In Theda Bara's Tent (as Reviewed by Publisher's Weekly)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

There was no mention of Anitas breakdown in any of the papers so that’s how we knew her studio was keeping it a secret. Louie decided to visit her at the Stamford clinic and to take me with him. “Young people like young people,” he said. “Me, she could do without. You, she’ll welcome.” 
Dressed in his automobile clothes—a long duster, goggles and cloth helmet—Louie cranked up the engine of his Ford Model T, and when it started, he shouted, Get in, get in, get in! He raced around to get behind the wheel, I jumped into the passenger seat, but instead of going backwards out of his driveway in Brookline, we lurched forward. He put the car in reverse again, tried to back straight out but ended up on the lawn, pulled forward, tried again, and we shot forward. The pot of chicken soup packed in a picnic basket sloshed dangerously but didn’t spill because Maggie had secured the lid with one of Louies belts. When we were on the street, at last, Louie said, Im an excellent driver.
We drove on the Boston Post Road past tobacco farms with acres of gauze stretched over the plants. Louie said, Levin said hed invest enough to get us started, if I can get her, and once again, I pointed frantically to the windshield to remind him that he could talk and look ahead at the same time.

The Hotel Davenport in Stamford was a five-story brick structure with hundreds of rooms. When we checked in, Louie said to the clerk, I am Louis B. Mayer, president of the Louis B. Mayer Film Company. Give me the finest room in the house. Our stay is indefinite. We were assigned a two-bedroom suite, dreary but clean. From the window, I watched a child kick himself along the sidewalk on a scooter.
After freshening up, we walked down five flights because we were afraid of the rickety elevator that hauled us up by fits and starts. On the sidewalk, while Louie cranked the car, I absently read a poster tacked to the electricity pole next to me: Are you Protestant? Join The Ku Klux Klan. Chapters in New Haven, Bridgeport, Darien, Greenwich, Norwalk and Stamford.  So! Here was evidence of what was predicted, a resurgence of the Klan after Griffiths movie Birth of a Nation. Did you see this? I asked Louie, then read aloud about the next meeting at the Lincoln Republican Club, home of the local Republican Party. All those with un-American names need not attend. What do you have to say for yourself?
He looked up. You think a moving picture makes people hate shvartzas? He started cranking again.
You could think of it as encouragement, couldnt you?

Within months of the release of The Birth of a Nation, we read in newspapers that the "second" Klan was inaugurated by a cross-burning ceremony on top of Stone Mountain outside Atlanta. The Klan was growing in New England and had a statewide membership in Connecticut of at least fifteen thousand. Most of them were big fans of Griffiths movie, seen at their local theaters because Louie had brought it to them, and the car he was now cranking had been bought with some of his profits.
You dont believe in propaganda?
Its make-believe. Its a motion picture. The engine caught, and Louie vaulted in behind the wheel. I dont hear enough about censorship without you shooting off your mouth? Get in, get in, get in already!   
After stopping to buy flowers and a box of candy, we drove to the Stamford Rest Home, a brick mansion set back on nicely manicured lawns. Steel bars on the lower windows changed the aspect from a house that would make a tycoon proud to something foreboding. We parked behind an ambulance and went inside, me carrying the flowers and chocolates, Louie carrying the chicken soup, which he considered cargo too precious to entrust to anyone else. At the end of a corridor with wallpaper of shepherds and Little Bo Peeps was a nurses desk. With no hesitation or fanfare, a nurse pointed down the hall. Shes in Daffodil, our finest room.”

