Life — December 3, 1925 — page 36: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

~ LIFE - Cfhe Red Ffand of Uengeance HE judge asked, “Have you any- thing to say before I pass sen- tence on you?" The prisoner arose, bowed his head in thought for a moment, then said in a proud, grave manner : Your Honor and gentlemen of the jury, it is true that I killed Isadore Gonnef, manager of the Rivialto Theatre. I held his head under the water in one of the gaudy fountains in his own theatre lobby, That unfortunate evening I decided to see my favorite picture-star, Olivia Ostermoor, in her new film, “CHAS- TITY FOR CHINCHILLAS,” play- ing at the Rivialto Theatre. I came carly because I wanted to get home to bed at a reasonable hour. The Rivialto super-magnificent aug- mented orchestra played a potpourri of airs from well-known Esthonian operas. George Cracknel, the finest organist in the world, obliged with “Love's Old Sweet Song,” “The Rosary,” “Kiss Me Again,” and various other selections on the greatest organ in the world. Then the curtain went up on “In Old Heidelberg,” an atmospheric prologue. The stage was packed with people in French peasant costume, bumping flag- ons of wine and singing a Polish folk- THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS “WAIT TILL THEY'VE ALL GONE TO BED, FELLOWS, AND WE'LL GO IN AND TRIM THAT TREE UP RIGHT.” song. A dozen girls wearing wooden shoes came out and did a clog dance with their hands on their hips. No sooner had these finished than some girls dressed in kimonos came out, waved fans and did a Japanese dance. Other girls did a Russian dance. Four fat men in dress-suits sang, “The Ra- dio Girl I Adore.” They sang it singly, in pairs, as a trio and as a quartette. This led naturally into a Spanish dance and an Apache dance. The curtain went down at last! But it went up again on a gentleman in overalls leaning against a rose bush and singing to a blonde lady leaning out of the window of a rose-covered cot- tage, “Roses Are Just a Little Bit Red- der When I Love You.” This was fol- lowed by a six-reel comedy, Larry Leatherneck in “Hot Potatoes.” Now the Classic Six, seven girls in lace curtains, favored with some dances of the old Grecks. Then came a man in a sailor costume who played selec- tions from “Parsifal” on a saw. My legs had gone to sleep, and I sat helpless while a lady in a silver robe led the audience in community singing. It was one o'clock and the last train to my home in Cranberry Bluffs had been gone fifteen minutes when the four-reel travelogue began. It was the record of a trip “Through the Mesopotamian Hinterland in a Kiddy-Kar.” About dawn, little Wilbur Whang- doodle, aged eight, the golden-voiced thrush of Union Hill, New Jersey, sang “Moonlight and Roses.” An educational picture, “A Trip to a _ Primitive Etruscan Roller-Skate Factory,” was just beginning when I managed to drag my paralyzed limbs from the seat and stagger out. An usher showed me the manager of the theatre standing near the fountain. The rest you know. My only request is this: before I'm hanged, let me be taken to a bare hall, let me sit on a plain chair and see Olivia Ostermoor in “CHASTITY FOR CHINCHILLAS,” without a prologue. Robert Lord. Hesitation “THAT daughter of mine wants a car of her own for Christmas.” “Are you going to give it to her?” “I don't know. I doubt whether I can afford one that she'll accept.” comicbooks.com