EARNING POWER

Bay of Plenty Times, Volume LXVIII, Issue 13083, 10 July 1940, Page 3

EARNING POWER

BY JAMES O’HARA

THE EVENING STORY

“Consolidated Pictures haven’t fallen down yet, Brophy,” the producer pointed out with some asperity to his chief counsel on public relations. “They haven’t fallen down and they aren’t going to, even if you did make a grade A blunder in the publicity for our new musical!” Brophy looked as sheepish as it is possible for a press agent to look, and then clenched his fists in visible resolve. Pie faced his employer squarely. “All right, Mr. Goldfarb, I don’t blame you for dumping this in my lap. I started it by not getting the facts before I began. I’ll take care of it all idght. Don’t you worry!” The producer smiled thinly. “You might do a little worrying on your own account, Mr. Brophy,” he suggested, “because if you don’t pull us out of this jam, I have a nephew

who thinks he would make a fine head for the public relations department. , He wouldn’t release a story that the guest of honour at the party for the stars of ‘Vienna Bound’ would be Fritz Morgen, the best symphony conductor of that period. Maybe he’d have sense enough to know that Morgen hdsn’t been heard of for 40 years!” Brophy took the cue and left. The Consolidated organization had already finished, in accord with the Hollywood cycle, the moving, gripping, true drama of Vienna in the dream days and were at work on the filming of an African epic. Brophy wandered disconsolately down the company street and over to the lot where a replica of a German East African village was under construction, and leaned on the fence watching the -yvorkmen. A tall, lanky man in breeches and boots, with a stack of papers in his hand, was directing the operations. The press agent looked at his movements idly, and then the solution to his problem suddenly struck him between the eyes. .

“Hey, Hank,” he called to the technician. “You worked on the last production, didn’t you?” The man with the sketches and typed sheets moved over, glad of a chance to stop work, for a few minutes. “I handled most of the props on the picture,” he conceded, /‘and also I did some work on the research. The story might be a patsy, but the technical end is perfect!” Brophy clapped him on the back. “You’re just the man ,1 want to see, then,” he declared genially. “Here, let your assistant, do some of that directing. He can read! You and I, brother, are going to dig up Fritz Morgen in person, Get it?”, “You’re nuts, Mr. Brophy!” the property man offered. “We don’t chrry spooks on our shelves!” “You can bring back Napoleon, Cleopatra, Pancho Villa!” the press agent pointed out significantly. “I need to have authentic Fritz Morgen no later than to-morrow night, and it’s up to you to help me do it!” Through piles of data the two delved, and while thus engaged a company runner was busy running to earth the bit player who had played the closeup of the renowned Morgen in the shot where the empress had conferred the medal upon him as a token of royal appreciation. “We can’t go wrong, Mr. Brophy,” Hank surmised as the scheme progressed. “This old monkey must be 70, if he’s a day, just about the age Morgen would be now. He has a pretty good resemblance to this old wood-cut too, you’ll notice. Central casting supplied him for ‘Vienna Bound’ and Jimmy will probably be able to pick him up without any trouble.”

When a wise guy makes th e biggest blunder of his life, it takes more than an othier one to fix things up.

They waited impatiently, checking details of costume and period history. While the property man went through his unending bins of properties, Brophy got hot on a typewriter and outlined in ’ great detail the things that the new Morgen might conceivably have to know, including a clever story of the history of Morgen after dropping out of the musical limelight. “I hope that you’re a quick study,” the press agent informed the bit player when the latter was eventually towed into the office of the department runner. “You got seven-fifty a day in the picture, but we’re giving you one hundred bucks for just a couple of hours .to-morrow night. You’ve got to earn it, or so help me Hannah, you’ll never play in pictures again!” “This is the life and history of Morgen, I assume,” the old man

guessed, looking over the prepared sheets. “Have no fears, I shall play him exactly, Mr. Brophy. I have always been interested in the Morgen character anyway, and have acquired a knowledge of many of his characteristics which I shall use'to the best of my ability.’’ Brophy was relievecr. “You just act like you did in the picture, and if by chance anyone asks you questions, you’ll know all the answers if you memorize what I’ve given you. Here, take this to the cashier and she’ll give you your pay in advance —use some of it for a shave and a haircut!” “Thank you, Mr. Brophy.” The old man was grateful. “Hardly anyone who knew Fritz Morgen would be alive to-day to call me an imposter . . . but, we shall do our best anyway.” “Go right home and get busy with that memorizing, and report hei’e at 6 to-morrow evening for the costume and the final checkup!” Brophy commanded. “And don’t forget your cashier’s check. You’ve earned it, old boy. The aging actor took the slip, put it in the pocket which had no holes. He kept his valuables there, including a certain medal conferred by an empress oh a musician. He smiled. He had earned that, too!