In a bright, airy room, Anita sat up in a starched white bed plinking on a ukulele. Two other people were in the room, her mother knitting and a preppy young man, about age twenty, reading. There were no floral bouquets, no get-well cards lined up on the windowsill, no boxes of candy. Well, look whos here! her mother said, pausing her needles but not getting up. Its about time someone showed up. The young man—straight brown hair over one eyebrow, small straight nose, blue blazer—stood up and waited to see what was expected of him. Anita, pale as a wafer in a pink bed jacket, kept plinking the strings. Annie, her mother said, look whos here. Look who came to visit you. She didn’t look. She kept trying to pick out Shell Be Coming ’Round the Mountain, missing notes, testing for the right one, finding it, then rehearsing the passage correctly. Thats what she does all day, her mother said. The young man, taking it upon himself to act as host, spoke to Louie and me: Thank you for coming. Im Rudy Cameron. His handshake was vigorous but ended too abruptly, so I wondered if that meant you could count on him but not for the long haul.
Im Louis B. Mayer, Louie said, president of Louis B. Mayer Film Company, and this is my assistant, Harry Sirkus. Whats in this pot is my wifes chicken soup. You eat this, Miss Stewart, and you will feel better. He set the pot on a table, and I set the candy and flowers next to it.

At the sound of my name, Anita lifted her head. Harry? She didn’t seem to know where to direct her eyes, but when they did land on me, she said softly, Come sit next to me. She said this in a conspiratorial way as if we were children in a room of grownups and had to be careful how we managed them so we could get our own way. She looked no more like a movie star than a wet puppy looks like a winner at Westminster.
You came to visit me, she said when I was next to the bed. Im sick. She held up her hand, and I took the limp little thing in mine. Can he sit on the bed, Ma?
Yeah. Why not.
Can he, Rudy?
Of course he can, baby.
She hunched her shoulders and smiled with delight as if Santa had said yes. She patted the bed next to her, and I sat down. Im so sick, she whispered.
 I can see that.
Ill play you a song.
You dont need to entertain me, Anita.
Yeah, I do.
No, you dont.
But I like entertaining people.
Okay. Entertain me.                       

She strummed Shell Be Coming ’Round the Mountain, while singing along in a loud, raucous voice. She'll be coming ’round the mountain when she comes, when she comes, She'll be coming ’round the mountain when she comes, when she comes, She'll be coming ’round the mountain, She'll be coming ’round the mountain, She'll be coming ’round the mountain, shell be coming ’round the mountain, shell be coming ’round... Rudy Cameron and Mrs. Stewart exchanged worried looks. She'll be driving six white horses, she'll be driving six white horses, she'll be driving six white horses...
Rudy hurried to the bed. Thats enough for now, baby, he said, taking the ukulele from her. That was splendid. Absolutely splendid.
Did you get it on the first take?
Yes, baby. Its in the can.
Did I get to the wearing red pajamas part?
Were going to rehearse that after lunch.
Im so tired, Rudy. How come Im so tired?
Its nothing, baby. Its nothing.
Im having a rest cure, right?
Right.
Well deserved, if you ask me,  said Mrs. Stewart. Bunch of animals over there.

I didnt get to the part shell have to sleep with Grandma when she comes. I do a snore. Shell have to sleep with Grandma... Anita inhales two vulgar snorts. See? That makes it interesting. You know why I do that? Because its so unladylike. Yeah. Its a sure laugh when a dainty person makes a crude sound. She leaned back against her pillow and closed her eyes, and the rest of us tiptoed out.
From the visitors’ sunporch with views of the lawn, patches of snow still held out against the early spring sun. We sat on wicker furniture while Mrs. Stewart reviewed the various injuries her daughter had suffered at the hands of Vitagraph studio executives. Mr. Smith said if any of his employees told about Annie’s breakdown, theyd ruin her reputation. Everyone would think she was unreliable. Theyre mad at her for collapsing.
Her fans have no idea, said Rudy. They see her moving around on the screen, so they think shes fine.
The studio sold a calendar with her photo on it to promote The Girl Philippa and didnt even mention her name, said Mrs. Stewart. The caption under the photo said ‘The Girl Philippa.’ When that picture opened at the Rialto, the line was around the block. They had to call in the cops to keep order.
Set a record for a single days receipts at any motion-picture theater in the world, Rudy added.
Anita Stewart is a great star, said Louie. I go down on my knees to talent.

