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Hollywood's First "Bad Boy" Was A Canadian

OUR HOLLYWOOD HISTORY (7/10)

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The movies have always had a love affair with "Bad Boys". Fans love rugged, hard-living, hard-partying characters who break all the rules, get all the girls and somehow end up on top.

Sometimes it works in the studios' interests to imply that the actors playing those parts aren't far removed from the characters they make famous.

The stories about Errol Flynn, Sinatra's "Rat Pack" and other stars up to and including Charlie Sheen have become the stuff of Legend. But one man can be credited for not only creating the myth other stars have emulated but embodying it completely, a Canadian named Jack Pickford.

Pickford was born in Toronto on August 18, 1896, the youngest brother of Mary Pickford, who would become the biggest star of the Silent Era. But while she became beloved as "America's Sweetheart", with more fans than the rest of Hollywood put together, her brother solidified a reputation as "Hollywood's Nightmare".

Jack made his stage debut at the age of 8, universally acknowledged as a beautiful boy with immense talent and predicted to follow in the footsteps of his already famous (in theatrical circles) sister. Some even felt Jack had the makings to become the best actor of his generation.

But somewhere during the run of his very first play, Jack revealed another side of his personality, one which would soon scandalize not only the movie business but much of the world -- and ultimately destroy him.

Later in life, Jack acknowledged that his legendary capacity for alcohol got its first test during that first play. And it ignited a desire to push the boundaries of morality as much as he could.

Even as a child, Jack had an unbridled love of fun. He was known for possessing a potent combination of talent and charm. He was nice to everybody, a completely "happy-go-lucky" guy. By the age of 12, he was wowing Broadway audiences and producers. As one director put it, "He came over the footlights like an angel from heaven."

But backstage, another Jack Pickford was emerging. His sense of fun warped into rough practical jokes that humiliated members of his casts and crews. At the age of 13, he was caught having sex with the daughter of a wardrobe mistress. He once even glued on a merkin to hide his youth and visited a whorehouse. The merkin didn't fool anybody. But it did make him a hit with the resident ladies.

Those incidents aside, his drinking increased exponentially and he began using cocaine. Audiences still loved him, but he was becoming a handful backstage.

His mother enrolled him in a military academy in the hope he would straighten out. But instead, Jack recruited other boys into what might have been show business's first "entourage". When one theatre owner attempted to discipline him for some prank, Jack had his academy friends descend on the theatre and cover it with obscene graffiti.

Before his 14th birthday, he was officially blacklisted by the New York Theatre Managers and Producers Association -- forbidden from even attending auditions.

Jack's banning didn't have much impact, however, for in 1911, the entire Pickford clan moved to California to embrace the movie business fulltime, and producer Carl Laemmle, perhaps unaware of Jack's excesses, perhaps hoping to curry favor with Mary, signed him to a movie contract.

A year later, at 16, he starred in his first feature, "A Dash Through The Clouds", while also causing a lifelong rift between Mary and fellow silent stars Lillian and Dorothy Gish by -- as Lillian would admit decades later "doing things to Dorothy that neither of us understood at the time".

Indeed Jack had a reputation for turning up in the dressing rooms of his leading ladies, dropping his pants and ordering them to have sex with him. Some threw him out. But many more did not.

Jack also formed a new entourage that included actors Wallace Reid, Lew Cody and Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle. They were known for their wild parties and out of control hi-jinks. First dubbed "Pickford's Gang" and then "The Rat Pack" they were rumored to be regularly provided with cocaine by director Desmond Taylor -- until he was mysteriously murdered; and once literally destroyed an exclusive Beverly Hills country club.

Banned from ever darkening the doors of the club, Pickford and his pals crashed a car into the main dining room, tossed patrons into the pool and then pelted them with beer bottles. Mary somehow managed to convince the police to drop charges and paid for all the damage.

But Pickford's gang had some harmless fun at the expense of other stars as well. On Charlie Chaplin's wedding night, they hired the famous Paul Whiteman orchestra to set up on his lawn and play Sousa marches into the wee hours. Despite Pickford's assurances that Chaplin was in on the gag, he wasn't around when the police arrived and hauled the entire orchestra off to jail.

