 years of marriage.” He never acted on his feelings, and the relationship remained a professional one.

Filmography

203

Knights Before Christmas (short) Released: November 15, 1930; Production Company: RKO Radio Series, Larry Darmour Productions; Duration: 18 minutes; black & white, sound; Availability: not available; Director: Lewis R. Foster Cast: Karl Dane, George K. Arthur, and Irving Bacon. Ma and Pa are fixing the tree in preparation for the arrival of their children for a Christmas party. In the meantime, their son and his friend wander around trying to find a suitable present. They finally go home and present his mother with chewing gum balls, and his father with the slot machine picked up from the street.

Dizzy Dates (short) Released: December 7, 1930; Production Company: RKO Radio Series, Larry Darmour Productions; Duration: 19 minutes; black & white, sound; Availability: not available; Director: Lewis R. Foster. Cast: Karl Dane, George K. Arthur, Frank Rice, Harry Bowen, Irving Bacon, and Fern Emmett. In spite of the protestations of his manager (Arthur), the boxer Slim (Karl) refuses to train for an upcoming fight, and instead relaxes on his father’s farm. Farmer Jinks, the next-door neighbor, has two prize pigs, which he hopes will eventually make him a millionaire. Slim, however, only thinking of a fine pork dinner, shoots one of the pigs. That evening Farmer Jinks is invited to dinner and, during the meal, finds out he is eating his prize hog. Slim promises the enraged farmer that he will reimburse him as soon as he wins the fight. Everyone listens in over the radio, and after many anxious moments, Slim is announced the winner on a foul. But Arthur refuses to accept the decision, and Slim is finally knocked out. Farmer Jinks chases Dad through the watermelon patch, firing at him wildly.

New Moon Released: January 17, 1931; Production Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 9 reels (7,016 feet); black & white, sound; Availability: not available; Director: Jack Conway. Cast: Lawrence Tibbett (Lt. Petroff ), Grace Moore (Princess Tanya Strogoff ), Adolphe Menjou (Governor Boris Brusiloff ), Roland Young (Count Igor Strogoff ), Gus Shy (Potkin), Emily Fitzroy (Countess Anastasia Strogoff ), Karl Dane (Kirghiz, soldier at Fort, uncredited), Buster Keaton. Lieutenant Michael Petroff is on the vessel New Moon when he meets the beautiful but headstrong Princess Tanya Strogoff. They fall in love shortly before the ship docks in the Russian port of Krasnov, where she will meet her wealthy fiancé, the governor, whom she does not love. Upon discovering their fling, the vengeful governor transfers Petroff to the dangerous Fort Darvaz, where many past commanders have been killed by their own men. The fort is attacked by enemy soldiers, but Petroff distinguishes himself and saves the day. As a result, he is finally awarded the hand of the princess.

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Dumbbells in Derbies (short) Released: February 7, 1931. Production Company: RKO Radio Series, Larry Darmour Productions; Duration: 20 minutes; black & white, sound; Availability: prints exist. Director: Lewis R. Foster. Cast: Karl Dane and George K. Arthur. When two of his best oil prospectors leave for the city, the owner of an oil field phones his representative there, instructing him to scare them back. As soon as the boys arrive in town, the shooting commences. They supposedly witness a murder, and everywhere they go the killer appears in a different disguise. Finally, they get some bullet-proof vests and duck into a back alley to practice shooting. Soon, angry neighbors launch an avalanche of odd pieces of furniture at them, and when the boys escape from this deluge, they take the next truck back to the oil field.

Lime Juice Nights (short) Released: March 1 or March 22, 1931; Production Company, RKO Radio Series: Larry Darmour Productions; Duration: 20 or 21 minutes; black & white, sound; Availability: not available ; Director: Lewis R. Foster Cast: Karl Dane and George K. Arthur. Karl plays an American in London with his wife. He gets drunk at a club and insists that the waiter, Arthur, change places with him. Dane’s wife pays a couple of toughs to bring her husband home, and of course, they bring Arthur home by mistake.

The Lease Breakers (short) Released: September 15, 1931; Production Company, RKO Radio Series: Larry Darmour Productions; Duration: 18 or 19 minutes; black & white, sound; Availability: not available; Director: Albert Ray. Cast: Karl Dane and George K. Arthur. The boys are professional apartment wreckers who assist tenants in getting out of their long-term leases. Pandemonium results when the duo hits the wrong place.

Shove Off (short) Released: October 31, 1931; Production Company: RKO Radio Series, Larry Darmour Productions; Duration: 2 reels; black & white, sound; Availability: not available; Director: Edward Cline. Cast: Karl Dane and George K. Arthur. Arthur attends a masquerade ball dressed as a sailor. During the party he is asked by a woman to retrieve her compact from her car, parked around the corner. A cop thinks he is a thief and arrests him. Karl, a real gob, then passes by and overpowers Arthur, forcibly recruiting him into the Navy. Once at sea, Arthur repeatedly clashes with Karl and the rest of the crew.

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A Put Up Job (short) Released: January 23, 1932; Production Company: Paramount; Duration: 19 minutes; black & white, sound; Availability: on DVD; Director: Albert Ray. Cast: Karl Dane, George K. Arthur, Marjorie Beebe (Mrs. Blimpo), Neely Edwards (Mr. Blimp), and Roy Le May (Gabriel). The short opens with the boys getting bodily thrown out of their restaurant job at the Peaceful Inn, which they have single-handedly destroyed within 20 minutes. They get work as carpenters for a company that sells pre-fabricated houses, and their first customer is Mr. and Mrs. Blimpo and their bratty, pea-shooting son. They meet the family on their plot of land and chaos ensues as they put the house together.

Summer Daze (short) Released: April 15, 1932; Production Company: Paramount; Duration: 17.5 or 20 minutes; black & white, sound; Availability: not available; Director: Albert Ray. Cast: Karl Dane and George K. Arthur. Karl prefers sleeping to anything else, but Arthur persuades him to rough it on a trip to the great outdoors. This was the last Dane and Arthur film made.

Fast Life Released: December 16, 1932; Production Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation; Distribution Company: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Distributing Company; Duration: 9 reels; black & white, sound; Availability: unknown; Director: Harry Pollard. Cast: William Haines (Sandy), Madge Evans (Shirley), Conrad Nagel (Burton), Arthur Byron ( Jameson), Cliff Edwards (Bumpy), Karl Dane (Olaf ). Filmed at Catalina Island, the story is about Sandy, a sailor who has invented a carburetor that enables boats to travel at much higher speeds. After getting tossed out of the Navy when one of his engines destroys the Admiral’s boat, he is down and out. Sandy meets Shirley Jameson, the wealthy and spoiled daughter of a shipbuilder, when she thinks she is saving him from drowning. The shipbuilder gives Sandy a job at his daughter’s request, and finds out about his invention. Jameson’s big dream is to win the America’s Cup race. After many misadventures, Sandy’s boat wins for Jameson, and he also wins the hand of Shirley. The film had a large budget, and no expense was spared in obtaining startlingly realistic shots. A camera was mounted on a craft traveling very close to the main actors in the speedboat racing scenes (Daily Capitol News and Post Tribune [MO], December 18, 1932).

The Whispering Shadow (serial) Released: March 1933; Production Company: Mascot Productions; Duration: 225 minutes (12 chapters); black & white, sound; Availability: on DVD; Directors: Colbert Clark and Albert Herman. Cast: Bela Lugosi (Professor Strang), Vita Tattersall (Vera Strang), Malcolm MacGre-

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gor ( Jack Foster), George J. Lewis (Bud Foster), Henry B. Walthall (Bradley), Robert Warwick (Detective Raymond), Roy D’Arcy (Steinbeck), Karl Dane (Sparks). A mysterious crime boss, the Whispering Shadow, menaces the Empire Transport Company, causing several deaths via deadly radio wave. When Bud Foster is killed on the job, his older brother Jack is determined to find the killer and calls in world famous detective Robert Raymond to solve the case. After many red herrings and false leads, Sparks, the dim-witted dispatcher, is unveiled as the diabolical radio genius.

Chapter Notes Chapter 1

16. http://www.shakespeare.org.uk/files/ document8.doc (accessed September 1, 2008), “Glovemaking Towns,” p. 3. 17. Danish Historical Statistics 1814–1980, courtesy Jørgen Andersen, Biblioteksvagten, Copenhagen, Denmark. 18. Denmark, Copenhagen Skattebogen, various years (1894–1895, 1896–1897). 19. Per Danmarks Statisk at www.dst.dk/ prisberegner, 1200 kroner was worth 72,012 kr in 2007. Then, as per http://coinmill.com, this is the equivalent of $12072.81, adjusted for inflation. Both sites accessed October 28, 2008. 20. Erik Dehn, Kampen på Skyggesiden: Fattigdom i Danmark 1850–1990 (The Fight on the Shadowside of Life), Copenhagen: Gyldendal, 1991, p. 62. 21. W. Glyn Jones, Denmark: A Modern History, London: Croon Helm, 1986, p. 76. 22. Localhistorie i Aarhus, http://www.lokal historieiaarhus.dk (accessed February 1, 2008). 23. Kannik’s Corner, http://www.kanniksko rner.com/toytheater/abouttoy.htm (accessed October 20, 2006). 24. Ibid. 25. Ibid. 26. Copenhagen school records in the archives København Rådhus, Copenhagen City Hall. 27. According to a local historian in the Copenhagen newspaper Nansensgades, February 2005. 28. Herluf Trolle-Steenstrup, When I Was a Boy in Denmark: A Chronicle of Happy Days, Boston: Lothrup, Lee & Shepard, 1923, p. 25. 29. Ibid., p. 65. 30. Politiken, April 1934. 31. Herluf Trolle-Steenstrup, When I Was a Boy in Denmark: A Chronicle of Happy Days, Boston: Lothrup, Lee & Shepard, 1923, pp. 43– 48. 32. Ibid., pp. 150–152. 33. Ibid. 34. Ibid. 35. Ibid., pp. 202–205. 36. Ibid., p. 30. 37. Enok Mortensen, A Danish Boyhood, Junction City, OR: The Danish-American Heritage Society, 1981, p. 96.

1. Judith Friedman Hansen, We Are a Little Land: Cultural Assumptions in Everyday Danish Life, Author’s Thesis, University of California at Berkeley, 1970, pp. 62–63. 2. George K. Arthur, With My Foot in the Door, G.K. Arthur Collection, Museum of Modern Art, NYC, courtesy Wendy Brest Sani, p. 75. 3. Ibid. 4. http://vaxxine.com/mgdsite/year/1886. htm (accessed September 1, 2008). 5. Ancestry.com: German: from the personal name Goteleib, based on Old High German god, got “god” + leiba “offspring,” “son.” German: religious name, dating from the 17th century, composed of the elements Gott God + the verbal stem lieb love (and so an equivalent of Theophilus). Cognate: Dutch: Godlef. 6. Encyclopedia Britannica, Horsens, http: //www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/272 383/Horsens#tab=active~checked%2Citems~ch ecked&title=Horsens%20—%20Britannica %20Online%20Encyclopedia (accessed March 28, 2008). 7. Ibid. 8. Daniel Marston, The Seven Years’ War, London: Taylor & Francis, 2001, p. 29. 9. Stephan Hurwitz and Karl O. Christiansen, Criminolog y: The New and Completely Revised Edition of the Standard Scandinavian Study, Madison, NJ: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 1983, p. 295. 10. W. Glyn Jones, Denmark: A Modern History, London: Croon Helm, 1986, p. 77. 11. William James Harvey and Christian Reppien, Denmark and the Danes: A Survey of Danish Life, Institutions, and Culture, Washington, NY: Kennikat Press, 1915, p. 87. 12. W. Glyn Jones, Denmark: A Modern History, London: Croon Helm, 1986, p. 75. 13. Ibid., p. 76. 14. http://www.teponia .dk/museumspos ten/index.php?artikelid=228. 15. B. Eldred Ellis, Gloves and the Glove Trade, London: Sir Isaac Pitman & Sons, Ltd., 1921, p. 134.