You know her serial The Goddess? They release the damn thing one reel at a time. Fan mail pours in each time. I seen it. Bins of envelopes, little girl handwriting on the outside. Did you see the poster they stuck up in the theaters? A full-length photograph of Annie dressed in long robes with words all around her, ‘Beauty, Hatred, Revenge, Love, A Continued Photoplay in Chapters, the Interest Increases Every Week,’ all that crap. Biggest words on the poster were ‘The Vitagraph Company of America.’ Dont mention Annies name. Not even in little letters.   
       I noticed that Louie had spirited the box of candy out of the sickroom. He held it up in an offering gesture, and Mrs. Stewart shrugged in a why-not gesture. One piece wouldn’t hurt. Louie proferred the assortment, and she selected a square caramel and put it in her mouth in a small, ceremonious way as if it were precious. She not only should have her name in lights, Louie said, holding the box toward Rudy who waved it away. She should have a film company of her own. Anita Stewart Productions.
Thats what I keep telling her, said Mrs. Stewart. Like Norma Talmadge. She swiped her tongue across her front teeth. Norma dont got more talent then Annie. They know each other from Erasmus High.

Norma Talmadge Productions, said Louie. Joe Schenk set her up. Now I like Joe Schenk, everyone likes Joe, but I know talent. Anita Stewart is a greater star than Norma Talmadge.
Youre telling me, said Mrs. Stewart.
Rudy, smoking a pipe in the wicker armchair across the room, came to attention. Louie selected a peanut cluster and bit into it.
Youre the only one in the whole goddamn industry who bothered to come see her, said Mrs. Stewart to Louie and me. She works her heart out, and thats the treatment she gets. Bunch of hoodlums. Out the window, we saw patients wrapped in shawls being wheeled by nurses in capes along the paths that crisscross the lawns.
Louie said to Rudy, Havent I seen you on the screen?
Startled, as if caught doing something bad, he said, Ive been in one or two pictures.
Mrs. Stewart said, Rudys a graduate of Georgetown University. She pronounced each syllable separately, “grad-u-ate,” and said it proudly. Civil engineering. He was on the Broadway stage.

Once, he said.
Not once.
Okay, twice. Bully for me.
Louie said, Acting on the stage is more challenging than playing in a motion- picture movie. The stage actor dont get two, three takes. One chance, thats all you get on the stage. The audience dont just see you from the head up or shoulders up. They see the whole body. The whole bodys got to emote. Plus the scenarios cant be compared. What screenplay can compare to Ibsen or Shakespeare? Might as well compare Irving Berlin to Verdi.
Mrs. Stewart was not interested in this conversation. She dont make half the dough Mary so-called Pickford does, she said. Pickfords cute, but she aint that cute. Annie worked four years straight for those bums without a vacation. They says to her, ‘You wanna rest? Go retire.’
Id double her salary, if I had the chance, Louie said. I started from nothing—used to be in the junk business. Why? Because my old man was in the junk business. You see these shoulders? Thats from hauling steel since I was nine years old. My old man never said a kind word to me. Never. But my mother, of blessed memory, that was a different story. Later on, youll taste her chicken soup, the recipe handed down to my wife.

I remember the first time you saw Anita, I cued Louie.
I said, ‘Thats a great star.’ And where was she? Standing in the background. Didnt have one line of her own. Fifteen years old. The public sees her, responds to her, writes letters. ‘Dear Vitagraph, Who was that pretty girl in the background?’ Its the public makes a star. Not the studio. A film company is only as good as its star. It aint the director. It aint the story. It aint the setting. Its the star.
It sure is, agreed Mrs. Stewart.
And the star should choose her own stories, her co-stars, her director, said Louie.
Yeah.
Why should Norma Talmadge, who started at Vitagraph when Anita did, went to Erasmus High same as Anita, why should she, a good actress but not great, have a production company of her own and not Anita? I am offering to Anita Stewart what Joe Schenck offered to Norma Talmadge. But what I ask you to consider is why shouldnt the stars mother be on the board of directors of the stars company? Who besides her own mother would look out for her interests?
Yeah. Yeah. Thats right.

