Detroit Free Press from Detroit, Michigan • Page 64

THE DETROIT FREE PRESS -SUNDAY, MAY 17. 1931 Playboy Piopliellolted HisBaaufiful Begum Info High While the Hindu Girls Pull the Little Old Rock-Crusher and Tiny Mr. Gandhi Lives on 6 Cents 7 pa wV-yA I 4 rv W5 Week, and Likes It! The Aga Khan was sly and mighty. He didn't, at first, try to "sell" his princess In Half Moon street as a social sensation. The approach was subtler than that.

With the patience of a Pygmalion, he began to build up the legend of-An dree. His first girt to her was a stately castle In the south of France. Then came bIiow-ers of rubies, emeralds, diamonds. The bridal trousseau cost $50,000. Casually he presented the bride with a Riviera chateau.

There was a $1,000,000 dowry, luxuriant travel. Education. Superb banquets. By way of contrast, a shriveled little man sat on hot sands In India eating his one dally meal of rice. The ascetic lips of Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi closed over the parched kernels methodically, yet without great Justo.

His food costs six cents a week. "Saint" Gandhi, leader of the movement for Indian na- I What a fantastic, fascinatlug prince! He Is 58. but uoshrtveled. He has enjoyed life, amply and wisely. He still Is first in the field with the sportsmen.

In the ballroom he dances "divinely." His heritage of blue blood and wealth Is peerless. He traces his anceHtry straight back to the prophet Mahomet. His grand-' father, enmeshed in political Intrigue at the start of the lant century, implored British governmental protection. It was granted him. Grateful, he rallied the numerous Ismatllan sect to the English colors.

Sixty million strong, they still are loyal. They worship the present Aga Khau, who came Into power In the eighties-. Friend of King Edward, the swarthy, smiling prince today finds favor with Edward's children. He served bravely in the war. But he has a distinction more startling.

Once every year he 1 nl ON THE PADDOCK ft BOTH SMILED At top: The Radiant, piquant features of th Begum Aga Khan. Onca an unat-uming French girl, aha hat taken her place at the peak of Mayfair aociety. Note the (mart coiffure anil jaunty beret. Beneath: The Khan himself, in mellow mood. Though 58, he doean't look it.

By a Staff Correspondent. WHERE WOMEN DO THE WORK 'Untouchables" of the Darjiling district, India. They are pulling a heavy road-roller up a hill, while their men-folk look on apathetically. pie. but the Hindus don't give It to him.

If they did he wouldn't want It, wouldn't know what to do with It. A large part of the Aga's gold, of course, went and still goes to the Begum In one form or another. There Is the upkeep of the love nest at romantlo Cap d'Antlbes. Resetting of jewels, too. And most important, those lavish splurges In London society that recently cul mlnated in the EcllpBe ball.

Hide-bound aristocracy then bowed to the beauty of the Begum, her charm, her frocks, her gems. One stone, which the Aga Khan bought for 125,000, she does not wear. This Is "Golden Dawn." fortieth largest of existing diamonds. 8ome five years aso the purchase was made. The Ismalli were agitated.

The bolder of th1r spokesmen were filled with superstitious fear. "Beware," they said. "It is sc-cursed. No good will come of it." The Aga Khan was not impressed. He gave It to his first wife.

She died. The Khan hastily sold the stone. But there remain plenty of other gorgeous baubles for the second Begum. Once, In one of the several jewel rooms in his Indian castle, the Khan was asked why be did not sell some of the rubles, pearls, emeralds, diamonds. The room.

15 feet wide, 20 feet long, 10 feet high, was so packed with jewels that It blinded the guest. The Khan laughed. "Untold wealth here, yes," he agreed. "But I already have untold wealth. So why sell?" There wag no need for reply.

London society, whose snobbery has liecome a legend, has always heartily liked the Aga Khan. Now the gates have been formally opened to his beautiful llegum. Her victory at the Eclipse ball was no Isolated incident. She has "arrived." From now on there will be procession of superb fetes, sporting events in which she takes a prominent part, balls, dances, the opera. In India, "Saint" Gandhi continues patiently to eat his rice, to make salt from sea water, to weave fabrics from his comical-looking spinning wheel, wlillx along the roadways native women go about their tasks as usual.

They are not much concerned about Gandhi's activities. India Is a land of amazing contrasts starvation and luxury. (Copyright, 1931. International fsatur Barrio Inc. Great Britain Rlfhta RaMrred.) LONDON.

ENEATH a glittering chan delier, in the smart Park Lane hotel, stood a slim, young The Begum on one of her favorite mounts. She plara polo with the London aristocrats, n' everything. dia, native women, pearly sweat at throat and wrists, laboriously dragged along the Darjiling highway a heavy road roller. Members of the ''untouchable" class, tbey worked with mechanical stolidity. Lounging men looked on Indifferently.

