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I ■ - ■ ■ -. —I Claude Hopkins Was Reared To Be a Physician - - Instead He Became A Doctor of Jazz Claude Hopkins did not want to be a medical doctor, but a doctor of jazz. The Har lem maestro tossed his pills, antidotes and medicines out of the window and switched from a pre-medical course to liber al arts, when music became his chief interest. Claude Hop kins is one of America’s chief dispensers of hot jazz. He sends out his cheery music via the air lanes from his ma jestic perch at the famous Cotton Club in New York. Claude Hopkins is one of the classiest men on the stage to day. He was born in Alexan dria, Virginia. He was reared on the campus of Howard uni versity. His father is the post master of Howard university and has held that position for more than thirty years. Claude’s mother is a mem ber of the college faculty. Claude studied “pre-med ics” at Howard, but changed his mind and took his bach elor's degree in liberal arts from the same school in 1923. He conducted the college symphony orchestra. He won his letter on the track team; he was equally adept at play ing football, basketball and tennis. After graduating he at tended the Washington Con servatory of Music, studying piano and harmony in the best classical tradition. He spent a year at this school. Then he went out seeking a job as a pianist in an orches tra. Wilbur Sweatlnan gave •Jm a berth in his jazz band. Shortly afterward he organ-j ized his own orchestra, and secured a job for the band in Atlantic City in 1924. His society orchestra played cafe and club engagements in At lantic City, Washington and Asbury Park, New Jersey. Claude got his first real break when Mrs. Caroline Dudley Regan, wife of the sec retary of the American em bassy in Paris, was a guest at the club where he and his or chestra were featured. This was in 1926. Mrs. Regan was so im pressed with the music of Claude Hopkins that she hit upon the idea of presenting a Harlem revue in Paris. She asked Claude to play the “St. Louis Blues.’’ That settled it. Ere long she was negotiating with Claude’s employer to re lease the orchestra from its contract. Claude was tickled pink over1 the idea of the Parisian trip. When he finished work that night he had a contract in his pocket for the European ven ture. Mrs. Regan wras equal ly as jubilant and she began to assemble a revue around Claude Hopkins' orchestra. She got Ethel Waters to sign on the dotted line that she would headline the show. They rehearsed and re hearsed. Finally they were all satisfied that they had a re vue. Ethel Waters became ill a few days before they were to sail. It would probably have proven fatal to Ethel to have taken the trip. What is a show without a star? They had to have one. Here they were all set to go to Paris—and no star. Mrs. Regan and Claude both began watching a clever little girl in the chorus. They pulled her out of the line. They be gan grooming her to take Eth el Waters' place as star of the revue. The chorus girl was thrilled beyond words. It was the big chance in her life. She just had to make good. She went through her paces every day on board ship bound for Paris. The revue was sche uled to open at the Theatre Champs Elysees. When the show opened on time in Paris, the chorine was a star—she had made good. Her name was Josephine Baker. The story of Josephine Ba ker and Claude Hopkins re sembles the plot of Warner Brothers’ sensational motion picture musical “42nd Street’’, ,s£>, much so that one would bonder whether or not they furnished the basic material used. Ruby Keeler played a similar role in the flicker to the one Josephine Baker played in real life. When Jose phine got in Paris, she stayed there. The revue ended its engage ment after a successful run. Claude and his orchestra then toured. They opened at the National de L'Opera in Paris; later at the Circque Royal in Brussels, where he played a command performance for the late King Albert of Belgium, The orchestra then played at the Scala theater in Berlin, and still later at the Nelson theater in that city. He stayed three months at this spot. Then engagements were filled at the Savoy hotel in Bremen, the Palace theatre in Barce lona, Spain, and the Royal theatre in Budapest. He re turned to America late in the year of 1927. Having met with such suc cess with his first revue, Hop kins organized another. He labeled it “Ginger Snaps.” It toured America with the mu sical show. Then his aggre gation became a ballroom broadcasting orchestra. He was a fixture at the famous Roseland ballroom in New York. His CBS broadcasts on the “Harlem Serenade” program won him national acclaim. He has made several shorts for the movies and two features. “Dance Team" starring James Dunn and Sally Eilers and “Wayward," with Nancy Car rol, were the names of the films. Claude is an exceptional piano player, arranger and composer. Among some of his numbers are “Harlem Sere nade," “Mississippi River," and “Smoking My Pipe," which he wrote with his vo calist, Orlando Robeson. He also wrote “I Could Do Most Anything for You.” Many people have formed the opinion that Orlando Ro beson, the sweet-voiced croon er, is related to Paul Robeson. This is not so—Orlando was born in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and educated at Kansas universi ty. Captain Mooney Pays Great Tribute to Fallen Heroes By CLIFTON THOMAS It has been said many times that the general sordid ness attached to police work makes persons engaged in it "hard-boiled” and impervious to human suffering and woe. Each year in Chicago, however, plenty of proof has been sup plied from men of outstanding character and ability in the police department to show that the miserable experiences necessarily witnessed only tend to properly direct sympathy which is due each deserving person. Among those officers who for' years have capitalized in this re gard as result of their experience and, as a consequence, have always received one hundred per cent co operation from his subordinates is Captain James L. Mooney, com mander of the 6th District police at 48th street and Wabash avenue. Dead Heroes Honored As a fitting tribute to those men under his command, who died in the line of duty, resisting crime—men who had great