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38. Ibid., p. 96. 39. Courtesy of Per Gottlieb. 40. http://karl-dane.blogspot.com/2006_ 08_01_archive.html (accessed August 17, 2006), courtesy of Hugh Watkins. 41. Enok Mortensen, A Danish Boyhood, Junction City, OR: The Danish-American Heritage Society, 1981, p. 10.

Chapter 2 1. B. Eldred Ellis, Gloves and the Glove Trade, London: Sir Isaac Pitman & Sons, Ltd., 1921, p. 86. 2. William James Harvey and Christian Reppien, Denmark and the Danes: A Survey of Danish Life, Institutions, and Culture, Washington, NY: Kennikat Press, 1915. 3. Denmark, Københavns Folkeregister Dødsblade Efter 1923. 4. W. Glyn Jones, Denmark: A Modern History, London: Croon Helm, 1986, p. 78. 5. Hugh Chisholm, The Encyclopedia Brittanica: A Dictionary of Arts, Sciences, Literature, and General Information, Volume VII, Eleventh Edition, Cambridge, England: The University Press, 1910, p. 98. 6. Steven Johnson, The Ghost Map: The Story of London’s Most Terrifying Epidemic — and How It Changed Science, Cities, and the Modern World, New York: Riverhead Books, p. 103. 7. W. Glyn Jones, Denmark: A Modern History, London: Croon Helm, 1986, p. 78. 8. Ibid. 9. Ibid. 10. William Dwight Porter Bliss, Encyclopedia of Social Reform: Including All Social Reform Movements, Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1970, p. 1218. 11. Stambog for Vaernepligtige ved 1. Kystartilleribattalion, 1907, #401. 12. Curtis Gilroy and Cindy Williams, Service to Country: Personnel Policy and the Transformation of Western Militaries, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2007, p. 172. 13. Terry Coleman, The Nelson Touch: The Life and Legend of Horatio Nelson, Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2004, p. 253, 260. 14. http://karl-dane.blogspot.com/2007/08/ karls-rifle.html and http://www.militaryrifles. com/Denmark/DanshRem.htm (accessed August 24, 2007), courtesy of Hugh Watkins. 15. Paramount studio biography, 1931, Margaret Herrick Library, Beverly Hills, CA. 16. Landsarkivet for Sjaelland m.m., Landsover-samt Hof-og Staddsretten Kobenhavns Skiftekommission, 1863–1943. 17. Per Danmarks Statisk at www.dst.dk/

prisberegner, 1200 kroner was worth 66,066 kr in 1911. Then, as per http://coinmill.com, this is the equivalent to $ 11,075.97, adjusted for inflation. Both sites accessed October 28, 2008. 18. W. Glyn Jones, Denmark: A Modern History, London: Croon Helm, 1986, p. 75. 19. Ibid. 20. Wikipedia. 21. William Boddy and Brian Laban, The History of Motor Racing, New York : Putnam, 1977, p. 9. 22. Ibid., p. 51. 23. Danmark’s Veteran Motorcykleklub, “De tre Første Skagensløb 1913, 1914 og 1915,” http:// www.dvm.dk/ArticleView.asp?article_id=24 (accessed July 2008). 24. Ibid. 25. Ibid. 26. Ibid. 27. Casper Tybjerg, “Stunt Stories: The Sensation Film Genre,” from Celebrating 1895: Centenary of Cinema, edited by John Fullerton, London: John Libbey, 1998, pp. 146–147. 28. Ibid. 29. Ibid. 30. T.K. Derry, A History of Scandinavia, Sweden, Denmark, Finland, and Iceland, Minneapolis: University of Minneapolis Press, 1979, p. 304. 31. Knud J.V. Jespersen, A History of Denmark, Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire, U.K., and New York: Palgrave McMillan, 2004, p. 200. 32. Alf Blume, with Carsten Jørgensen, chairman of Danmarks Flyvehistoriske Forening (Danish Aviation History Assosiation), email message to author, April 4, 2006. 33. Denmark, Statens Arkiver, Case #8690. 34. Denmark, Country Law #125, April 24, 1913, paragraph 23, http://karl-dane.blogspot. com/2008_01_01_archive.html, courtesy of Hugh Watkins. 35. As per Michael Clemmesen’s “Jyllands landforsvar fra 1901 til 1940,” the cost of meat rose from 234 to 328 kroner from July 1914 to July 1915. For eggs, butter, and milk, the rise from the same period was 217 to 282 kroner. 36. W. Glyn Jones, Denmark: A Modern History, London: Croon Helm, 1986, p.108.

Chapter 3 1. Per http://www.austintxgensoc.org/calc ulatecpi.php and http://www.westegg.com/infl ation/ (accessed June 2008 and September 2008). 2. Enok Mortensen, A Danish Boyhood, Junction City, OR: The Danish-American Heritage Society, 1981, p. 111.

Chapter Notes 3. David F. Burg and L. Edward Purcell, Almanac of World War I, Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1999, p. 153. 4. New York Times Archives, 1917. 5. Willard A. Heaps, The Story of Ellis Island, New York: The Seabury Press, p. 118. 6. Dunham Thorp, “The Mutt and Jeff of the Movies,” Motion Picture Classic, September 1927, p. 41 and 85. 7. Ellisisland.org (accessed January 2006). 8. Willard A. Heaps, The Story Of Ellis Island, New York: The Seabury Press, p. 67. 9. Harry Matthews, Townhouse Tours, interviewed by author, Brooklyn, New York, March 15, 2008. 10. Dunham Thorp, “The Mutt and Jeff of the Movies,” Motion Picture Classic, Vol. XXVI, No. 1, p. 41 and 85. 11. Stephan Thernstrom, Ann Orlov, and Oscar Handlin, Harvard Encyclopedia of American Ethnic Groups, Cambridge MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University, 1980, p. 278. 12. Hildegarde Cummings, “Boardinghouses,” Online Learning http://www.flogris.org/learn ing/foxchase/html/essay_boarding.php (accessed June 2008). 13. Samuel H. Wandell, The Laws of Inns, Hotels, and Boardinghouses: A Treatise on the Relation of Host and Guest, Rochester, NY: Williamson & Higbie, 1888, p. 202. 14. Harry Matthews, Townhouse Tours, interviewed by author, Brooklyn, New York, March 15, 2008. 15. Raymond A. Mohl, The Making of Urban America, Lanham, MD: Roman and Littlefield, 1997, p. 174–175. 16. William V.R. Erving, Departmental Reports of the State of New York Containing the Decisions, Opinion, and Rulings of the State Officers, Departments, Boards, and Commissions and Messages of the Governor, Official Edition, Volume 10, Albany: J.B. Lyon Company, Publishers, 1917. 17. Spencer Tucker and Priscilla Mary Roberts, World War I: Encyclopedia, Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-CLIO, 2005, p. 1072. 18. Jewish Genealogical Society of OR: U.S World War 1 Draft Registrations, http://www. rootsweb.ancestry.com/~orjgs/ww1.htm (accessed June 2006). 19. Anthony Slide, The Big V: A History of the Vitagraph Company, Metuchen, NJ: The Scarecrow Press, 1976, p. 1. 20. Cass Warner Sperling, Mork Millner, and Jack Warner, Hollywood Be Thy Name: The Warner Brothers Story, Rocklin, CA: Prima Publishing, 1994, pp. 61–62. 21. Charles Higham, Warner Brothers: A History of the Studio, Its Pictures, Stars, and Personalities, New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1975, p. 8.

209

22. Clive Hirschorn, The Warner Brothers Story, New York: Crown Publishers, Inc., 1979, p. 16. 23. Ibid. 24. Cass Warner Sperling, Mork Millner, and Jack Warner, Hollywood Be Thy Name: The Warner Brothers Story, Rocklin, CA: Prima Publishing, 1994, p. 64. 25. Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ Arthur_Brisbane (accessed July 2008). 26. Louis Pizzitola, Hearst Over Hollywood, New York: Columbia University Press, 2002, p. 149. 27. Hal Erickson, “All Movie Guide,” New York Times, http://movies.nytimes.com/movie/ 103325/My-Four-Years-in-Germany/overview (accessed September 1, 2008). 28. “Public Affairs Information Service Bulletin: A Cooperative Clearing House of Public Affairs Information,” Fifth Cumulation, Public Affairs Information Service, edited by Lillian Henley, New York: The H.W. Wilson, Company, 1919, p. 257. 29. Dunham Thorp, “The Mutt and Jeff of the Movies,” Motion Picture Classic, September 1927, p. 41 and 85.

Chapter 4 1. Deborah Hayden, Pox: Genius, Madness, and the Mysteries of Syphilis, New York: Basic Books, 2003, pp. 52–59. 2. Denmark, Politiefterretninger Index No. 3, 1913–1917. 3. Interview with Danish Defense Ministry source, Copenhagen, Denmark, Hugh Watkins, August 2007. 4. Garrett Soden, Def ying Gravity: Land Divers, Roller Coasters, Gravity Bums and the Human Obsession with Falling, New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 2005, p. 148. 5. Kalton C. Lahue, Bound and Gagged: The Story of Silent Serials, South Brunswick, NJ: A.S. Barnes, 1968, p. 233. 6. Michael Martin, Michael Rheta Martin, Leonard Gelber, and Leo Lieberman, Dictionary of American History, Totowa, NJ: Littlefield Adams, 1978, pp. 442–443. 7. Kevin Roderick, The San Fernando Valley: America’s Suburb, Los Angeles: Los Angeles Times Books, 2001, p. 74. 8. Kay Melchisedech Olson, Norwegian, Swedish and Danish Immigrants, 1820–1920, Mankato, MN: Blue Earth Books, 2002, p. 22. 9. Charles Weeks, A California Acre, Los Angeles: H.H. Lestico, 1927, p. 25. 10. Kay Melchisedech Olson, Norwegian,

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Swedish and Danish Immigrants, 1820–1920, Mankato, MN: Blue Earth Books, 2002, p. 22. 11. Kevin Roderick, The San Fernando Valley: America’s Suburb, Los Angeles: Los Angeles Times Books, 2001, p. 44. 12. George Fogelson, personal email to author, May 2008. 13. Denmark, Köbenhavns Overpræsidium, case #1026, margin file #2660, year 1923. 14. Hobart Amory Hare, Progressive Medicine, Philadelphia: Lea Brothers, 1920, p. 225. 15. Raymond A. Poliaki, Things You Didn’t Think to Ask Your Obstetrician: Answers to 1000 Questions About Your Pregnancy, Chicago: Contemporary Books, 1994, p. 232. 16. Ibid.