They did not applaud the women. But let's return to the beautiful Begum and ber social triumphs. Hers Is a regular story-book story. As Andres Josephine Carron, she was tor soma years a model in her sister's dressmaking establishment. During the war she served splendidly at the front with a hospital unit Grateful doughboys called her "The White Angel." That was because of her skin's milky pallor and the countless tender nesses she lavished on sick, wounded, dying.

No one really knows Just how she met her prospective husband. But when they were very quietly married at Alx-les-Bains, France, there was marked astonishment. Andree's unpretentious friends wondered and were worried about the step she had taken. Could she maintain this sudden position In society? Confident that she couldn't, the Aga Khan's friends shook deprecating heads. "Even jCyt On Begum's train, rice-eating Gandhi.

beauty. Cloth-of-gold sheathed her lithe figure. Pearls gleamed softly at throat and wrists. She was impersonating Venus at the famous Eclipse ball. Charmed with the picture she presented, blue-blooded hands pattered out a salvo of applause.

And the Princess Aga Khan, wife of India's richest potentate, smiled her thanks. When he married her she was Jimt a simple French girl, the daughter of a 8avoy Innkeeper. The Aga Khan, both playboy and prophet, swore he'd put her Into loftiest British society. He did. The Eclipse ball proved that.

Beneath a glittering sun, in faro ft In- tlonal Independence, Is by nature it rice-eater. Once, Impressed with British physique, he wondered whether their aggressiveness didn't spring from meal-eating. Gandhi ate a steak. It made him sick He returned to rice. This amas-tag' little old man, whose campaign of passive resistance drew more attention to India than 60 assassinations, was responsible for the repeal of the salt tax laws.

And the Aga Khan? More contrast. HER DAWN WAS GOLDEN Effective full-length of the Begum. She's wearing the gown that attracted attention when she appeared as Venus at the famous Eclipse ball, recently. The photographic arrangement shows her holding "Golden Dawn," fabulous diamond which her husband sold because it was "accursed." he can't 'swing' It In Mayfair." That was their consensus. How ludicrously wrong they are were! mounts the scales.

The arrow shoots up to the 200 mark or 195 or 213. Whatever the figure may be It is telegraphed back to India and the Ismalli. A committee of elders It's the end of the Mohammedan solar year promptly seuda to the Aga Khan a mass of Ingots, gold bullion 2U0 pounds, 195, SIX He is the only man alive who is literally worth his weight in the yellow metal. The shriveled Gandhi is, of course, worth much more than his weight in gold to his peo- By WILLIAM C. RICHARDS "Without or with offana To frienda or foea, 1 akatch your world Exactly as It fosa." Byron.

That's Wow They Told To Me RUTH ETTING, one mesh-stockinged leg under her, sat there in her pajama suit faced with indigo I can't be blamed if they won't dress up, and she can't, if jou interrupt her in breathing spells between torch songs and chatted like anybody but a lady who had stormed and taken Broadway. She's going to push it all aside. She says so, anyhow. She's been looking in the steamship windows. Three years more Weil, perhaps the Tp REEDOM of the press went on the rocks In a suburban newspaper plant the other day.

The editor was away sick. His oneman ataff heard tulhorltatively that the superintendent of publle works In the town was to be fired the next day. He decided to get out an extra, that being the practice in the city he came "You can't get that In the paper, son," Wie printer said, sfter reading the "It's a story, isn't ft?" "Yeah, but I won't set it." "You won't set "No, I won't Frank," naming the gentleman who was the subject of the article, "is a friend of mine." And he didn't set it. And there was no extra. house sitting around a phonograph listening to me.

The kids only wanted a picture of me. "I sent two pictures to them, and they sent me another letter with a drawing on the envelope of two boys bowing low, and on the Inside a drawing of the other fellows In the house Jumping up and down. The only fly in the ointment, they said, was that one fellow insisted they had signed the picture themselves." Ruth sent the scoffer a third picture addressed to "The Unbeliever." "A thousand pictures a month!" I repeated. "Thank goodness 1 can put that in my income tax," she said. Three more years of crooning, and Ruth Is on her way.

"Most of you newspaper men and most of us actors are just alike in that respect. You stay with the game until the grave, but not me!" She kicked over a veteran piece of American philosophy. "I'm going to see the world and live leisurely and put off until next year what I don't want to do today. From my window I can see the Shuberts' Hispano in the alley of the theater at 2 and 3 o'clock in the morning and with all their money! Not for me. "Money is no good after you're dead.

I'm going to use mine to do the things I've always wanted to do." "Betcha!" "I'll wire you the day I sail In 1934," she pledged. She has Just finished a one-reeler called "Old Lace," which hasn't been released yet. She dressed up In crinoline and poplin for it and sang "Let Me Call You Sweetheart," among other old-time ballads of the nluetles. "No star part for me," she said. "I wouldn't take one.