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As Pickford's career success grew with movies that were lauded by critics and hugely profitable to the studios, so did his capacity for causing trouble. He appeared to be settling down in 1917, after Paramount's Adolph Zuckor provided financial backing for the independent "Jack Pickford Film Company" and he married Zeigfeld Girl and rising star Olive Thomas.

But with America entering WWI and realizing he might soon be drafted, Jack suddenly enlisted in the Navy. While studio publicists applauded his patriotism, privately, he told friends his fame had allowed him to land a cushy desk job far from any combat.

And to all outward appearances, Jack seemed content to serve his country although stationed in New York. But shortly after the Armistice was signed, the New York Times ran a headline screaming, "Scandal in the Navy" over a story revealing that Jack Pickford had been supplying women, booze and a penthouse party location to Senior officers in order to secure safe postings for friends and wealthy associates.

A little studio and family finagling saved him from a court martial and although discharged as "medically unfit to serve", Jack was soon back in LA making movies. But Olive was heart-broken at the realization that the man she'd married had not mended his ways.

The couple seemed headed for divorce. But a year later, they set sail for a "second honeymoon" in Paris. Unfortunately, it would end in tragedy.

After a night of clubbing in Montmarte, Jack frantically called the front desk of his hotel to send up a doctor. A half hour later, Olive was pronounced dead -- from poison.

At the inquest, it was revealed that Jack had been diagnosed with Syphilis in 1917 and was taking the only known medication at the time, Bi-chloride of Mercury -- poisonous in large doses. Shortly after his return from the Navy, Olive learned that he had passed the incurable disease to her. To this day no one knows if her death was from an overdose of Mercury, suicide -- or she was murdered to keep Jack's secret.

Back in Hollywood, Jack had become a pariah overnight. He only made one film in the next year, albeit with a clause in his contract that he would have no physical contact whatsoever with his leading lady.

He soon left town for New York, returning a year later with a new bride, another Ziegfeld girl, Marilyn Miller. Ziegfeld was outraged, threatening in print to "murder the man". But once again, Jack charmed Hollywood's elite and appeared to be mending his ways.

The newly remarried Jack was affable and agreeable with everyone. Over the next couple of years he made eight more successful films. On the surface, his domestic life seemed perfect. Yet as one close friend confided, "That's the thing about Jack. He's always pleasant. But he's always loaded."

Then one day, Marilyn announced that the marriage was over and returned to New York to take the lead in a new Ziegfeld show. After five years of marriage, she had finally learned her husband had Syphilis.

A deflated Jack made one last film, "Exit Laughing" and then joined Marilyn in Paris to finalize the divorce. Why Paris? The couple knew a divorce in New York or California would require them to provide details of their marriage neither wanted to make public. In Paris, they were out of court in 20 minutes.

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Jack dropped out of sight for a while, surfacing in the social pages in 1930 when he married a third Ziegfeld girl. A year later, she too learned of his disease and moved out of their home.

Pickford then drifted back to California, now suffering the dementia that accompanies the final stages of Syphilis. After visiting a friend in Palm Springs in 1931, he missed a curve while speeding down a desert highway, totaled his car and was badly injured.

Mary rescued him from the small hospital to which he was taken and placed him in a private clinic in Los Angeles, where he was soon declared "clinically insane".

Jack's days in the clinic were mostly spent singing dirty songs as he recovered from his physical injuries. Once those were healed, however, he often became violent and Mary finally had him transferred to a clinic in Paris that claimed it had found a cure for Syphilis.

But recovery was not in the cards for Jack. He died on January 3, 1933, an autopsy revealing that much of his brain had been eaten away.

Hollywood's first "Bad Boy", a Canadian, was finally at rest.

A new roof!