Chapter 5 1. Denmark, Köbenhavns Overpræsidium, case #1026, margin file #2660, year 1923. 2. George K. Arthur, “With My Foot in the Door,” G.K. Arthur Collection, Museum of Modern Art, NYC, courtesy Wendy Brest Sani. 3. J. Oh, former acquaintance of Estelle Clarke, email message to author, September 28, 2007. 4. George K. Arthur, “With My Foot in the Door,” G.K. Arthur Collection, Museum of Modern Art, NYC, courtesy Wendy Brest Sani. 5. Edwin Schallert, “Mr. Dane from Denmark,” Picture Play Magazine, February 1926, p. 19 and 105.

Chapter 6 1. Nancy Dowd and David Shepard, King Vidor: A Director’s Guild of America Oral History, Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 1988, p. 60. 2. Edwin Schallert, “Mr. Dane from Denmark,” Picture Play Magazine, February 1926, pp. 19 and 105. 3. Thomas Schatz, The Genius of the System, New York : Metropolitan Books, Henry Holt and Company, p. 32. 4. Kevin Brownlow, personal letter to author, October 2008. 5. King Vidor, A Tree Is a Tree, New York: Harcourt Brace, 1953, p. 112. 6. Ibid. 7. Ibid., p. 114. 8. King Vidor Collection, Doheny Library, University of Southern California, courtesy of Ned Comstock. 9. King Vidor, A Tree Is a Tree, New York: Harcourt Brace, 1953, p. 115.

10. The Big Parade pressbook, King Vidor Collection, Doheny Library, University of Southern California. 11. King Vidor, A Tree Is a Tree, New York: Harcourt Brace, 1953, p. 116. 12. Ibid. 13. Ibid. 14. Ibid, p. 121. 15. David Quinlan, Quinlan’s Film Directors, London: Batsford Film Books, Sterling Publishing Company, 2001, p. 151. 16. King Vidor, A Tree Is a Tree, New York: Harcourt Brace, 1953, p. 116. 17. King Vidor Collection, Doheny Library, University of Southern California, courtesy of Ned Comstock. 18. Ibid. 19. The Big Parade pressbook, King Vidor Collection, Doheny Library, University of Southern California, courtesy of Ned Comstock. 20. Film Daily Yearbook, 1932–1933. 21. Christopher Finch and Linda Rosenkrantz, Gone Hollywood, Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1979, p. 16. 22. Max Ree Collection, Danish Film Institute, Copenhagen, Denmark, courtesy of Lars ølgaard. 23. George K. Arthur, “With My Foot in the Door,” G.K. Arthur Collection, Museum of Modern Art, NYC, courtesy of Wendy Brest Sani. 24. Ibid. 25. Ibid. 26. Scott Eyman, The Lion of Hollywood, London: Robson, 2005, p. 112. 27. Thomas Schatz, The Genius of the System, New York : Metropolitan Books, Henry Holt and Company, p. 38. 28. Samuel Marx, Mayer & Thalberg: The Make Believe Saints, New York: Random House, 1975, p. 254. 29. George K. Arthur, “With My Foot in the Door,” G.K. Arthur Collection, Museum of Modern Art, NYC, courtesy of Wendy Brest Sani. 30. W. James Potter, Media Literacy, Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications, Inc., p. 397.

Chapter 7 1. Denmark, Köbenhavns Overpræsidium. 2. Charles Affron, Lillian Gish, Her Legend, Her Life, Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002, p. 214. Production of The Scarlet Letter started on January 25, 1926, and ended March 20. 3. Walt Farmer, Wyoming: A History of Film and Video in the 20th Century, Shane edition,

Chapter Notes CD-ROM, Jackson, WY: Walt Farmer, November 2001. 4. Robert C. Cannom, Van Dyke and the Mythical City of Hollywood, Culver City, CA: Murray & Gee, Inc., p. 141. 5. According to Robert C. Cannom’s Van Dyke and the Mythical City of Hollywood (pp. 145–146), Van Dyke was interested in filming on the Reservation for authenticity, and asked McCoy about the tribes living in the area. McCoy told Van Dyke about he long-feuding Shoshones and Arapahoes, and they deciced to make this the basis of the plot, with the director scribbling some notes on an envelope. 6. Walt Farmer, Wyoming: A History of Film and Video in the 20th Century, Shane edition, CD-ROM, Jackson, WY: Walt Farmer, November 2001. 7. Ibid. 8. Scott Eyman, The Speed of Sound: Hollywood and the Talkie Revolution, 1926–1930, New York: Simon & Schuster, 1997, p. 123. 9. Charles Affron, Lillian Gish, Her Legend, Her Life, Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002, p. 215. 10. Ibid. 11. Ibid., p. 218. 12. Ibid., p. 217. 13. Ibid. 14. George K. Arthur, “With My Foot in the Door,” G.K. Arthur Collection, Museum of Modern Art, NYC, courtesy of Wendy Brest Sani. 15. Helen Carlisle, “The Path of Glory: Is Hard Work and the Strain Attendant Upon Fame Killing Our Screen Stars,” Motion Picture Magazine, No. 22–23, January 1927, p. 108. Thanks to Tim Lussier of SilentsAreGolden.com for providing this information. 16. Emily Leider, Dark Lover: The Life and Death of Rudolph Valentino, New York: Farrar, Straus, & Giroux, 2003, p. 366. 17. Kevin Brownlow, personal letter to author, August 2008.

Chapter 8 1. George K. Arthur, “With My Foot in the Door,” G.K. Arthur Collection, Museum of Modern Art, NYC, courtesy of Wendy Brest Sani. 2. Forsyth Hardy, Scandinavian Film, New York: Arno Press, 1972, p. 3. 3. Romano Tozzi, “George K. Arthur: When His Acting Career Ended, He Built a New Career Selling Shorts,” Films in Review, Vol. XIII, No. 3, March 1962, pp. 151–168. 4. Ibid.

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5. The Reminiscences of George K. Arthur (Fall 1957), p. 2, in the Oral History Collection of Columbia University. 6. Ibid. 7. Romano Tozzi, “George K. Arthur: When His Acting Career Ended, He Built a New Career Selling Shorts,” Films in Review, Vol. XIII, No. 3, March 1962, pp. 151–168. 8. Ibid. 9. Ibid. 10. Ibid. 11. Ibid. 12. George K. Arthur, “With My Foot in the Door,” G.K. Arthur Collection, Museum of Modern Art, NYC, courtesy of Wendy Brest Sani. 13. Romano Tozzi, “George K. Arthur: When His Acting Career Ended, He Built a New Career Selling Shorts,” Films in Review, Vol. XIII, No. 3, March 1962, pp. 151–168. 14. Ibid. 15. Ibid. 16. Ibid. 17. George K. Arthur, “With My Foot in the Door,” G.K. Arthur Collection, Museum of Modern Art, NYC, courtesy of Wendy Brest Sani. 18. Romano Tozzi, “George K. Arthur: When His Acting Career Ended, He Built a New Career Selling Shorts,” Films in Review, Vol. XIII, No. 3, March 1962, pp. 151–168. 19. The Reminiscences of George K. Arthur (Fall 1957), pp. 5–6, in the Oral History Collection of Columbia University. 20. George K. Arthur, “With My Foot in the Door,” G.K. Arthur Collection, Museum of Modern Art, NYC, courtesy of Wendy Brest Sani. 21. MGM Script Collection, Doheny Library, University of Southern California, courtesy of Ned Comstock. 22. Greenbriar Picture Shows, “Ghosts of Comedies Past,” August 17, 2007, John McElwee, http://greenbriarpictureshows.blogspot. com/2007/08/ghosts-in-comedys-past-i-havethis-past.html (last accessed November 22, 2008). 23. George K. Arthur, “With My Foot in the Door,” G.K. Arthur Collection, Museum of Modern Art, NYC, courtesy of Wendy Brest Sani. 24. Greenbriar Picture Shows, “Ghosts of Comedies Past,” August 17, 2007, John McElwee, http://greenbriarpictureshows.blogspot. com/2007/08/ghosts-in-comedys-past-i-havethis-past.html (last accessed November 22, 2008). 25. Ibid. 26. Ibid. 27. December 29, 1928, Exhibitors Herald

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and Motion Picture World, pp. 33–37, http://thesilentmovieblog.blog.com/2008/9/ (accessed September 18, 2008). 28. Ibid., p. 172. 29. Hollywood: A Celebration of Silent Film, “Hazard of the Game,” March 21, 2007 (originally aired 1980). 30. Ibid. 31. Oral Interview with J.J. Cohn by Rudy Behlmer, pp. 70–71, courtesy of the Margaret Herrick Library, Beverly Hills, CA.

Chapter 9 1. Scott Eyman, The Lion of Hollywood, London: Robson, 2005, p. 120. 2. Ibid., p. 113. 3. Scott Eyman, The Speed of Sound: Hollywood and the Talkie Revolution, 1926–1930, New York: Simon & Schuster, 1997, p. 18. 4. Ibid. 5. Ibid. 6. Thomas Schatz, The Genius of the System, New York : Metropolitan Books, Henry Holt and Company, pp. 45–46. 7. Samuel Marx, Mayer and Thalberg: The Make Believe Saints, New York: Random House, 1975, p. 132. 8. George K. Arthur, “With My Foot in the Door,” G.K. Arthur Collection, Museum of Modern Art, NYC, courtesy of Wendy Brest Sani, p. 97. 9. Ibid. 10. Ibid. 11. Samuel Marx, Mayer and Thalberg: The Make Believe Saints, New York: Random House, 1975, p. 131. 12. George K. Arthur, “With My Foot in the Door,” G.K. Arthur Collection, Museum of Modern Art, NYC, courtesy of Wendy Brest Sani. 13. Grant Hayter Menzies, Charlotte Greenwood: The Life and Career of the Comic Star of Vaudeville, Radio, and Film, Jefferson, NC: McFarland, p. 103. 14. Ibid., p. 103. 15. Kevin Brownlow, personal letter to author, October 2008. 16. Ibid. 17. MGM Collection, Doheny Library, University of Southern California, courtesy of Ned Comstock. 18. Kevin Brownlow, personal letter to author, October 2008. 17. Ibid. 18. January 7, 1928, p. 6. 19. MGM Script Collection, University of Southern California, courtesy of Ned Comstock.