I'm afraid of myself, after being bored to death by a lot of film actors who can't seem to hold my attention In a feature picture. I'd rather sail out, do 15 or 20 minutes and keep those 20 minutes up to the right pitch, than do an hour and a half and have an audience wish I was dead after the first half hour." I suggested that the song "Ten Cents a Dance" probably would dog her the rest of her life. "Like Irene Franklin's I suggested. "It's all right with me, though I've got pretty well fed up on it even now. I'm pretty grateful to that song.

You ouly need just one smash like that, and you're set. 'Casey at the Eat' did it for De Wolf Hopper. Pat Rooney did a valtz clog. Just one thing, you see. If it clicks." We were ready to go.

"Don't forget the Alpine climbing," we reminded. Miss Etting nodded. "Don't forget," she said, "I didn't a real big Alp. Just a stingy for a starter." It's a long, broad jump from David City to Thebes and Shepherd's. I would like to hear ber in competition with the muezzins and caroling "Love Me or Leave Me" through the Swiss passes.

There'll be no worry over the where-wlth-Ml. The $35 a-week days are gone. "Gone? I'll say they are." Mike Vogel, the press agent eyed me over a stark of ties that had just arrived for him with Ruth's felicitations on his week's work. "I'd walk Into the cage and slap a Hon for v.hat she's drawing now." Ten-Cents-a-Dance girl means it. Maybe, she is going to grow corn, as Grsndpa Etting did along the River Platte out In that place In Nebraska, and douse the torches and uever c-oon again Come on, big hoy, Ten centt a dance Maybe, as she says, she's going to far places.

She thinks she can do it. What a girl, if she does! "I want to see Egypt and the Taj and the Alps," she said, curled up in a chair backstage at the Fox theater the other afternoon. "The Alps?" "Yes oh, not a big Alp, hut one of the little ones. I've never been anywhere but Broadway. (Not a bad song-title for her style of lyric.) That's the way it seems to me.

I go to the hair-dresser's; back to sing, i run out for a sandwich; back to sing. Why. they tell me that in Northern Africa you don't have to walk more than 100 yards from a first-class hotel to the desert. That for me." I can see Miss Etting ad and so. If she hadn't done this and that, she might still be In obscurity.

She went out to Marigold Gardens In Chicago one morning to do some commercial drawing. The manager liked thin glilB. Thought she might like to take a whirl In the chorus. Never had a voice; hasn't today, she Insists, not as voices go. She went to work.

The floor show principals were people of robust voices. Ruth says she gave up trying to make herself heard over stentorian tenors and prima donnas of expansive lungs. She Just danced in the chorus and let the rest of the girls sing. One day the Marigold room hired a team a boy and a girl. Ruth went on Just dancing, collecting her $35 a week, and paying no attention until subconsciously she found herself listening to the male member of the team.

He was singing quietly. That, In Itself, was enough to engage the attention when a flaring vibrant voice was considered the first desideratum to meet the heedless dlu of a cabaret. Ruth began to sing. She Bang the next night when the boy was singing. She had something much as he had.

She could enunciate. When she sang, you could understand the words. It was revolutionary at the time. Floor shows were ruoftly betlghted commotions. The management knew that one of the girls had a voice of peculiar timbre, but It didn't know exactly which one.

"Which one of you Is pulling that stuff?" It asked. Ruth confessed with misgiving. This was going to be the notice, she figured. "All right," the management said. "Can you hold down the spot?" It meant the team's place on the bill.

The team, which was getting $160, was dispensed with. Ruth was rained to $50 to take Its place. She played the circuit the Garden. Green Mill, Jim Colisimo's, and the rest finally drifting into a radio station to do unimportant bits. One night the western msnager for a company making phonograph records wanted a number sung.

Walter Donald-ton had just turned out a new song. The station asked Miss Etting to try It The next day the phonograph company signed her to a five-year-contract Cinderella's pumpkin became a 16-cylinder car When Ziegfeld was about to put on his 1927 show, Irving Berlin, who is particular about having his lyrics sung so that an audience can get the sense of them, suggested Etting. "Never heard her," said Ziegfeld. "I'll bring over some records," said Berlin. He had some sent over to the New Amsterdam theater oflice and turned on the machine.

"I'll give her a contract," said Flo, when the first disc flopped revolving. That sounds pretly. Ruth was uervous about it, nevertheless. She figured Ziegfeld was taking ton much for granted. She was going into New York about time to uo three weeks with Paul Whlteman's band, and she said khc thought it would be much safer all around if the Follies entrepreneur would drop Into the Paramount during her engagement.