I started working on the bookcase/doll house that I recently bought at a yard sale for only $5..... I started at the top-- making a roof okokok, shingles for the roof. I used cardboard that I cut into 1-1/2 x 1 inch pieces gluing them to the dollhouse with regular household glue. Once that was finished I painted the shingles black and dry brushed some brown and tan over that creating old weathered shingles. As the dollhouse comes together I may lighten the shingles even more by dry brushing a lighter color on top of whats there already. I would love for it to look like an sweet old cottage--- but what I would like and what I can pull off are two totally different things altogether! But I'll try~~On my wish list of things to make for this house: a brick floor, a wood floor..... lace curtains, two wooden doors with windows... a planter, a tree (don't ask-- still thinking this through lol) wallpaper, molding etc...etc...etc...........

Lazy Sunday # 184: So Fast

It never fails, does it? You get wrapped up in a couple of projects, spend the remaining waking hours trying to keep the regular portions of your life operating normally and one day, you wake up, glance at the calendar and say, "Whoa! It's the last week of Summer!".

That was fast!

And so is this!

Enjoy Your Sunday!

The Canadian Who Created Comedy Legends

OUR HOLLYWOOD HISTORY (6/10)

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Just like every other kid, Del Lord dreamt of running away with the Circus. Life was boring in his hometown of Grimsby, Ontario and it wasn't much better in nearby Niagara Falls where his widowed mother moved them to find work.

But in his 14th Summer, a circus camped at the Falls for several months and its clowns took pity on the skinny kid who came by every day to watch them rehearse. They soon worked him into their routine, playing a hapless rube, dragged from the audience at every performance to be tossed around the ring, hit with buckets of water and otherwise made the butt of jokes.

Seeing how much her son enjoyed Circus life, Mrs. Lord gave her permission for him to follow them to their winter quarters in Jacksonville, Florida.

A few months later, in early 1909, she died and the Circus became Del Lord's family.

For three years he travelled with the Big Top, learning the skills of clowning and acrobatics. In 1912, while touring California, Lord's Circus was asked to set up near a Hollywood studio to serve as background for a film they were making. Del watched one day of shooting and knew he had found his true calling.

But his first job in the industry was building sets in fellow Canadian Mack Sennett's Keystone Studios. The construction was for a film Sennett felt might spawn a new star, a young vaudeville comedian he'd hired by the name of Charlie Chaplin.

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Chaplin arrived but seemed overwhelmed by the world of the movies. He was new to California too and didn't know a soul beyond Sennett. Lord engaged him in conversation and Chaplin asked if he knew anywhere he might find a room. Lord took him back to the rooming house where he was staying. It was one of the few which allowed "theatricals".

Lord convinced the landlady that Chaplin was trustworthy and would pay his rent on time. Then the two sat up all night trading stories about their lives on the road.

"I was a very scared person. And when I saw the chaos of the studio I felt sure I would soon be on my way back to vaudeville. The second day was different. The second day, I had a friend" -- Charlie Chaplin

Chaplin went to work on his first film and Lord continued to build sets. But every night he and Chaplin would work on gags and routines back at the rooming house. Chaplin soon recognized that Lord had an innate sense of what was funny and begged Sennett to hire him as an actor so he would be available as an on-set coach.

Watching Lord work with Chaplin, Sennett also realized the kid had something special and Lord was soon put to work as a member of Sennett's comedy mainstay "The Keystone Cops". Lord reluctantly joined that raucous, slapstick stunt-fest. But not before leaving Chaplin with one more comic suggestion -- the moustache that became his trademark.

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Lord's acrobatic training was perfectly suited for the dangerous mayhem that characterized "The Keystone Cops". Eventually he performed almost all of their dangerous driving stunts as well, many of which were filmed in LA traffic with no one else on the road aware they were part of the scene.

Despite almost being killed by locomotives, streetcars and driving over cliffs, Lord flourished. Sennett soon had him directing. And he was always on call to do one thing he did better than anyone else -- throw a pie.

"Putting a pie in Del Lord's hands was like handing Rubens a pallet and a brush. He was an artist to his fingertips." -- Mack Sennett

From 1914 to 1917, Lord directed hundreds of films for Sennett, polishing and perfecting the work of such stars as Harold Lloyd and Wallace Beery. He even convinced Sennett to re-hire a comic he had fired because audiences felt he wasn't funny.