20. Ibid. 21. George K. Arthur, “With My Foot in the Door,” G.K. Arthur Collection, Museum of Modern Art, NYC, courtesy of Wendy Brest Sani. 22. Leatrice Gilbert Fountain, Dark Star: The Untold Story of the Meteoric Rise and Fall of the Legendary John Gilbert, New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1985, p. 151. 23. George K. Arthur, “With My Foot in the Door,” G.K. Arthur Collection, Museum of Modern Art, NYC, courtesy of Wendy Brest Sani. 24. Coy Watson, personal letter to author, March 2007. 25. Ibid. 26. Roy Liebman, The Wampas Baby Stars: A Biographical Dictionary, 1922–1934, Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2000. 27. David Stenn, Clara Bow: Runnin’ Wild, New York: Cooper Square Press, 1988, p. 42. 28. Ibid., pp. 116–117. 29. Kendra Matthews, Breach of Promise to Marry in Illinois: An Action That Belongs in the Past, Georgetown Law, Georgetown University, 1995, revised July 23, 2003, http://141.161.16. 100/glh/matthews.htm. 30. William Mann, Wisecracker: The Life and Times of William Haines, Hollywood’s First Openly Gay Star, New York: Viking, pp. 164– 165, 145. 31. Frank “Junior” Coghlan, They Still Call Me Junior: Autobiography of a Child Star, with a Filmography, Jefferson, NC : McFarland, pp. 39–42. 32. Ibid., p. 80. 33. William Mann, Wisecracker: The Life and Times of William Haines, Hollywood’s First Openly Gay Star, New York: Viking, pp. 164– 165, 145. 34. Ibid. 35. Kevin Brownlow, personal letter to author, August 2008. 36. Ibid. 37. Samuel Marx, Mayer and Thalberg: The Make Believe Saints, New York: Random House, 1975, p. 107. 38. William Mann, Wisecracker: The Life and Times of William Haines, Hollywood’s First Openly Gay Star, New York: Viking, pp. 164– 165. 39. Samuel Marx, Mayer and Thalberg: The Make Believe Saints, New York: Random House, 1975, p. 67. 40. Ibid. 41. Scott Eyman, The Speed of Sound: Hollywood and the Talkie Revolution, 1926–1930, New York: Simon & Schuster, 1997, pp. 182–183. 42. Ibid., pp. 185–186. 43. Judy Artunian and Mike Oldham, Movie

Chapter Notes Star Homes: The Famous to the Forgotten, Los Angeles: Santa Monica Press, 2004, p. 82.

Chapter 10 1. Samuel Marx, Mayer and Thalberg: The Make Believe Saints, New York: Random House, 1975, p. 105. 2. Ibid., p. 120. 3. George K. Arthur, “With My Foot in the Door,” G.K. Arthur Collection, Museum of Modern Art, NYC, courtesy of Wendy Brest Sani. 4. Ibid. 5. Ibid. 6. Ibid. 7. Romano Tozzi, “George K. Arthur: When His Acting Career Ended, He Built a New Career Selling Shorts,” Films in Review, Vol. XIII, No. 3, March 1962, pp. 151–168. 8. George K. Arthur, “With My Foot in the Door,” G.K. Arthur Collection, Museum of Modern Art, NYC, courtesy of Wendy Brest Sani.

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Understanding Suicide, New York : Vintage Books, 1999, p. 200. 3. Los Angeles County Coroner’s Register, file # 51028. 4. George K. Arthur, “With My Foot in the Door,” G.K. Arthur Collection, Museum of Modern Art, NYC, courtesy of Wendy Brest Sani. 5. Ibid. 6. Author’s phone conversation with Hollywood Forever Cemetery official, July 2006. 7. 1930 U.S. Census Records and Find a Grave. 8. Author’s phone conversation with Hollywood Forever Cemetery official, July 2006. 9. Author’s phone conversation with Patricia Tobias, Damfino’s Society, July 28, 2008.

Epilogue 1. Motion Picture and Television Fund History, http://www.mptvfund.org/cm/About%20 us/History/Home.html. 2. Time.com, http://www.time.com/time/ magazine/article/0,9171,923296–1,00.html.

Chapter 11 1. Jon Tuska, The Vanishing Legion: A History of Mascot Pictures, Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 1982, p. 8. 2. Ibid., p. 183. 3. Gary Don Rhodes, Lugosi, Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 1997, p. 147. 4. MGM Script Collection, Doheny Library, University of Southern California, courtesy of Ned Comstock. 5. David Edwin Harrell, Jr., Edwin S Gaustad, and John B Boles, Unto a Good Land: A History of the American People, Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans, p. 888.

Chapter 12 1. Los Angeles County Coroner’s Report. 2. Kay Redfield Jamison, Night Falls Fast:

Appendix A 1. Jeanine Basinger, Silent Stars, Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, p. 397.

Filmography 1. TCM.com. 2. Courtesty of John McElwee, GreenBriar Picture Shows, via oral interview with unnamed MGM source in the 1960s. 3. Courtesty of John McElwee, GreenBriar Picture Shows, via oral interview with unnamed MGM source in the 1960s. 4. Ibid. 5. Courtesy of Kevin Brownlow.

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Jones, W. Glyn. Denmark: A Modern History. London: Croon Helm, 1986. Lahue, Kalton C. Bound and Gagged: The Story of Silent Serials. South Brunswick, NJ: A.S. Barnes, 1968. Leider, Emily. Dark Lover: The Life and Death of Rudolph Valentino. New York: Farrar, Straus, & Giroux, 2003. Liebman, Roy. The Wampas Baby Stars: A Biographical Dictionary, 1922–1934. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2000. Lunde, Arne. “Garbo Talks!: Scandinavians in Hollywood, the Talkie Revolution, and the Crisis of the Foreign Voice,” in Screen Culture: History and Textuality, edited by John Fullerton. Eastleigh, England: John Libbey, 2004. Lurani, Giovanni, and Arnoldo Mondadori (eds.). History of the Racing Car: Man & Machine. Verona, Italy: 1971. Mader, Erik, Ole Ravn, and Chr. Erichsen. Da Bilen kom til Danmark (The Car Comes to Denmark). Copenhagen: Erichsen, 1995. Mann, William. Wisecracker: The Life and Times of William Haines, Hollywood’s First Openly Gay Star. New York: Viking, 1998. Marston, Daniel. The Seven Years’ War. London: Taylor & Francis, 2001. Martin, Michael Rheta, Leonard Gelber and Leo Lieberman, Dictionary of American History. Totowa, NJ: Littlefield Adams, 1978. Marx, Samuel. Mayer & Thalberg: The Make Believe Saints. New York: Random House, 1975. Menzies, Grant Hayter. Charlotte Greenwood: The Life and Career of the Comic Star of Vaudeville, Radio, and Film. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2007. Mohl, Raymond A. The Making of Urban America. Lanham, MD: Roman and Littlefield, 1997. Mortensen, Enok. A Danish Boyhood. Junction City, OR: The Danish-American Heritage Society, 1981. Olson, Kay Melchisedech. Norwegian, Swedish and Danish Immigrants, 1820– 1920. Mankato, MN: Blue Earth Books, 2002.

Bibliography Pizzitola, Louis. Hearst Over Hollywood. New York: Columbia University Press, 2002. Ploug, Mariann. Artillery i Danmark. Udgivet af Varde Artllerimuseum, 2001. Poliaki, Raymond A. Things You Didn’t Think to Ask Your Obstetrician: Answers to 1000 Questions About Your Pregnancy. Chicago: Contemporary Books, 1994. Potter, W. James. Media Literacy. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications, Inc., 2005. Quinlan, David. Quinlan’s Film Directors. London: Batsford Film Books, Sterling Publishing Company, 2001. Rainey, Buck. Serials and Series: A World Filmography, 1912–1956. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 1999. Redfield Jamison, Kay. Night Falls Fast: Understanding Suicide. New York: Vintage Books, 1999. Rhodes, Gary Don. Lugosi: His Life in Films, on Stage, and in the Hearts of Horror Lovers. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 1997. Rieger, Paula Trahan. Biotherapy: A Comprehensive Overview. Sudbury, MA: Jones & Bartlett, 2001. Roderick, Kevin. The San Fernando Valley: America’s Suburb. Los Angeles: Los Angeles Times Books, 2001. Schatz, Thomas. The Genius of the System. New York: Metropolitan Books, Henry Holt and Company, 1989. Sinding, Paul Christian. History of Scandinavia: From the Early Times of the Northmen and Vikings to the Present Day. Philadelphia: E.H. Butler, 1860. Slide, Anthony. The Big V: A History of the Vitagraph Company. Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 1976. Soden, Garrett. Defying Gravity: Land Divers, Roller Coasters, Gravity Bums, & the Human Obsession with Falling. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 2005. Sperling, Cass Warner, Mork Millner, and Jack Warner. Hollywood Be Thy Name: The Warner Brothers Story. Rocklin, CA: Prima Publishing, 1994. Steenstrup, Herluf Trolle. When I Was a Boy in Denmark: A Chronicle of Happy Days. Boston: Lothrup, Lee & Shepard, 1923.

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Stenn, David. Clara Bow: Runnin’ Wild. New York: Cooper Square Press, 1988. Stokes, John Hinchman. The Third Great Plague: A Discussion of Syphilis for Everyday People. Philadelphia & London: W.B. Saunders Company, 1918. Strachan, Hew. The First World War: To Arms. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press, 2001. Strode, Hudson. Denmark Is a Lovely Land. New York: Harcourt, Brace and Company, 1951. Thernstrom, Stephan, Ann Orlov, and Oscar Handlin. Harvard Encyclopedia of American Ethnic Groups. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University, 1980. Tucker, Spencer, and Priscilla Mary Roberts. World War I: Encyclopedia. Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-CLIO, 2005. Tuska, Jon. The Vanishing Legion: A History of Mascot Pictures. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 1982. Tybjerg, Casper. “Stunt Stories: The Sensation Film Genre,” from the book Celebrating 1895: Centenary of Cinema,” edited by John Fullerton, London, John Libbey, 1998. Vidor, King. A Tree Is a Tree. New York: Harcourt Brace, 1953. Walker, Alexander. The Shattered Silents: How the Talkies Came to Stay. New York: William Morrow and Company, Inc., 1979. Wallace, David. Lost Hollywood. New York: MacMillan, 2001. Wandell, Samuel H. The Laws of Inns, Hotels, and Boardinghouses: A Treatise on the Relation of Host and Guest. Rochester, NY: Williamson & Higbie, 1888. Weeks, Charles. A California Acre. Los Angeles: H.H. Lestico,1927. Weintraub, Stanley. A Stillness Heard Round the World: The End of the Great War, November 1918. London: Allen and Unwin, 1986. Wollstein, Hans. Strangers in Hollywood. “The Life & Death of a Doughboy.” Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 1994. Wood, George P., and Edward Harris Ruddock. Vitalog y: An Encyclopedia of Health

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and Home, Adapted for the Home, the Layman, and the Family. Chicago: Vitalogy Association, 1926.

Unpublished Memoirs Arthur, George K. With My Foot in the Door. G.K. Arthur Collection, Museum of Modern Art, NYC.

Theses Hansen, Judith Friedman. We Are a Little Land: Cultural Assumptions in Everyday Danish Life. University of California, Berkeley, 1970.