He promised, but he never showed up. He took her on the strength of the records. She clicked at once, although she never had any voice culture. "Neither have Sophie Tucker. Helen Morgan, Rae Samuels or any of six or seven of us so-called torch-singers," she said.

"Funny thing about those with trained voices! Instructors pay so much attention to tone and placement of the voice that they slight the lyrics." She authographs personally 1,000 photographs a month. Few mash letters. Only one set of letters ever won a place in her scrap-book. "Some fraternity boys In Texas supplied those." she ehinsed over onto the other foot "Two of them pent me a letter snd drew pictures of themselves on the outside of the envelope. Inside tbey drew a picture of the bns In 'he 7 RONALD POCKLINGTON, Just back on leave from the Firestone rubber plantation In Liberia, tells me unbelievable tales of wizardry of the animal men those queer rMives who profess to be able to turn themselves Into Unpaids or lions at will.

He has the most plausible explanation I've heard for some of the seeming marvels. You want to hunt elephants? Very well, you approach sn elephant man. Possibly it's Yakpauwolo of the Buzii tribe. His fame Is wide. You promise the chief the meat, and you give him cloth or gunpowder, depending on your circum-lances.

He eends an elephant man to the town's palaver kitchen, as the natives know the place of assembly. "I'm told," you begin, "you're a wonderful elephant man and the only man who can get them for me." He demurs. The work is hard. It will cost quite a bit-In the end he expresses himself as satisfied. Two days from now, be says, he will go into the Jungle and mix medicine to make him strong for the hunt.

"I come three days' time and tell you." he advises. Finally Yakpauwolo's magiciau returns with his hammock or chair for you, and the procession moves. "Go stay by them place I show you," he Instructs. "As day broke or small time pass, the elephant he go home. But, mind you, don't shoot the Brat one.

He be me. Don't shoot the broken tusk bull. That be me, too." The elephant man disappears to make his mumbo-Jumbo. You follow carefully his directions. If you shoot the broken I linked bull or any of the others he names, the elephant, man will die or the bullet will rebound and lilt you.

The amazing thing to the neophyte is that the animals usually appear at the spots where the animal men say they will. It starts one to thinking. Pockllngton himself doesn scoff auy too much. "The probability is," be said, "that the animals happ" to reach the point indicated and the native knows they will because the leopards, for itmlance, travel in two weeks circles, the buffalo in six, and the elephants have a thre months' feeding circle. They seem to know when bananas in a certain town will be ripe.

How they move, of course, depends also on how strong herds are and whether the leader is a doddering old bull or an up and coming young "Of course, when the elephant doesn't appear, the natia has a profusion of excuses. His medicine wasn't strong enough, or there was another human elephant in the hera. who had too much good sense and simply told the herd tnai the elephant man was trying to get it into trouble." All the old ladies on the boat when Pockllngton was returning wanted to know. In whispers. If It was true that every white man In the tropics took unto himseii a rarcel of wives.

Pocklington let himself romance to satisiy tLeir hankering for vicarious adventure. v. RUTH ETTING. dressing a lament to the Sphinx some day. I'll guarantee many a ghost of a departed t'haroah will smack his Hps.

There'll be whoopie on the plains of Ur. She should bale herself up and spring out on some distant khedive, as Cleopatra went to Caesar. We talked of the fleet Ingneas of fame, of old chorus days, the old swimming pool In the sandpit back in what's the name of that town? David City, 1 think it was. whence Ruth went out nome years ago on the Torch-Light Emprise. Not exactly that.

Her father and mother seut to the Chicago Academy of Fine Arts to become a commercial artist. "And now David City has a national character?" we suggested. "Not so far as David City knows," she said. "They don't even print a line about me when I'm home." were prorJcrly shocked. "And do you go home?" She had said her parents bad died.

"I've got a 140-acre farm there," she said. "I ran around there all last summer in an old Model and a pair of overalls." Dual personality, this Ruthle of David City. Singer of torch songs for Ziegfeld and Paul Whiteman and pt of the columnists on one hand; an old Model and overalls on the ether. Strange breaks she's had. too.

The brides she's crossed stands on sn odd assortment of pile. The piles are "Ifs." If she bsdn't done so and so. she wouldn't have become so HABIT got the better of the veteran Jim4 Rice, coach at the boat club the other day. During a particularly solemn moment in the dedication of a new shell to the late Lieutenant Albert Pudrlth, who was killed in an airplane crash la the World war, Rice observed a pair of women putting out from the dock in a twe-seater. As his eyes followed them, irritation made him forget the services for a second.

"Heh, yfu," be bellowed across waters, "keep your seat solid." Then he caught himself and flushed. "There was a swell break, wasn't It," he murmured to the man next to him. "Bv the time I walked down the gangpians in nw' i i v. haen there i said, it nan gotten arouna tne snip mat i i. ii that time, ana years, never raa spen a wdho pruu had 43 wives.".