Del Lord saw something in a guy named Ben Turpin. and in a few short weeks, Lord had transformed him into one of the biggest comic stars of the Silent Era.

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The Crash of 1929 wiped Sennett out and hit most of Hollywood hard. But Lord's reputation as a "comic genius" kept him working for a number of studios. He made the transition to sound with ease. But as the Depression deepened, he found himself directing a series of unsatisfying musical shorts and decided to leave show business and make the kind of money that would support his family selling cars.

A couple of years later, that's where fellow Sennett director Jules White crossed his path. White had always admired Lord's work and had just been hired to supervise a new comedy division at Harry Cohn's Columbia Studios. Lord resisted at first, but White convinced Cohn to offer him a contract too rich to ignore.

Lord came back to the movies and was soon working with the likes of Harry Langdon and Buster Keaton. It was said that no one had to ask directions to whichever soundstage Lord was shooting. You simply stepped outside and listened for the uncontrolled laughter of the cast and crew.

A typical Lord set was so out of control that Crewmembers were known to stuff handkerchiefs in their mouths to avoid blowing a take. And even Buster Keaton, famous for his deadpan personality wasn't immune.

"Some of his ideas were so original and so hilarious that I often fell out of character and joined in the fun." -- Buster Keaton

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But Lord would begin to make the mark for which he will forever be remembered in March of 1935. That's when he was put in charge of a struggling comic trio known as "The Three Stooges". Lord's style and inventiveness meshed perfectly with Larry, Curly and Moe. Over the next 13 years, they would make 41 films together.

Later in life, all of the Stooges would confirm that Lord had invented every single one of their trademark gags.

"We were the stars, but Del Lord deserved equal billing. He knew what we were capable of doing and he dragged every ounce of it out of us." -- Moe Howard

And while most directors would have been happy with the level of craft Lord achieved on set, he went further when the films were done.

Unknown to the studio, he would sneak rough cuts into local theatres and tape the audience reactions. Then he'd go back to the edit suite and run the films with this makeshift "laugh track", tightening jokes and eliminating bits that didn't work until he had audiences laughing from beginning to end of every Stooge release.

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Around 1950, Lord began to scale back his work load and travel the world with his wife, Edith. In the process, he became troubled by all the child poverty he saw and vowed to do something about it.

He and Edith purchased a larger home and over the next decade raised and educated 21 refugee children from a variety of countries.

In 1968, he also went back to help the Stooges, launching a lawsuit to win them a share of the tens of millions their films were making on television. But the Distributors fought hard and eventually got Lord's case thrown out of court. But his battle inspired the children of the retired comedians to launch their own court action, finally shaming the rights holders into doing the right thing for their fathers.

Lord died in 1970, a man who'd never gotten very wealthy and never even been nominated for an industry reward despite the millions whose lives he had enriched with laughter. It was reported that no one from the Hollywood community attended his funeral, in most cases to avoid the wrath of those he'd sued on behalf of the stars he had helped to create.

But in attendance were the families of the Stooges and 21 other young men and women to whom he had given a better life.

Lord's last film with "The Three Stooges" can be found here.

Crocheted Strawberries

I've been thinking about making some presents for Christmas this year. My 2 year old grandaughter really enjoys playing with the Melissa & Dougs wooden food sets. But at $20 bucks a set, and seeing how I want to get her every single one... I thought I would try to divert my attention from buying all of them--- by making some things myself. Soooooooooooooo, I whipped up some adorable crocheted strawberries. Now, strawberries are not what I would consider "fun" to play with--- but these ones you can pull off the green part from the strawberry! (which is called a calyx)Here is the crochet pattern if you would like to make your own crocheted strawberries. They are extremely easy to make. If you don't know how to crochet, you can look on you tube for an instructional video.



This strawberry is worked in continuous rounds. You can either mark the first st of every round, or just keep count as you do each stitch of each round.

Using red worsted weight yarn and an "F" hook, crochet 2ch.

1st round Skip 1ch, 6sc in next ch.

2nd round [1sc in next sc, 2sc in next sc] 3 times= 9 sts.