Articles in Periodicals Aarhus Stiftstidende article, January 1958, Tage Elmholdt. Blom, Ida. “Fighting Venereal Diseases: Scandinavian Legislation, c 1800 to c. 1950.” Department of History, University of Bergen, Norway. Carlisle, Helen. “The Path of Glory: Is Hard Work and the Strain Attendant Upon Fame Killing Our Screen Stars?” Motion Picture Magazine, January 1927. Cinefilo, December 1928, courtesy Mariana Pinheiro. Gross, Stephen J. “The Perils of Prussianism: Main Street German America, Local Autonomy, and the Great War.” Agricultural History, Vol. 78, No. 1, 2004. Matthews, Kendra. “Breach of Promise to Marry in Illinois: An Action That Belongs in the Past.” Georgetown Law, Georgetown University, 1995, revised July 23, 2003, http://141.161.16.100/glh/matth ews.htm. Motor Weekly (Danish), July-August 1915, courtesy Royal Danish Library. New York Times Archives. Politiken, 1926, 1928 and April 1934. Schallert, Edwin. “Mr. Dane from Denmark.” Picture Play, February 1926.

Thorp, Dunham. “The Mutt and Jeff of the Movies.” Motion Picture Classic, September 1927. Tozzi, Romano. “George K. Arthur: When His Acting Career Ended, He Built a New Career Selling Shorts.” Films in Review, March 1962.

Websites www.autinfilm.org. Cummings, Hildegarde. “Boardinghouses,” Online Learning, http://www.flogris.org/ learning/foxchase/html/essay_boarding.p hp (accessed June 2008). Danmark’s Veteran Motorcykleklub. “De tre Første Skagensløb 1913, 1914 og 1915,” http://www.dvm.dk/ArticleView.asp?ar ticle_id=24 (accessed July 2008). Ellisisland.org (accessed January 2006). FindaGrave.com. Jewish Genealogical Society of OR: U.S. World War I Draft Registrations, http:// www.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~orjgs/ww1. htm (accessed June 2006). Kannik’s Corner. www.kannikskorner.com/ home.htm (accessed October 20, 2006). http://karl-dane.blogspot.com (accessed various dates, from December 2005 through December 2008), courtesy of Hugh Watkins. http://www.lokalhistorieiaarhus.dk/tilst200a ar/Kvindearbejde/Madlavning.htm. McElwee, John, Greenbriar Picture Shows. “Ghosts of Comedies Past,” August 17, 2007, http://greenbriarpictureshows.blog spot.com/. http://www.militaryrifles.com/Denmark/Da nshRem.htm (accessed August 24, 2007). Motion Picture and Television Fund History, http://www.mptvfund.org/cm/Ab out%20us/History/Home.html. http://www.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~orjgs/. Rusie, Robert. “Talkin’ Broadway 101: A History of the Great White Way,” www. talkingbroadway.com. http://www.silentsaregolden.com/reviews folder/babyminereview.html, “Motion Picture Magazine, Baby Mine Review,”

Bibliography courtesy of Tim Lussert (accessed October 2007). Statistics Denmark. http://www.dst.dk/ HomeUK.aspx. TCM.com. http://www.theastrocowboy.com/Mlist/war paint.htm. http://www.vejleshistorie.dk/. Time.com. http://www.time.com/time/mag azine/article/0,9171,923296-1,00.html.

Archival Materials The Big Parade pressbook, King Vidor Collection, Doheny Library, University of Southern California. Copenhagen school records in the archives of København Rådhus, Copenhagen City Hall. Copenhagen Skattebogen, various years (1894–1895, 1896–1897). Defense Ministry sources, Copenhagen. The Enemy program, courtesy the Lillian Gish Collection, New York Public Library for the Performing Arts. Film Daily Yearbook, 1932–1933, New York Public Library for the Performing Arts.

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The Reminiscences of George K. Arthur (Fall 1957), pp. 2, 5, 6, in the Oral History Collection of Columbia University. Hollywood Forever Cemetery records. Københavns Folkeregister dødsblade efter 1923. Köbenhavns Overpræsidium, case #1026, Margin file #2660, year 1923. The King Vidor Collection, courtesy Ned Comstock, the University of Southern California, Cinema-Television Library. Kulturhistorisk Museum Randers, Denmark. Los Angeles County Coroner’s Register, file # 51028. Los Angeles County Court Records, D46606 and D46487. Landsarkivet for Sjaelland, Landsover-samt Hof-og Staddsretten Kobenhavns Skiftekommission, 1863–1943. Max Ree Collection, Danish Film Institute, Copenhagen, Denmark. Paramount studio biography, 1931. Politiefterretninger Index No. 3, 1913–1917. Stambog for Vaernepligtige ved 1. Kystartilleribattalion, 1907, #401. U.S. Census Records, 1920 and 1930.

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Index Numbers in bold italics indicate pages with photographs. Aalborg, Denmark 27 Aarhus, Denmark 11, 23, 25, 27, 82, 83 Aarhus Stiftstidende 82, 131, 165, 170 Abs, Carl 16 accent 3 acting ability 43, 47, 71, 76, 88–89, 97, 113, 124, 125, 153–154 Adams, Claire 191 Adorée, Renée 66, 72, 74, 75, 128, 155, 170, 180, 184, 191, 192 airplane development 28–29 alcoholism 20–21, 166–167 Algonquin Round Table 67 Alias Jimmy Valentine (1929) 1, 138, 139, 197 All at Sea (1929) 128, 130, 136 All Quiet on the Western Front (1930) 124 Allaire, New Jersey 42 Allan, Hugh 198 Allen, Barbara 190 Allgood Production Company 190 Andersdatter, Gjedske (great grandmother) 9 Andersen, Hans Christian 13 Andrews, Herb 160 Andrews, Lenore 160, 161, 162 Anger, Kenneth 1, 164, 177 animals, love of 77, 92–93 Appleton (WI) Post Crescent 86, 151, 197 apprenticeship 17–18 Argonne Advance (in The Big Parade) 73 Armstrong, Beatrice 187 The Art of Blacksmithing (book) 17–18 Arthur, George K. 4, 59, 77, 78, 79, 91–92, 93, 99, 100–104, 105, 106, 108, 116, 118, 119, 120, 125, 126, 127, 129, 130, 131, 137, 138, 146, 147, 148, 149, 150, 151, 151–153, 163– 164, 167, 171, 173–174, 179, 191, 194, 195, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 203, 204, 205 Arthur, Jean 126, 197 Arthur, Jeanne 103 Arthur, Milba (Mrs. George K. Arthur) 103, 172 artistic ability 25–26 Association of Trade Unions 10 Asther, Nils 145 Astor, Mary 96, 133, 177 Astor Theater 77, 81, 114 Ates, Roscoe 202

Athens (OH) Messenger 133 athletic ability 46, 47–48 Ausable Chasm 45, 47 automobile racing 26–28 Avelina Mines, Inc. 157, 173 Ayres, Agnes 193 Baby Mine ((1928) 105, 119–120, 196 Bacon, Irving 201, 203 Baird, Leah 44, 189 Banky, Vilma 97, 193 Bardelys the Magificent (1926) 98, 100, 156, 193 Barrymore, John 88 Barrymore, Lionel 94–95, 139, 197, 199, 200 Battle of Copenhagen 21 Bay Ridge, Brooklyn 37 Bayne, Beverly 189 beach house 131, 135 Bealer, Alex 17 Beaudine, William 64, 65 Beaumont, Harry 142, 199 Bech-Olsen (wrestler) 16 Beebe, Marjorie 154, 205 beer gardens 164 Beery, Wallace 56, 100, 201, 202 Behn, Harry 67 Bellamy, Madge 117 Bellamy, Ralph 184 Belleau Wood 73, 74 Belmore, Lionel 194 Ben Hur (1925) 80, 96 Benny, Jack 146, 200 Benson, Helen (second wife) 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 84 Beresford, Florence 188 Berlitz Language School 36 Bern, Paul 137 Berrell, George 190 Besserer, Eugenie 199 Beveridge, Phyllis 187 Bielefeldt, F. 172 The Big House (1930) 56, 177, 201 The Big Parade (1925) 1, 3, 5, 28, 32, 39, 60, 61, 64–68, 69, 70, 71, 72–77, 80–83, 85, 86, 87, 90, 96, 97, 106, 128, 142, 149, 154– 155, 171, 175, 179, 180, 181, 184, 191

221

222

INDEX

Bille, John 36 Billings, Florence 189 Billy the Kid (1930) 56, 147, 202 Biltmore Hotel, Los Angeles 78 Bingham, Anna E. 158 Biograph Studios 42 The Birth of a Nation (1915) 45, 156 Bishop, Lafayette 110 Bjergrutschebanen 26 Black, Buck 191 Blazer, Dr. Alfred 183 Bluebeard’s Eighth Wife (1923) 133 Blystone, John G. 190 boardinghouse life 38 Boardman, Eleanor 194 Boddy, William 26 La Boheme (1926) 87, 156, 180, 192 Bosworth, Hobart 65, 70, 191 Boteler, Wade 200 Bound and Gagged (book) 45, 46 Boutin, Joseph F. 111 Bow, Clara 67, 96, 116, 133, 134, 145 Bowen, Henry (Harry) 201, 203 Bowers, John 4 Breach of Promise suit 62, 134–137 Bren, Milton 77 Brisbane, Arthur 42 Brisson, Carl 169 Broken Wedding Bells (1930)(short) 185, 201– 202 Brooklyn 35, 36, 37, 49, 52 Brooks, Louise 4 Brotherly Love (1928) 78, 105, 122, 123, 126– 128, 131, 197 Brown, Clarence 5, 107–108, 109, 110, 111, 140, 142, 196, 200 Brown, Halbert 187 Brown, Johnny Mack 201, 202 Brownlow, Kevin ix, 1, 95, 108, 109, 115, 128 The Bugle Sounds 146 Burns, Sammy 47, 190 Burton, David 141 Bushman, Frances X. 189 Byron, Arthur 205 Cabanne, Christy 192 Cain, Robert 188, 190 Calhoun, Alice 190 Calvert, E.H. 195 The Cameraman (1928) 107 Campbell, Margaret 192 Cantor, Eddie 96 The Capital (WI) Times 149 Capitol Theater 77 car accident 124 Carey, Harry 138, 139, 195, 196 Carlsberg Breweries 10, 17 Carlsson, Ingemar 27 Carlyle, Richard 197 Carney, Augustus 100

carpentry skills 64, 79 cars 77 Carvill, Henry 188, 189 casket 172 censorship 42, 88, 140 Chaffin, Ethel 133 Chaney, Lon 93, 117, 118, 146, 180 Chaplin, Charlie 97, 102, 103, 128 Chapman, Edythe 200 Charleston (WV) Daily Herald 191 Charleston (WV) Daily Mail 142, 198 Charleston (WV) Gazette 107, 173 Chautard, Emile 188 Cherokee Ed (Scott Turner) 109, 111 Chevrolet, Louis 142 Chicago, Illinois 152, 159 Chicago Tribune 167 chicken farming 54 children, popularity 90–92, 130, 139 Chillecothe (MO) Constitution Tribune 142 China 132 China Bound (1929) 102, 107, 146, 147, 149, 198–199 cholera epidemic 20–21 Christensen, Ane Marie (great-great grandmother) 9 Christensen, Benjamin 5, 95, 96, 131 Chronicle-Telegram (OH) 93 Chute, Margaret 78 Cinefilo magazine 32, 53 Circus Rookies (1928) 125–126, 127, 128, 196– 197 Claretie, Jules 188 Clark, Colbert 156, 205 Clark, Estelle 59, 192 Clifford, Kathleen (Mrs. Illitch) 60, 61, 62 Cline, Edward 185, 204 Clover Field 90 Coad, Joyce 193 Coastal Artillery Regiment 30, 39, 51 Coconut Grove 78 Cody, Lew 192 Coghlan, Frank “Junior” 91, 138–139, 195 Cohen, Milton 62 Cohn, J.J. 111 Comont, Mathilde 192 confirmation (religious ceremony) 16–17 Conklin, Chester 177 Connelly, Edward 197 Connelly, E.J. 189 Conway, Jack 139, 197, 203 Cook, Warren 188 Cooper, Gary 184 Cooper, George 110, 196 Copenhagen 7, 17, 19, 21, 25, 27, 28, 33, 34, 38, 49, 50, 95, 148 Copenhagen City Hall 13, 17 Copenhagen Zoological Garden 26 Corday, Marcelle 193 Corona, Colorado 109, 111