Have I seen any of the Louis B. Mayer Film Company productions? Rudy asked, frowning. He reminded me of the boys who had excluded me back in Haverhill.
Now thats an astute question, Louie said. Thats the sort of question a true friend of Anitas would ask.
He aint a friend, Mrs. Stewart said. Hes her husband.
Ma!
Oh, it dont matter with Louie and Harry. Who are they going to tell? Wouldnt do them no good to damage Annies girlish reputation.   
Louie, to cover his surprise, busied himself with his watch, took it from his pocket, wound it and straightened the gold chain attached to it. The time has come, my friends, he said, standing up.
Dont misunderstand, Rudy said to Louie in a hushed voice as we walked down the hall. My wife has done all right for herself. She earns one hundred twenty-seven thousand dollars a year plus ten percent of the profits of all her films. We live in a lovely home on Long Island, have a staff of six, a motorcar and closets full of clothes.
You ever see ten percent of the profits? Louie asked.
Well, its true that...
I didnt think so. They aint going to account to you, no offense. My offer stands. Whatever you get now, Ill double it.
But shes under contract, Mr. Mayer.

There aint no contract I ever heard of says a companys allowed to push a young girl into a nervous breakdown. Nineteen years old and shes in the hospital.
But Vitagraphs a huge studio, a multimillion-dollar concern. Theyll take you to court and claim Anita’s a figment of publicity. They paid Hearst fifty thousand dollars for those rave reviews of The Girl Phillipa. Theyll say shes high strung, use this hospital stay as evidence that shes difficult to work with. Theyll say shes lucky they employ her.
Thats why she needs you to look out for her interests. Thats why you should consent to being a member of the board of directors of Anita Stewart Productions.
Me? Rudy laughed. That would certainly shut my parents up. They continued walking close together down the corridor, Rudy at least a foot taller than Louie. Ill admit to you, Mr. Mayer, theyre somewhat appalled by the direction Ive taken.
That so?
There are no actors in my family, Mr. Mayer. Its not one of the options. Were businessmen. They both nodded to a nurse passing by. Cameron isnt even my name. Its Brennan. Im a Brennan from Connecticut.
A Brennan, said Louie. A fine old family.