3rd round [1sc in each of next 2sc, 2sc in next sc] 3 times. = 12 sts.

4th round 1sc in each sc, which will equal 12 sc stitches.

5th round [1sc in each of next 3sc, 2sc in next sc] 3 times. =15 sts.

6th round [1sc in each of next 4sc, 2sc in next sc] 3 times. =18 sts.

7th round 1sc in each sc, which will equal 18 stitches.

8th round [1sc in each of next 5sc, 2sc in next sc] 3 times. =21 sts.

9th round [1sc in each of next 6sc, 2sc in next sc] 3 times. =24 sts.

10th round 1sc in each sc, which will equal 24 stitches.

11th round [2-st sc decrease] to end of round. =12 sts.

At this point, I took out my crochet hook and held the loop in place with a safety pin. I then stuffed the strawberry rather firmly. Next, I used a double length of yellow thread to attach yellow/gold beads onto the strawberry randomly across the surface. I purchased the beads at Walmart, I didn't have to use a bead needle with these. I fastened off the thread securely by attaching it to the stuffing that was on the top of the strawberry.I pulled out the safety pin that held the loop open and continued to crochet the next round.

12th round
[2-st sc decrease] to end. =6 sts. Fasten off.

Stitch from side to side of the strawberry to close the opening, tightening each stitch before making the next one. You now have a finished strawberry.

CALYX Using green worsted weight yarn and an"H" hook, I chained 3 and skipping one chain stitch I then sc in remaining two stitches. Continue with that pattern of chaining 3, skip one chain stitch, sc in remaining 2 chains until you have five completed "leaves" in a row. Then you slip stitch to the beginning chain stitch, and crochet around the opening of the green calyx pulling it tightly until the circle closes. However many single crochet or slip stitches you need to use to close the opening. For the strawberry stem, work your green yarn into the middle of the circle of leaves/calyx and chain 5, skip one chain, and sl stitch down the remaining 4 chains. Fasten off, leaving a long tail to work back under the existing stitches. Thats it... easy peasy.At this point, you can either stitch the calyx to the top of the strawberry, or add velcro to make them into something you can pull apart. I chose the latter. I used green and red permanent markers to color the white velcro circles that I was going to use for my strawberries.Next, I simply used hot glue and glued the round red velcro on the strawberry and the green velcro circle on the calyx of the strawberry.

Then I just pushed the two together, to create a "toy" Easy peasy! I'm going to modify this strawberry pattern to make some crocheted eggs next.

Hollywood's Most Prolific Director Was A Canadian

OUR HOLLYWOOD HISTORY (5/10)

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Allan Dwan was born in Toronto in 1885, the son of a snake oil salesman who fled the city in 1893, taking his family to Chicago where he went into politics. According to Dwan, "It was just the natural progression".

The elder Dwan prospered in his new line of work for as Allan would also later say, "All politicians prospered in Chicago".

As a result, Allan soon found himself able to attend Notre Dame University where he became a star football player, member of the Drama club and top of his class electrical engineer.

After graduating, he landed a job with a company developing mercury vapor lamps. These became his entree into show business when he was tasked with installing the new lights in several Chicago theatres.

One night, George Spoor, one of the owners of the Essanay-Spoor-Anderson Film Company saw the lights in action and asked Dwan if they might be of use to the film industry.

Dwan didn't have a clue, but he rigged up Spoor's studio for a test which turned out to be a magnificent success.

As Dwan hung around the studio tweaking the lighting set-up, he noticed that writers were constantly dropping by to deliver story ideas for the company's films. Mostly, he noticed that Spoor paid $25 cash for each one he used.

Having had several stories printed in the Notre Dame student newspaper, and sensing he had much better stories than the ones he saw being shot, Dwan went home and gathered up 20 of his best. Spoor not only bought all 20, he hired Dwan on the spot to be his "script editor" -- for $300/week.

A couple of months later, another local outfit, The American Film Company, noticed an uptick in the quality of Essanay-Spoor-Anderson titles and offered Dwan double his current salary to work for them.

Dwan's first assignment for American was to join a crew of actors and technicians being dispatched to Arizona to shoot Westerns.