Index Corrado, Gino 192 Cortez, Ricardo 201 Cosgrave, Luke 198 Cosmopolitan Productions 191, 201 Costello, Dolores 133 Costello, Lou 112, 127 The Covered Wagon (1923) 87 Crawford, Joan 108, 133, 147, 198, 200, 201 Crawley, Annette Louise 132 Crawley, Paul Samuel 132, 137 Crawley, Paul William 132, 183 Crazy House (1930) 148 see The March of Time Crisp, Donald 177 Crosby, Bing 147 The Crowd (1928) 68 Cruze, James 198 Crystal Film Company 45 Currier, Frank 108, 188, 189, 195 Custer, Bob 133 Daily Capitol News and Post Tribune (MO) 205 Daily (MT) Interlake 165 Daily News (NY) 183 Dalby, Edmund 189 Dallas, Texas 152 Daly, Jane 199 Dana, Viola 103 Dane, Carl (name change) 44 Dane and Arthur partnership 100, 104–105, 185 Danish Athletic Club 37 Danish Auto Weekly 30 Danish Film Institute 28, 89, 95 Danish Flying Corp 30 Danish Grand Prix (Skagen Run) 27 Danish Motor Weekly 27 D’Arcy, Roy 94, 156, 192, 194, 206 Daring Hearts (1919) 46, 189–190 Darmour, Larry 150, 185, 203, 204 Dashiell, Willard 187 Daughters, F.H. 111 Daves, Delmer 198 Davies, Marion 7, 86, 91, 117, 128, 191, 194, 200 D’Avril, Yola 201 Day, Marceline 106, 108, 120, 195, 197 Dean, Louis 43, 187 death scene in The Big Parade 74, 75 Decatur (IL) Herald 134 Declaration of Intention 53, 55 Del Rio, Dolores 111, 115, 196 DeMille, Cecil B 123 Denmark 8, 9, 10, 11, 20, 26, 27, 28, 32, 34, 49, 51 Denny, Reginald 202 Dent, Vernon 100 Denton (MD) Journal 44 Denver (CO) Post 108, 110, 111

223

DePalma, Ralph 142 Des Moines (IA) Daily News 188 Detectives (1928) 120, 121, 123, 197 The Devil’s Circus (1926) 96 The Diary of a Lost Girl 4 Dizzy Dates (1930)(short) 185, 203 Dome of Aarhus (Aarhus Domkirke) 11 Donlin, Mike 138, 195 Dove, Billie 96 Dowd, Nancy 65 Dressler, Marie 148 A Dressmaker from Paris (1925) 133 Dreyer, Carl Theodor 29 US Drummond 140 The Duke Steps Out (1929) 138, 198 Dumbbells in Derbies (1931) (short) 151, 154, 185, 204 Duncan, Bud 100 Dunn, Josephine 146, 198, 199 Durante, Jimmy 156 Dwan, Allan 117 Dyker Park, Brooklyn 37 Edwards, Cliff 200, 201, 205 Edwards, Gus 200 Edwards, Neeley 154, 205 Edwards, Snitz 194 Eiche, Dee 51 1880 Danish census 11 Ekaterinberg, Russia 132 Elcar, Anton 172 Ellehammer, Jacob Christian 28 Ellis Island 35, 38, 52 Elmholdt, Tage 165 Eltinge, Julian 121 Emerson, Ralph 124, 195 Emery, Gilbert 202 Emmett, Fern 201, 203 The Enemy (1928) 1, 124–125, 195 English skills 36, 61, 77, 129–130 Enton, Tom 172 Entwistle, Peg 4 Eric, Prince of Denmark 54 Eskimo (1933) 131 Evans, Madge 205 Evening Standard (PA) 97 The Everlasting Whisper (1925) 5, 85, 190–191 Exhibitors Daily Review 26, 47, 111, 143 extra work in films 40–41 Eyman, Scott 78 Fairbanks, Douglas 97, 98, 104, 128 Famous Players–Lasky 41, 188 fans 75, 76 Fast Life (1932) 205 The Fatal Plunge (1924) 63 Fawcett, George 193, 195 Fawn (Karl’s German Shepherd) 92, 134, 152 Fazenda, Louise 194 Fedris, John 187

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INDEX

Ferguson, Helen 189 Ferrar, Geraldine 123 Film Exhibitors Review 81 Film Mercury 95 Film Spectator 124 film stock, change from orthochromatic to panchromatic 123 Finegan, Richard 185 First Artillery Battalion 21 Fischer, Marguerita 44 Fisher, Muriel 77 Fitzmaurice, George 193 Fitzroy, Emily 111, 194, 196, 203 Flakfortet 21 Fleming, James 39 The Flesh and the Devil (1926) 88 Flower of Night (1925) 137 Flugrath, Edna 103 Forbes, Ralph 108, 109, 110, 115, 124, 195, 196 foreign accents in Hollywood 145 Fort Lee, New Jersey 45 Foster, Lewis R. 185, 201, 203, 204 Fox, William 42 Fox Studio 42, 85, 190 Franklin, Chester M. 120, 197 Frederici, Blanche 202 Frederick, Crown Prince (Denmark) 25 Frederick, Pauline 188 Frederick the Great 9, 188 Frederick VII, King (Denmark) 10 Fredericksberg Castle 27 Frederiks Hospital 11 Free and Easy (1930) 107, 147 Freelan, A. 187 French, Charles 194 French Grand Prix 26 Fresno (CA) Bee 96, 170 Freuchen, Peter 131, 170–171 Friganza, Trixie 192 From the Airfield 29 Fulton Street, Brooklyn 38 funeral 171–172 Funkhouser, Maj. Metellus Lucullus Cicero 42 Gade, Sven 171 Galveston, Texas 152 Galveston (TX) Daily News 136, 202 Garbo, Greta 62, 78, 88, 117, 131, 145, 180 Gehrig, Lou 138 General Film Company 187 George Eastman House 4 Gerard, James W. 41, 42, 43 Germany 30, 32, 34 Gettysburg (PA) Times 155 Gilbert, John 4, 66, 68, 70, 72, 74, 75, 81, 85, 87, 97, 98, 99, 103, 106, 117, 118, 123, 128, 129, 155, 172, 179–180, 184, 191, 192, 194 Ginsburg, Dr. Josef 134

Gish, Lillian 85, 87, 88, 89, 90, 124, 125, 192, 193, 195 Gittens, Wyndham 191 glove making 11 Glyn, Madame Elinor 67 Go Get ’Em Hutch (1924) 63 gold mining 158 The Gold Rush (1925) 104 Golden, Joseph A. 44, 45, 46, 189, 190 Golden, Oregon 162 Good Templars 21 Gordon, Julia Swayne 191 Gossert, Cyrus 157–158 Gottlieb, Alexander Schøler (nephew) 23 Gottlieb, Anders Peder (great uncle) 9 Gottlieb, Ejlert Carl (son) 23, 29, 30, 37, 83, 85, 169, 182 Gottlieb, Georg Valdemar (second cousin) 12 Gottlieb, Ingeborg Helene (daughter) 23, 49, 50, 82, 83, 85, 169, 174, 181–182 Gottlieb, Jens Carl 32 Gottlieb, Kirstine Schøler (niece) 23 Gottlieb, Nøber 32 Gottlieb, Rasmine (great aunt) 11 Gottlieb, Rasmus Marius (father) 8, 10, 11, 12, 13, 19–20, 23, 35, 52, 58, 150, 167 Gottlieb, Rasmus Therkelsen (grandfather) 9, 10 Gottlieb, Reinald Marius (brother) 7, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 16, 18, 21, 23–24, 25, 51, 53, 82– 84, 93, 170, 181 Gottlieb, Svend Aage Schøler (nephew) 23 Gottlieb, Thyra Schøler (niece) 23 Gottlieb, Verner 27 Gottlieb, Viggo Eiler (brother) 11 Goulding, Alfred J. 198 Grandview Memorial Park 57 Granny (1914) 69 Grant, Lawrence 188 Grauman, Sid 75 Grauman’s Egyptian Theater 74, 116 grave marker 172, 173 Gravengaard, Reverend Nels 172 Gravina Cesare 196 Great Britain 32 Great Depression 3, 158, 162 The Great Gamble (1919) 46 Great influenza epidemic 46 The Great Victory: Wilson or the Kaiser: the Fall of the Hohenzollerns (1919) 43, 189 Greenwood, Charlotte 119–120, 196 Gribbon, Harry 19 Griffith, D.W. 70, 97 Hagen, Carl Ludwig (father-in-law) 29, 30, 31 Hagen, Carla Dagmar (first wife) 15, 22, 23, 25, 29, 30, 31, 33, 34, 36, 49–50, 51, 52, 55, 58, 82, 83, 84, 85, 169–170, 181 Hagen, Marie (mother-in-law) 29, 31

Index Hagersville (MD) Daily Journal 26 Haines, William 91, 113, 116, 117, 118, 123, 128, 138, 139, 140, 141, 142, 143, 195, 197, 198, 199, 200, 205 Hale, Creighton 189 Hale, Georgia 103, 104 Hall, Mordaunt 120 Hamburg (IA) Reporter 121 Hamilton, Lloyd 100 Hamilton (OH) Daily News 78, 121, 131 Hamilton (OH) Evening Journal 93 Hamlet (1921) 171 Hanson, Lars 88, 89, 131, 193 Hart, William S. 128, 202 Hassell, George 192 Hatton, Raymond 100 Havre (MT) Daily Promoter 149 Hawaii 93 Hawes, Mary 193 Hawthorne, Nathaniel 87, 90, 193 Hearn, Fred 187 Hearst, William Randolph 7, 41 Helena (MT) Independent 121, 126, 134 Henley, Hobart 192 Henry, O. 139 Her Final Reckoning (1918) 46, 188 Herman, Albert 156, 205 Hermansen, Peter 31 Hersholt, Jean 118, 131, 168–169, 172, 177 Hesser, Edwin Bower 187 The Hidden Menace (1925) 63 Hill, George W. 4, 73, 201 Hillburn, Percy 94 His Glorious Night (1929) 179–180 His Hour (1924) 67, 68 His Secretary (1925) 59, 86, 191–192 History of Danes in America 36 The History of Motor Racing (book) 26 Hollister, George K. 188 Hollywood 55, 116, 134, 151, 153 Hollywood (1923) (film) 103 Hollywood Babylon II (book) 164, 177 Hollywood Boulevard 116 Hollywood Daily Citizen 140, 150 Hollywood Filmograph 143, 146 Hollywood Forever Cemetery aka Hollywood Memorial Cemetery 170, 180 Hollywood Revue of 1929 146, 200 Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel 116 Hollywood Walk of Fame 5 Holtz, Tenen 196, 197, 198 homesickness 36 Hopkins, Robert 128 Horsens, Denmark 8, 9, 25 Horten, Edward Everett 192 hot dog stand 3, 91, 163–165 Houry, Henry 189 Howe, Betty 41, 187, 188, 189 Hubbard, Lucien 199 Hughes, Lloyd 199

