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

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

In 1935, Will Rogers, the cowboy entertainer, was killed in an airplane crash in Alaska. He was Fox Films top box-office star, more popular than Shirley Temple or anyone else in the business. The American people loved him and never tired of quoting him: “An onion can make people cry, but there has never been a vegetable invented to make them laugh.” “Diplomacy is the art of saying 'Nice doggie' until you can find a rock.” “Live in such a way that you would not be ashamed to sell your parrot to the town gossip.”

His small airplane made an unplanned stop south of Barrow, Alaska. As they took off again, the plane stalled and plunged into a river. The next day, Movietone News camera crews flew to Alaska for footage to show the mourning nation.
We would cut in existing footage from our archives. I had four research assistants, all industrious youngsters working their way through college. One of them, Joel, an ungainly boy with a sparse blond beard, was so new, he didn’t yet know how to avoid going off on a tangent. One interesting fact about Alaska led to another, and before he knew it, he was feeding me images of the Alaska gold rush.
I was a fan of celebrity news as much as anyone else, but it frightened me that the frenzy over the death of Will Rogers inspired more news items than the Nazis in Germany establishing the Nuremberg Laws that stripped Jews of their German citizenship and forbade marriage between Jews and Germans. The German people had elected Hitler, and all books by non-Nazi or Jewish authors had been burned. Kenny flew over there to get shots of a Nazi parade, but he was beaten up by a gang of brown shirts and left for dead in an alley. He was still walking around the studio with his foot in a cast. So my patience was short as I examined outtakes of Will Rogers chewing gum and saying "Howdy.

Joel was deep into his newfound passion for the Alaska gold rush and brought me still shots of the AlaskaYukonPacific Exposition in 1909. Look at these, he said. Its a comingofage party for the city of Seattle. This fair attracted four million visitors. Look at this, Mr. Sirkus. This is the parade in downtown Seattle. Look how Seattle looked back then. And look at this. Its an amusement park called the Paystreak. I looked up Paystreak. Its the term they used for the richest deposit of gold that you get when you pan. Look at this. Look at this, Mr. Sirkus. Its an attraction in the amusement park called Gold Camps of Alaska. And look. They had carnival rides. Look at them! Would you ever go on one of those things?”
Joel.
I know youre busy. I know youre busy, but look at this. This is a picture of a gold nugget. Look. Come on. Just one look. Youve got to see this, Mr. Sirkus. Look. Come on.

I sighed. Joel, you are driving me crazy. I snatched the grainy old print from him. It showed a slender young man in overalls and muddy boots holding on his palm a piece of gold about the size of a walnut. I was stunned to see a man who looked like my father. I took out my wallet and smoothed the wrinkled photograph I had been carrying around all my life. Same hair, same soulful eyes, same square shoulders, same way of holding himself. A million men probably looked like that. Just because my heart was beating fast, it didn’t mean it really was Uncle Sonny. Joel, find out who this man is.
Will do, Mr. Sirkus! He gathered up all the stills and charged back upstairs to the library. I returned to viewing shots of Will Rogers roping calves.
Late in the day, Joel returned with news. He has your same name, Mr. Sirkus! What are the chances of that! Thats not a very common name. You couldnt make up a name like that. He worked in that Paystreak amusement park.
Go on.
Theres still a list of those people! Can you believe this? I called Seattle. Are you angry?
Go on.
It wasnt that expensive. I talked maybe three minutes. Four, maybe.
Go on, Joel. Tell me what you found.

They have a special section in the library. All the history of Seattle. I asked the reference librarian to look him up. Couldnt find anything. I said, ‘Do you have obituaries cataloged?’ I am a very resourceful person, Mr. Sirkus. Once Im onto something, I see it through to the end. I lit a cigarette and hoped he didn’t see my hand tremble. He died about two years after that photo was taken. So I said, ‘Did he get murdered for the gold?’ And the librarian said, ‘It doesnt say. His name is just on a list of dead people for that year.’ Is he a relative of yours, Mr. Sirkus? What are the chances of that? I couldnt believe she called me back. Isnt that nice? She said there is nothing in the Seattle papers about any murder. So I said, ‘What happened to the nugget?’ She said she thinks its in the museum out there and that it didnt belong to him. He was just hired by the fair to show it to people.
Did anyone bury him? I managed to say.
Wouldnt they have to, Mr. Sirkus? Isnt that the law?
When I could speak, I said, Thank you, son. Youve helped me. Now lets put it aside and make some news.
I phoned Molly and said, “I found Uncle Sonny.”
 After I told her how this happened, she said, “Good. Now you can really leave the Elizabeth Home for Destitute Children.”
“What? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Harry, I’m on deadline.”
“You can’t just say something like that and go back to work. I ran away from that place when I was thirteen. I put that all behind me a long time ago.”
“Do me a favor. Look at your jacket.”
“What about it?”
“Describe the elbows.”
“There’s nothing wrong with them. I put patches over the holes. You can’t see the holes.”
“But you don’t need to put patches on your clothes anymore, Harry. Nothing’s going to break your heart now.”