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The distant location was less about achieving cinematic authenticity than finding somewhere nobody might look for a movie company.

Y'see, the year was 1910 and several film companies including the major players, Biograph and Vitagraph, had teamed as "The Patent Company" so named because they owned all the camera patents necessary to prevent smaller companies from making movies.

And they didn't put those companies out of business by hiring lawyers. They hired thugs to attack the sets, beat up the cast and crew and smash the cameras. And there were a lot of thugs for hire in Chicago.

On their first shoot day in Arizona, Dwan discovered the director had disappeared on what was a semi-regular bender. Nobody knew when, or if, he'd ever return. So Allan wired Chicago, asking them to send a new director. The return telegram was short and to the point. "You are now Director. Salary doubled. Deliver a minimum 3 films a week."

The Westerns the company was shooting were known as one-reelers, literally one reel of film or ten minutes in length. Still -- a tall order for somebody fluent in the cinematic arts and Dwan had never directed a frame of film.

But he gave it a shot, evolving what became his trademark, simple, straightforward story telling with no aspirations to "Art" or "Significance". Allan Dwan just made sure each film, each scene, each shot had a beginning, a middle and an end.

He also became adept at shooting on the fly, taking advantage of anything in front of his camera. One morning, he found an impressive cliff and improvised a fight with one of his cowboys getting tossed over it. Later in the day, he came across a desert aqueduct and concocted a story of one rancher poisoning the water that flowed to his neighbor, thereby leading to the fight on the cliff edge.

The company churned out several films over several months and then word came that Patent Company thugs had discovered their location.

Dwan was shooting a cowboys vs Indians film when he was alerted that a posse of Patent thugs were headed to the set. Thinking quickly, he had his actors change over to real ammunition and real arrows and attack the posse when it arrived. The intruders were quickly driven off -- with Dwan rolling film on the action.

Dwan wrote a story to go with the "cowboys and Indians on the same side" climax and the resulting film was a sensation when it was released.

By that time, the company had escaped to California, but avoided Hollywood, setting up shop in La Mesa, CA.

Over the next 15 months, Dwan produced and directed 200 one-reel films while writing over half of them. His output not only included Westerns, but melodramas and comedies as well. On days when he couldn't come up with an idea, he took his crew out and shot a documentary.

By this time, he was considered one of the top directors in America and Hollywood finally came looking for him. Dwan signed with Universal for another salary increase on the understanding that from then on, he would only write and direct features.

He was already attracting top talent like Wallace Reid, Norma Talmage and Donald Crisp (who would win an Oscar in 1941 for "How Green Was My Valley"). But he was discovering stars as well, including Gloria Swanson, Lon Chaney, who started as his props man, and Erich Von Stroheim, his AD.

Swanson and Von Stroheim would eventually be teamed in Billy Wilder's 1950 film "Sunset Boulevard" and if you look closely, Allan Dwan is one of the photographers in the movie's chilling final sequence.

Dwan's simple approach to shooting made him a darling of both studios and stars. Audiences also flocked to his films. In addition to writing and directing such silent classics as "Robin Hood", he helmed one of the first color films, "Stage Struck" starring Gloria Swanson in 1925.

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In 1928, Fox put him in charge of all their sound films. They let him out of his contract to direct Douglas Fairbanks' first sound film "The Iron Mask" in 1929. It was also to be the last of the great swashbucklers of the era.

Dwan stayed with Fox until 1941, churning out several films a year, including classics like Shirley Temple's "Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm" and "Heidi". In 1933, he made a star out of Ida Lupino in "Her First Affair" and discovered Rita Hayworth (Human Cargo, 1936).

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In 1936, he also made a potboiler called "High Tension" that featured black actress Hattie McDaniel. McDaniel would become the first African American actress to win an Oscar in 1939 for "Gone With The Wind". But she credited much of her success to Dwan, saying he was the first director to treat her like a lady. She also treasured their first day on the set, when Dwan took her to lunch in the Fox Commissary. "For the first time, I was an equal member of the company."

