Life, 1921-11-03 · page 11 of 34
Life — November 3, 1921 — page 11: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a satirical diary entry about New York social life. The narrator, Clare de Loon, describes acquiring a studio and meeting Frank Munsey, a violinist with a head "like Winston Churchill's—round with ears on the side." The accompanying illustration shows a dinner scene where the narrator and a woman dine while a man gestures animatedly. The satire mocks the pretensions of New York's artistic and social circles—the narrator's self-conscious reflections on whether she's "really a Loon," her name-dropping (references to Russians, the Soviet Central Committee), and breathless descriptions of bohemian studio life all suggest gentle mockery of affected cosmopolitan society trying too hard to appear cultured and worldly.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
“T called Mr. Ziegfeld Florence and he called me Clarence” THE DINNER DIARY OF CLARE DE LOON George Chappell New York, Aug. 12. UCH a life! When I pass my re- flection on the street I do not recognize it. I have to stop and look in a mirror to see whether I am really a Loon or not. I find I am and it makes me very happy. I am a machine, a typewriter, a dic- taphone, something that clicks and makes words. I wonder if they mean anything. ! have had to give up sculpture, at least for the present. First there was Nicky, my angel-child. A studio had to be found for him, for he can not bear to live except by a north light. And then there are my talks. I must <. O, how I love to talk. And I so much to talk about,—Russia, those dear down-trodden Bolsheviks, And Frank is such a duck. He wanted to make me a present of the studio during my visit. But, of course, I said no. I told him it seemed hardly fair while I received my rent from the Soviet Central Committee. But I have wonderful friends! On the way up to the studio—it is in Si hird Street—we passed Wil- liam Faversham, the author, driving in the opposite direction. He has a head like Napoleon, slightly flattened at the poles. The studio is adorable, with a north- light, a divan for Nick, twin beds for me and a wood-box for Cerise. We shall be very happy. Thursday, Aug. 18. those darlings, Trotski and Lenin, and but not least, myself. While I was Russia they did all the talking. If I whispered they spoke, if I spoke they shouted, if I shouted they threatened to cut my throat. They are a wonderful people. My studio was soon found, and who do you think found it for me? Frank Munsey, the violinist. He has a head like Winston Churchill’s—round with ears on the side. Some day, I shall do him. I adore doing people. “He has a head like Napoleon, slightly flattened at the poles” 49 E. Sixty-third Street. Dinners! Dinners! Dinners! Shall I ever survive the pace at which I am going? Last night it was the Spiegel- bergs. The others were Jesse Lasky, Flo Ziegfeld and Elie Nadelman. It was like Italy. I sat at Mr. Spiegel- berg’s right, with Mr. Ziegfeld on the other side. He is a great landscape gardener and has one of the few really fine gardens in town. I told him all about our place at Wimpton-on-Poke. The gilly-flowers at home must be out in all their beauty comicbooks.com