225

Hull, Marie 189 Hume, Fred 197 Humphry, Walter and Edith 158 Huntington (PA) Daily News 174 Hurricane in Galveston (1913) 66 Hurst, Brandon 197 Hutch of the USA (1924) 63 Hutchison, Charles 44–45, 52, 53, 63, 66, 78, 181, 189, 190 Hyams, Leila 139, 197, 201 Hyman, Bernard 140 illness 36 Illum (department store) 22 Ilustraçáo Portuguesa 36, 47 immigration 34–37 injury on set of Brotherly Love 123–124 intelligence 105, 128–130 Internet Movie Database 3, 132 Irving, George 188 James, Walter 190 Jarvis, Sidney 197 The Jazz Singer (1927) 114 Jefferson City (MO)Post Tribune 171 Johnson, Kay 202 Johnson, Noble 191 Joy, Col. Jason 140 Joy, Leatrice 128 June LaCrosse (WI) Tribune and Leader-Press 43 Jungmeyer, Jack 76 Just, Johann Gottlieb (great-great grandfather) 8, 9 Just, Niels Gottlieb (great grandfather) 9 Just Plain Buggs 103 Kaiser Wilhelm 42–43, 187, 188 Keaton, Buster 107, 118, 126, 128, 147, 148, 154, 156, 203 Kelly, Paul 195 Key, Kathleen 191 Kidder, Albert, Jr. 135, 157 King, Charles 200 King Kong (1933) 191 King Vidor Collection (USC) 64, 66, 87 Kipps 102 Knights Before Christmas (1930)(short) 185, 203 Knud, Prince (Denmark) 25 Kobenhavns Overpræsidium 58 Kolker, Henry 189 Krak vejviser 12 Lady Benson’s Dramatic School 101 A Lady’s Morals (1930) 147, 202 Laffey, James 188 Lahue, Kalton 45, 46 Lake Worth (TX) Ledger 183 Langdon, Harry 100, 156

226

INDEX

Langebro swing bridge 17 La Rocque, Rod 128 Las Vegas, Nevada 157 Las Vegas (NV) Evening Journal 158 Lash, James (Minister) 55 The Last of the Mohicans 14 Laurel and Hardy 100, 105, 200 Lawson, Eleanor 191 Lazzeri, Tony 138 Leake, Frances 166, 167, 168, 172, 174, 182 The Lease Breakers (1931) (short) 185, 204 Lebanon (PA) Daily News 46 Lee, Betty 187 Lee, Christopher 43 Lee, Gwen 121, 192 legal troubles 30–31, 134–137 Le May, Roy 205 Leonard, Robert Z. 196 Leslie, Fred 157 Leslie, Gov. Harry G. 143 letters 35–36, 83–84, 159–160 Levine, Nat 156 Levitan, Solomon 149 Lewis, George J. 206 Lewis, Sheldon 189 Lewis, Walter P. 188 The Lights of Old Broadway (1925) 86, 191 Lillian Gish: A Life Onscreen (book) 192 Lima (OH) News 198 Lime Juice Nights (1931) (short) 204 Lincoln Park 140 Lincoln Production Company 191 The Lincoln (NE) Star 51, 93 Lindegaard, Father Edward 49 Lindgren, Charles 32, 38 The Little Match Girl 14 Little Old New York (1923) 191 Litz, “Deacon” 142 Lobster Films 98 Locklear, Ormer 52 Loew, Marcus 156 Logansport (IN) Tribune 188 Logue, Charles A. 42 Lorraine, Louise 119, 129, 195, 196 Los Angeles Ambassador Hotel 90, 133 Los Angeles Angels 138 Los Angeles Creamery Company 54 The Los Angeles Examiner 69, 163, 166, 168 The Los Angeles Express 73 The Los Angeles Times 13, 61, 75, 77, 78, 96, 113, 114, 118, 132, 134, 145, 165, 166, 183, 184 Lost Hollywood 123 Louis, Willard 192 Love, Bessie 200 Love, Montagu 93, 193, 199 Lowell (MA) Sun 177 Lubin, Arthur 194 Lugosi, Bela 3, 156, 205 Lusitania 34 Lussier, Frank 108, 188, 189

Lyric Theater (IN) 107 Lytton, L. Rogers 189 MacGregor, Malcolm 205–206 Madison, Virginia 190 The Madness of Youth (1923) 103 Madsen, Harald 100 Malibu, California 77, 79 Manitoba Free Press 45–46, 124 Mann, William 140 Mansfield (OH) News 52, 120, 168, 184 The March of Time (1930) see Crazy House 148 Marianne (1929) 128 Marie, Bonnie 187 Marion, Frances 88 Marion, George F. 201, 202 marital problems 49–50, 59–63 Maroney, Elizabeth 77 Marsh, Mae 45 Marshall, Tully 115, 139, 140, 196, 197 Marstini, Rosita 191 Marx, Samuel 118, 202 Marx Brothers 116 Mascot studio 156, 205 Mason City (IA) Globe Gazette 149 Mathis, June 188 Mayer, Louis B. 61–62, 64, 65, 67, 77, 80, 81, 88, 95, 96, 116, 119, 145, 146, 202 Mayer and Thalberg: The Make Believe Saints (book) 202 Maynard, Ken 96 McCoy, Tim 86, 96, 194 McDowall, Claire 70, 191 McHugh, Charles 191 McIntyre, Robert 40, 66 McLaughlin, Ted 52 McWade, Margaret 189 Mdivani, Prince David 137 Mdivani, Serge 137 Men Without Skirts (1930)(short) 185, 201 Menjou, Adolphe 203 The Merry Widow (1925) 78 Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM) 61, 64, 66– 67, 75, 80, 82, 85, 87, 88, 90, 91, 99, 104, 111, 116, 118, 128, 129, 131, 134, 144, 146, 150, 165, 168–170, 180, 191, 192, 193, 194, 195, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 202, 203 Metro Pictures 188 Metropolitan Opera Ballet Company 133 Meusel, Bob 138 Meusel, “Irish” 138 MGM Studio Commissary 118 Middelgrundsfortet 21 Middlesboro (KY) Daily News 170 Mildred, Kansas 53 military career 21–22, 30–31 Miljan, John 199 Miller, Charles 189 Miltern, John 188 Milwaukee, Wisconsin 152

Index Milwaukee (WI) Press-Gazette 151 mining career 157–162 Mr. Wu (1927) 180 Mix, Tom 85, 190 Modesto (CA) Herald 96, 155 Molander, Karin 89 Montana, Bull 193 Montana Moon (1930) 147, 200–201 Montana Standard 140 Monte Carlo (1926) 192–193 Montgomery, Earle 100 Montgomery, Robert 146, 201 Moore, Grace 202, 203 Moore, Owen 194 morals clause 134 Moran, Polly 111, 112, 120, 124, 146, 148, 195, 199, 200 Morgan, Byron 128 Morgan, Slim 109 Morning Sun (London) 77 The Morning Telegraph (London) 63 Morris, Chester 177, 201 Mortensen, Enok, 34, 35 Motion Picture 120 Motion Picture Classic 13, 25, 36, 40, 44, 102, 145 Motion Picture Directors Association 64 Motion Picture Relief Fund 118, 177 Motion Picture Television and Country Home 177 Motion Picture World 43 motorcycle racing 27–28 The Mummy (1932) 125 Murphy, W.J. 110 Murray, Charles 68 Murray, Mae 4, 128, 137 Museum of Modern Art 4, 179 Mussalli, Hassan 187 Musso and Frank’s Grill 116 My Four Years in Germany (1918) 5, 41–44, 49, 53, 187 The Mysterious Island (1929) 91, 93–96, 115, 141, 199–200 Nagel, Conrad 94, 200, 205 name change 44, 83–84 Nansensgades School 14–15 National Film Preservation Board 180 Navy Blues (1929) 113, 138, 139, 140, 141, 200 Negri, Pola 116, 137, 183 Neill, Richard R. 190 Nervø, Alfred 27, 28, 29 nervous breakdown 150 New Moon (1931) 203 New York 32, 47, 49, 70, 88, 152 The New York Herald Tribune 75, 167, 172 New York Mirror 164 New York Telegraph 95 The New York Times 34, 36, 44, 72, 90, 109, 111, 120

227

Newark (NJ) Advocate American Tribune 32 Nexø, Martin Andersen 10 Nigh, William 41–42, 187 night life in Hollywood 78 1920 United States Federal Census 47, 49, 52 Nordic stereotypes 5, 112–113 Nordisk Films Kompagni 28–29 Nourlah (wrestler) 16 Novarro, Ramon 117 Novello, Ivor 102 Nugent, Edward 198 Nugent J.C. 200, 201 Oakland (CA) Tribune 60, 61, 94, 97, 137 Ober, Robert 191 O’Brien, Tom 65, 68, 69, 70–71, 75, 96, 172, 180, 191, 195 Odense, Denmark 27 Oderman, Stuart 192 Ogden (UT) Daily Examiner 133, 156 Ogden (UT) Standard Examiner 97, 127 Oh Buoy! (1920) 47, 190 Oland, Warner 93 Olean Evening Times 15, 18 Olean Times (NY) 76 Olmstead, Gertrude 192 Olsen, Knud Alfred (Carla’s second husband) 58, 82, 181 Olsen, Knud Lauritz 82 Olsen, Ole 28 One Week (1920) 154 O’Neil, Sally 94, 138, 195 Øresund, flight over 29 Orlamond, George 194 Orsatti, Ernie 138 Orsatti, Frank 77 Orsatti, Vic 138 Oscar II (ship) 34 Over There (song) 70 Pabst, G. W. 4 Page, Anita 113, 123, 139, 140, 141, 143, 145, 199, 200 Paige, Jean 189 Palace Theater 47 Palomer Tennis Courts 81 Pandora’s Box 4 Panorama City 55 The Parade’s Gone By... 95, 108, 109 Paramount Studios 16, 22, 40, 47, 72, 79, 100, 133, 153, 165, 185 Pathé Studio 46, 63, 188 Patton, Peggy 151, 152 Pelle the Conqueror (book) 10 People’s Theater (Folketeateret) 13 personal effects 172–173 personality 5, 76–77, 78–79, 131, 152, 157 Petersen, Ingemann 16 Photoplay magazine 61, 76, 96 physical appearance 22, 39, 148–149