Dwan's simple story telling style made him the go-to guy for almost any kind of film. Westerns, thrillers, horror, comedy, drama -- even historical spectaculars. No matter the genre, the budget or the stars, Dwan's work always found an audience. Yet he remained nowhere near as well known as John Ford, Billy Wilder, Alfred Hitchcock, George Stevens or William Wyler -- despite the fact that his credit would end up on more films than all of them put together.

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One afternoon, UCLA called asking if he could lecture their film students on his craft. In his usual, no-BS way, Dwan stated that he didn't really know anything about craft. He just placed the actors, pointed the camera and trusted everybody else knew what they were doing. Then he rolled film and had a sandwich. He later swore that one of the students popped up to ask, "What kind of sandwich?"

In 1949, Dwan directed the film he knew would be the one he'd be remembered for, "The Sands of Iwo Jima" with John Wayne. The film was Republic studio's biggest success.

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Having been in the film business for more than 40 years and beyond wealthy, he could have easily rested on his laurels but that wasn't Dwan's style. He began making independent features and in 1955 tried live television.

In 1958, at the age of 73, he directed his final feature, "Enchanted Island". By then his resume included 444 feature films, many of which he also wrote. Add to that more than 600 one and two reelers.

The most prolific director Hollywood would ever know kept writing scripts until he was 82 and in 1976, at the age of 91, accepted the LA Film Critics "Career Achievement Award". It was the first time he'd received any recognition for his work beyond the offer of another job.

Allan Dwan died in 1981, aged 96, leaving the UCLA Medical School his vast fortune and his body for research. Simple, straightforward -- and Canadian -- to the end.

Peter Bogdanovitch penned a biography of Dwan in 1970 entitled "The Last Pioneer" and many of his experiences shooting one reel Westerns formed the basis of Bogdanovitch's 1976 film "Nickelodeon". A full roster of Allan Dwan's films (some streaming in their entirety) can be found here.

Spoon pendants

I finished a few spoon pendants. I really like how they turned out. This one is my favorite....This next one is a close second. I may have to keep this one as I love fairies and that blue sapphire is my birthstone.This one is sweet~This pendant/spoon is larger and rounder than most...It is my goal to eventually sell these on my Etsy site--

The Tarnished Crown, (which is empty) so with that in mind, I went so far as to place them onto some cards. Baby steps.... I'm having fun and isn't that the most important part? I've linked up to the following linky parties: Making the World Cuter

Made by you Monday, and also My Blue Monday.





Lazy Sunday # 183: Dieppe

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On July 27th, journalist Tim Knight caused quite a stir by stating that he had finally lost all respect for CBC's National newscast.

The cause of Mr. Knight's displeasure was that the date marked Canada's official departure from combat in Afghanistan. It was a historical moment, one that had been discussed endlessly on CBC for a decade.

Yet, when it arrived, despite the price in blood and treasure that the war had extracted, despite the moment having a profound personal impact on thousands of Canadian families, the National spent most of its time gushing over a couple of upper class twits visiting the country.

After babbling about the Royal Tour, the newscast spent time examining the Casey Anthony trial in Florida, flooding in China, a stadium collapse and a dust storm in Phoenix. It finally presented the Afghan withdrawal with a brief voice over and stock footage -- despite still having correspondents in the combat zone.

Banality had triumphed over substance. And for this we pay over a Billion dollars a year.

On the other hand, maybe CBC is no worse than any other Canadian broadcaster when it comes to recounting our history. August 19th passed with barely a mention of why that date was once coldly carved into the hearts of several generations of Canadians.

On August 19, 1942 more than 5000 Canadian troops, supported by the Royal Navy, RAF and British, American and Free French Commandoes attacked the French port of Dieppe. It was a raid designed to test German defenses and test Allied landing strategies and equipment. It was also intended to show Russia's Joseph Stalin that the Western powers were ready to open a second front against Hitler.

From start to finish the action was a complete disaster. The Germans knew well in advance that the attack was coming. In fact, they'd spent weeks perfecting their defenses, even marking the exact positions where mortar shells would land.