They wont even talk to Annie. ‘How can you bring a film actress into the family,’ Mother said. A girl with no background, no education.’
Maybe they dont see her worth now, said Louie, but they soon will. Anita Stewart Productions. Rudolph Brennan on the letterhead. Take it from me, a son needs his mothers approval.
Louie and I returned to Boston and waited. April, the unreliable, turned cold again and threatened to freeze the crocuses. Coat-check rooms at the theaters continued to be full. In May, magnolia blossoms blended purple and cream. Duchess Margot, a vaudeville star at the Olympia Theater, walked her dancing poodles in the Boston Garden without their hand-knit sweaters. Then we bought mothballs and stored our winter coats. Anita was wheeled around the grounds of the hospital without a shawl covering her shoulders.
One day, Louie handed me a letter. Part of it was a copy of a letter sent to Vitagraph by Anitas lawyer. By reasons of the continued violation on your part of my contract with you, I have severed my relation with your company.” Her signature was under those words.
    “This aint going to hold up,” Louie said. “Since when can a sick person sign anything?  The other part of the letter said that if Louie was sincere, he should prove it by putting up ten thousand dollars.
     Louie showed the letter to his friend Mr. Levin. “She’s a big star, Louie,” he said. “That’s not too much to ask. Do you really think we can get her?” 
    Mr. Levin, Louie and I drove to Stamford, this time in the comfort of Mr. Levin’s limousine. Anita was now strong enough to stroll the grounds with us. At first, Mr. Levin was star struck, overwhelmed by shyness. Then he began to trust Anita’s straightforward way of talking. “We got carpet,” she said. “I think it’s Bigelow. Ma, is that Bigelow we got in the foy-yay?”  Mr. Levin dared take Anita’s hand and put it through his arm, a gallant escort. I had never seen him so happy.
    He put up the ten thousand dollars needed to launch Anita Stewart Productions, though he knew that Vitagraph would not give up without a fight. The studio could afford a lengthy court battle. Anita still had several pictures in the pipeline. Her contract was not due to expire for three years.
    Instead of seeing this as an obstacle, Mr. Levin saw it as a challenge. He had already built one business up from nothing. Now he wanted to see if he still had what it takes. He read everything he could about the motion-picture industry and convinced himself that it was full of promise and riches. He would have two careers, carpet merchant and film-company executive. Here was the excitement missing from his life. His enthusiasm gave Louie confidence. If a man of Mr. Levin’s stature thought Anita Stewart Productions was a good investment, it must be.
       As soon as Anita was well enough to return home to Long Island, Anita Stewart Productions was incorporated. Coleman Levin and Louis B. Mayer were its chief executives. Thus began Vitagraph Co. of America v. Stewart et al., a court battle that became front-page news. Never before had a movie actor’s contract been tested. Here was a young woman, Brooklyns best-known moving-picture actress, who had started at twenty-five dollars a week and five years later was receiving a salary of two thousand five hundred a week from the same studio. According to the newspapers, she was to receive ten thousand a week from Louis B. Mayer. “This must be a misprint,” I said to Louie when I read that in the New York Dramatic Mirror.
    “It don’t hurt to exaggerate,” Louie said. “If she costs a lot, she must be worth a lot. Remember that.”
    “But did you promise her that much, Louie?”
    “Promise, schmomis. You think they have a right to push that girl into illness? Is that what you think?”
    While Anitas lawyers claimed she was inadequately compensated by Vitagraph, the company’s lawyers claimed Anita would not exist as an actress without the studio. Her success was owing to her schooling at the studio and to the money spent in promoting her.
The Supreme Court in New York took months to decide—lawyer bills, court dates, papers to sign—and then it decided for Vitagraph. Yes, the young woman’s success was a result of Vitagraph’s investment in her, and she must fulfill her contract. Yes, two thousand five hundred dollars per week was adequate compensation. Louie and Mr. Levin appealed. More attorney’s fees. More days of riding the train from Boston to New York to sit in the corridor of a New York court building waiting, waiting, waiting. The appellate court took months to decide, and then it, too, found for Vitagraph. Anita was forbidden to work for the Louis B. Mayer Film Company, and Louis B. Mayer, specifically named, was not allowed to further entice her.

The loss of this court case was not a secret shame. It was front-page business news as well as entertainment news, and Mr. Levin found himself publicly humiliated. He cursed his misguided dreams of glamour and blamed Louie for misleading him. Now the board of directors of the Beth Israel Hospital noticed that they never received the fifteen thousand dollars Louie had pledged. This Louis Mayer fellow, they decided, was just a scoundrel. They kicked him off the board.
Like most young people, I heaped more blame upon myself than was appropriate. It was my fault Mr. Levin got involved with Louie. He never would have met him if it weren’t for me. He never would have invested in the project if I hadn’t been so enthusiastic. He wouldn’t have liked Anita so much if I hadn’t liked Anita so much. I went to his showroom to apologize. “Now you need a job, right?” he said. “Well, you’ve come to the wrong place.”
“No, sir, I…”
“Take my advice, Harry. Get as far away from Louie Mayer as you can. Do you understand? He is not an ethical person, and he will do you no good. As far as a job is concerned, I can’t help you there.”
“No, I came here…”
“I’ve neglected my business, my name is splashed all over the newspapers, I’ve been made a fool. I wish you well, Harry. But please don’t ask me for help again.” With that, he turned his back on me and walked to the other side of the showroom. For months afterward, I rehearsed a future reunion—his apologies for being unjust, his welcoming arms—or the other reunion in which I’m powerful, and I spurn him when he asks for my help.