228

INDEX

physical fitness 22, 79–80 Pickfair 104 Pickford, Mary 155, 177 Picture Play magazine 53, 55, 57, 65, 75 The Picture Show Annual of 1928 78 Pierce Brothers Undertakers 170 Piqua (OH) Daily Call 167 Pitts, ZaSu 192 Plumes 67 pneumonia 124 Poison (1924) 63 Politiken 11, 22, 52, 53, 85, 163, 165, 166, 168, 169, 171, 172 Pollard, Daphne 201 Pollard, Harry 205 Port Arthur (TX) News 54 Potel, Victor 100 practical jokes 93, 105 Pratt, George E. 54 Preston, Homer and Rhoda 159–161 Price, Ann 128 Prince Zilah (play and novel) 188 Prior, Herbert 198 probate file 159–161, 172–174 Publix Theaters 151 A Put Up Job (1932) (short) 153–154, 155, 185, 205 Queen Christina (1933) 180 Randers, Denmark 11 The Range Terror (1925) 133 Rapf, Harry 67, 100, 104, 105, 119 Raphael, Stephen 173 Ralston, Esther 96 Ralston, Jobyna 202 Rand, Sally 133 Rasmussen, Helene (stepmother) 20, 35, 58 Ray, Albert 185, 204, 205 The Red Mill (1927) 194–195 Redding, California 159 Ree, Max 78, 89 Renault, Marcel 26 Republic Pictures 156 Rescher, Jay 94 residences 8, 12, 13, 19, 25, 35, 38, 51, 55, 78, 84, 144, 145, 157, 163, 164 A Retrieved Reformation (story) 139 Rice, Frank 203 Richmond, Warner 138, 195, 198, 202 Rickenbacker, Eddie 143 Riddel, George 187 Riesner, Charles (Chuck) 126, 148, 197, 199, 200 RKO Studios 150, 185, 198, 201, 203, 204 robberies 77, 167 Robert Gair Company 39 Rock, Joe 100 Rocky Mountain (CO) News 109, 110 Roderick, Kevin 54

Rookies (1927) 100, 101, 102–103, 104, 105, 106, 107, 108, 119, 120, 152, 195 Roosevelt, Franklin Delano 158, 171 Roosevelt, Theodore 86 Roper, Jack 198 Rosenfeld, Henry L. 183 Rosita (1923) 171 Roup, Carl “Major” 91 Royal Theater of Copenhagen 7 Rubin, Benny 148, 201 Ruth, Babe 138 Sabatini, Rafael 98 St. Clair, Malcolm 147, 201 Saint Paul’s Church (Denmark) 23 salary 61, 81 Salt Lake (UT) Tribune 194 Salvarsan treatments for syphilis 51 The Salvation Hunters (1925) 103–104 Sammy Burns Company 47, 190 San Antonio, Texas 152 San Antonio (TX) Express 138 San Antonio (TX) Light 152 San Diego, California 69, 140 San Fernando Valley 43 The San Fernando Valley: America’s Suburb (book) 54 San Francisco 132, 159 The San Francisco (CA) Chronicle 109 San Mateo (CA) Times 126, 169 San Pedro, California 103, 140 San Simeon 7 Santa Monica, California 15, 78, 79, 135 Sawyer, Emma Awilda Peabody (third wife) 57, 58–63, 84, 182 Scandinavians in Hollywood 130–131 The Scarlet Letter (1926) 83, 87–90, 193, 194 Schallert, Edwin 57, 66, 75 Schayer, Richard 125, 128 Schenck, Earl 187, 188, 189 Schenstrom, Carl 100 Schleswig-Holstein 30 Schlieme, Dr. 26 Schøler, Margrethe (sister-in-law) 23, 24 schooling 14–15 scrapbook 167, 174 Screen Classics, Incorporated 188, 189 Seastrom, Victor 5, 78, 88, 89, 90, 131, 193 The Seattle Post-Intelligencer 75 Sebastian, Dorothy 201 Secrets (1933) 155 Sedgwick, Edward 126, 138, 140, 195, 196 Sedgwick, Eileen 138 Selective Service Act 39 Selznick, Myron 153 Service Robert 108 Seven Years’ War 9 Seventh Heaven (1927) 184 Shantytown (abandoned film) 155 Sharp, Henry 142

Index Shaw, Harold 102 Shearer, Norma 86, 96, 118, 177, 192, 200 Shepard, David 65 Sherwood, William 187 Shores, Lynn 198 Shove Off (1931) (short) 185, 204 Show People (1928) 128, 130 Shy, Gus 148, 202, 203 Siegmann, George 194 silent film production 116–117, 119–120 Simonsen, Anne Cathrine (mother) 8, 11, 19– 20, 23 Simpson, Russell 109, 196, 202 Sindler, Irving 97 The Skywayman (1920) 52 Sleeper, Martha 198 Slick ’Em (Irving Thalberg’s chauffeur) 118– 119 Slide, Anthony 40 Slide Kelly, Slide (1927) 91, 138–139, 195 Smiley, Joseph W. 188 Smith, Frank 109 Smith, Mygind and Hüttemeier 17 Solax Film Company 45 The Son of the Sheik (1926) 97, 193 sound film 114–115, 143–145, 149 Speak Easily (1932) 156 Speed (1922) 63 The Speed of Sound (book) 78 Speedway (1927) 56, 138, 142, 199 Stallings, Charles 94, 111 Stallings, Laurence 67 Standing, Percy 187 Standing, Wyndham 202 A Star Is Born (film) 4 Starke, Pauline 86, 194 Steamboat Bill, Jr. (1928) 126, 154 Steckler, Otis 110 Sten, Anna 184 Stendhal, Germany 8, 9 Stiller, Mauritz 78, 89, 131 Stivers, Howard 172 Stockdale, Carl 199 Stokes, John Hinchman 50 Stone, Frank 187 Stone, Lewis 201 The Story of Gosta Berling (1924) 88 Stromberg, Hunt 95 Studio Club 77 Stunt Stories: The Sensation Film Genre (article) 29 stunt work 41, 45–46, 52–53, 83, 114, 154 suicide 164–168 Summer Bachelors (1926) 117 Summer Daze (1932) (short) 185 The Sunday Chronicle (London) 76 Sunday World 75 Sundby Hospital 31 Sunderland, John 188 Sunset Park, Brooklyn 37

229

Sutton, Gertrude 142, 200 Svendsen, Robert 29 Svensk Rallyhistoria (book) 27 Swanson, Gloria 133 Swedish Singing Society (Booklyn) 37 syphilis 49–51, 157, 165–166 Syracuse (NY) Herald 42, 93, 96, 114, 127 Talmadge, Constance 96 Talmadge, Norma 96, 128 Tattersall, Vita 205 Tell, Olive 188 Ten Years Behind the Wheel 27 Texas 72 Thalberg, Irving 66, 67, 68, 73, 80, 81, 119, 145, 148 The Third Great Plague (book) 50 Thompson, Ray 111 Thornton, Edith 45, 52, 53, 181, 190 Tibbett, Lawrence 203 Tietzin, M.H. 58 Tijuana, Mexico 133 Titus, Yeamans Lydia 198 Tivoli (Denmark) 26, 164 To Hell with the Kaiser (1918) 42, 188 tobacco chewing 72, 142 Tol’able David (1920) 56 Tooker, William 193 Torrence, Ernest 56, 142, 143, 199 Tourneur, Maurice 5, 93, 95, 199 toy theater (dukketeater) 7, 13–14 The Trail of ’98 (1928) 93, 107–112, 113–115, 120, 124, 140, 158, 196 A Tree Is a Tree (book) 69 Trekroner 21 Triumph Film Company 45 The Triumph of Venus (1918) 46, 187 Trolle-Steenstrup, Herluf 15, 17 Truesdell, Fred C. 189 Tuborg Breweries 17 Tucker, Sophie 116 Tully, Jim 129 Tybjerg, Casper 29 United Artists 97, 104, 193 United States 32, 53 United States Signal Corps 72 United States Treasury Department 158 University of Southern California 4, 127, 128, 145 Valdemar, Thais (girlfriend) 62, 131–135, 136–138, 182–183 Valentino, Rudolph 85, 97, 123, 170, 193 The Valley News 57 Van Buren, Mabel 192 Van Dyke, W.S. 86, 87, 131, 194 Van Nuys 54, 55 Van Nuys News 64 Vanity Fair 128

230 Variety 90, 115, 155 vaudeville 47–48, 155 Verne, Jules 93, 96 Victor Film Manufacturing Company 187 Vidor, King 4, 5, 64, 65, 66, 67, 72, 74, 75, 76, 87, 97, 98, 128, 147, 172, 180, 184, 192, 193, 202 Virginia Bee 90 Vitagraph Studios 40, 45, 100, 187, 189 The Voice of the Storm (1929) 5, 198 voice tests 145 Von Eltz, Theodore 194, 198 Von Sternberg, Josef 103, 104 Von Stroheim, Erich 78 Vor Frelsers Kirke (Denmark) 9 Wakefield (MI) News 192 Walker, Ben 190 Wallace, David 123 Walonsky, Prince Valdemar 132 Walthall, Henry B. 156, 193, 206 WAMPAS Baby Stars 133 Wanger, Walter 153 War Paint (1926) 5, 86, 90, 91, 194 Ward, Benjamin B. 56 Warner, Jack 41 Warner, Sam 41 Warner Brothers 41, 187 Warwick, Robert 156, 206 Watkins, Hugh 3 Watson, Coy 130 Webb, Austin 189 The Wedding Night (1934) 184 Weissmuller, Johnny 177 Wells, Franklin 198 Wells, H.G. 101 What Price Glory (play) 67 The Wheels of Chance (1922) 102 Wheelwright, Ralph 170 When I Was a Boy in Denmark (book) 15

INDEX The Whirlwind (1920) 46, 52, 190 The Whispering Shadow (1933) 3, 156–157, 205–206 White, Mrs. E.B. 167 White, Pearl 46 The White Sister (1923) 87 Whitehorse, Chief 194 The Wife of the Centaur (1924) 68 Williams, Guinn “Big Boy” 139, 195 Williamson, J. Ernest 93–94 Wilson, Woodrow President 44 Wind River Indian Reservation 86 Windsor, Claire 98 Wisconsin News 152 Wisecracker (book) 140 Witchcraft Through the Ages (1922) 95 Wolf Creek, Oregon 161, 162 Wolf Creek Inn 162 The Wolves of Kultur (1918) 5, 44–45, 46, 47, 188–189 Wood, Judge 60, 61, 62 Wood, Sam 105, 106 The Woodland Democrat (CA) 13, 46, 70, 90, 141, 150, 157, 159 work schedule 123 World Cinema, Copenhagen 82 World War I 30, 32, 43, 44, 101, 132, 155, 187, 188 Wright, Mabel 188 Wynn, Hugh 73 Wyoming: A History of Film and Video in the 20th Century (book) 86–87 Young, Roland 203 Yowlache, Chief 87, 194 Yuma Desert 97 Zanesville (OH) Times Signal 76 Ziegfeld Follies 182