The day before, the BBC began broadcasting warnings to French civilians to leave the coast and the RAF and Royal Navy didn't bomb or shell the town in order to avoid killing non-combatants.

What's more, the tanks and artillery sent ashore weren't designed to traverse the pebble beaches. Every single one was destroyed while still in the water.

Finally, hours before the raid, Field Marshal Montgomery had insisted the mission be scrubbed, since it had no chance of succeeding. But he was over-ruled by Lord Louis Mountbatten, a member of the same Royal family with which today's CBC seems so smitten.

Mountbatten's folly echoed the same "toy soldier" approach that had slaughtered Australian troops at Gallipoli in WWI. On August 19, 1942, it was Canada's turn to provide the cannon fodder.

Six hours after it began, the battle was lost. 3,367 Canadians were either dead, wounded or taken prisoner. Most of them had never gotten off the beach.

Many of those lost were from my home province of Saskatchewan and when I was a kid it wasn't unusual to be told that this guy had lost his son or brother at Dieppe or that one limped because of the wounds he'd received that day.

Later, when I was acting, I did two plays that dealt with the debacle at Dieppe; Tom Hendry's inspired "Gravediggers of 1942" and Peter Colley's "The War Show". The latter's first act climax depicted the slaughter on the beach. Often the curtain dropped not to applause but to silence and the sound of someone weeping.

One night, during the intermission, there was a knock on the Green Room door. Being the only actor who wasn't in the middle of a cigarette, I answered it. A huge, muscular man in his late 50's filled the doorway with tears streaming down his face. He reached out and dropped several crumpled 10's and 20's into my hand. "I lost a lot of good friends at Dieppe," he said, "Have a drink to 'em on me."

He started away, then turned back. "And Bless you all for remembering. It means a lot."

Just apparently not to anyone in Canadian broadcasting…

Enjoy your Sunday.

Works in progress...

I've been playing with some of my jewelry stash recently. I've started off slowly, not trying to burn myself out before even starting. I began by making these three fairy brooches. They are still works in progress~ Here is another...This little cutie is just screaming for a party hat....Thats as far as I got with those...I got bored.

Then I turned my attention to making some spoon charms. Firstly, I had to bend them...Then I had to cut them and bend a loop to create a hanger so they could be turned into charms. Thats as far as I got with those... yep, I got bored with making those as well.Next, I turned my attention to making some dominoe pendants. I've wanted to make some dominoe pendants for-eva.... I looked at several images of finished dominoes... and noticing most had one hole at the top and anywhere from one to three holes at the bottom to hang charms or crystals... I was in need of a drill press to create precise holes in the dominoes. Trying to hold a big drill and drill a teeny-tiny hole into something small isn't easy. I've seen table top drill presses on other blogs, but never paid to much attention to really looking at them, or even better yet... asking the blogger where they got them. So, I was on a mission to acquire one! Firstly, I googled the following words: drill press, small drill press, mini drill press. Nothing that showed up that was even remotely close to what I wanted. Next, I searched local hardware stores online to see if they carried small drill presses. Nope. I did however spot something that is called a drill holder. Cool. I bought this at Harbor Freight for only $20. It can be free standing or you can mount it to something to keep it steady. I had my husband cut some thick plywood for me so I could screw the drill press to it. I decided to spruce it up a smidge seeing how I plan on keeping this for. ever. Since this is essentially a tool, I decided to give the base an old-old metal look. Of course metal tape is a super easy way to create some metal-magic in a snap. First thing I did was to cover the entire base with metal tape wrapping around the edges with a little attached to the backside. For fun, I glued some thin wooden flowers and some chipboard dots, that I punched with a hole puncher, around the edge of the board.Once the glue set on the flowers & dots, I added some more metal tape to cover the embellishments. Then at every overlap of the metal tape, I used a rotary marking wheel to create little holes like rivet marks. I then used acrylic paint to age the metal.... taaaaaaaaaa daaaaaaaaaaaaa. Instant drill press. Isn't she a beaut? *sigh* Thats as far as I got.... I got bored with that. I couldn't even bring myself to dig out some dominoes and give it a try.

I think tomorrow I'll drag out my sewing machine~