respect for their leader, preferred to die rather than to let a “pinch” elude them, Cap tain has adorned the corridor walls f the station with their likenesses. They are all there, black men and white men alike, an inspiration for anyone in any line of work who values devotion to duty and due re i ard for a man who never asked his men to do what he would not do himself. There on the wall hangs a picture of Patrolman Roscoe Johnson, vet eran of the force and hero of the .World war, who went down fighting bandits who attempted to rob the Gordon Baking company, March 21, 1933. His slayers were never appre hended; Patrolman Louis Purst, who went to his death fighting a crazed man at 5857 State in Sep tember of the same year. The mad man was finally slain by Officer Carl Nelson; Patrolman John R. Officer, killed April 13, of last year when he surprised bandits during a holdup of Bill’s Bootery, 302 E. 43rd street. His slayers were caught and sent to the electric caair for the crime. Then there are the pictures of Policeman Robert Granger, shot and killed three years ago in the line of duty on Prairie avenue, and Officers Thomas E. Torpy and Gal braith, whose lives were snuffed out in a gun battle at 733 St. Law rence avenue. And so the police work under Capt. Mooney goes on and on in this busy district, with every man anxious to curb crime—the first or der of their commander and every man, too, willing to stake his life against the challenge hurled hourly by hoodlums of the underworld to prove that their fellov' officers who have gone before them have not died in vain and that their untimely deaths are not unavenged. NORA HOLT NOW A SCHOOL MARM i Perpetual youth seems to be the reward of Nora Holt. Freshness of viewpoint is Nora’s secret, one of her secrets. Love of nature, the other, romance a possible third. Driving through the Arroyo Seco last Sunday morning with a faint haze giving a purple cast to California mountains; fields of green and golden poppies with tall Yucca raising an occasional bloom, Nora took a breath of pure air, swept her gaze over the landscape and burst forth with the surprise of the year: “I was never meant for Broad way! Nite clubs and gay parties always bored rne. I was thrown into it all and I had to make a good job of it. This is the life, and I’m going to live it the rest of my days.” Fine gown creations, many of them hand-painted; sequins that Chinese women painstakingly sewed together. Costly furs. Pri celess antique jewelry. All lie un disturbed in Nora’s trunks. The former toast of the contin ent, Nora Holt, is leading the sim ple life: feeding a little puppy, pruning rose rushes, teaching school at night, writing new music as the sun rises. Now blackbirds are movie struck. Indications that they want to become actors at Universal City are evident as out of 200 birds re leased from a cake at a party dur ing the filming of Diamond Jim, more than 50 lurked around sound stage 12. — - ■ So This Is NEW YORK By TED YATES ^=~ 1 i V G-Men know Alvin (Fnb.ic En emy No. 1) Karpis as, Eureau Identification Order No. 12S1 . . . That certain Harlem beautician who fell hard for a Harold Teen (drug store soda jerker tc you) went and bought the ofay playboy a car! Bernice Ince how**e you been ? Allan (Al-Mac Syndicate) MacMillian was to have 'tracked’ to Philly, but—well, the truck didn’t come . . . Teduj (1-0-1 Club) Godfrey should marry the gal. Meaning Dot Rhodes 7 ? ? The Guardsmen Club of 5:lyn., had another one of those swank things at the Savoy Banruum last Satiddy . . . Ethel Waters is get ting 4U’s and 5 C’s in Chi for her bit. Which is the top price ever paid a single act in the Windy City. . . Wonder if Ralph Cooper knows that Billy Rowe is out? t 1 Out of luck re-Edna Richardson). . . . Best of the star acis w.uay is Avon Long’s dancing, singing and prancing . . . Atlantic City ‘pops’ on Satiddy nights and Sundays. Too much! ! !The culluu waitress es at Pep’s, in Phiia. give oetter service than the ofay ones. Which is right in step with our times. . . Pardon my Gotham drawl, folks— but, Freda Jackson, ami Iiarold Holder (Cab Calloway's vaiet) did do the wedding step, they tell me that three chicks were peeved at Holder who jilted tnem anu Freda told the organist to pump hard. But the pair are miles apart. So? Don Redman’s, “I Only Heard,” is really town talk . . . .\dolph Phillips, the Phiia. beauty parlor equipment supply head, contracted the measles from daughter . . . Bobby Evans, the Harlem play boy and former Lucky 7 Trio dan cer, will give Atlantic City’s Won der Bar his all in a fortnight . . . Lloyd Baskerville is sporting one of the snappier soft brimmed hats. Right smart! ! ! Wonder who is “Mack” Baker’s heart now that the Earl (Maud Danielson) Styles have reconciled? ? ? Marion Hair ston’s newest heartache is Har lem’s ace columnist. I don’t know who started that ! ! Rudy Smith, the piano plunker who is doing so well at that Greenwich Village ‘hot’ spot will get A. No. 1 press notices for his swell goings-on at Carnegie Hall . . . Don’t let any body tell you different—Clarence Robinson, right now, is our ace stage producer ! ! 1 They’e trying to say that the Harlem players didn’t get good enough press notices. The box of fice wasn’t pressed enough, thej should say . . .Remember Father’s Day, men. He didn’t forget you! Joe Louis, the Detroit bomber will have what canary whistlin’ before the 7th ? ? And remember above all things, what I told you first . , The Reggie Fendersons have cal led it off. I hope that trey didn’t blame it on the weather . . .Victor ia Vigal is doing her numbers at the Memphis Club in the Quaker City ... So Fats Waller hailed Tom Southern, his body guard, as his "cheerful little earful.” And the gangsters aren’t misbehavin' (Being original and being newsy, folks!) . . . Chez Washington and Bill Nunn, of the Pittsburgh Courier, came to N. Y. recently to see their fran Joe Louis. You should have been up to Mike’s the nite the newsboys gathered—so much huggin’ and bar bending. Come back again soon, fellers. Expect Ralph (Afro American) Matthews in town any day now • . So “Spinkey” Alston took Pheon Hood bark ? ? ? Attend the show at the Ambassodar this Sunday nite. By all means, see Ella Gor don’s Peter Pan Kiddies in action . . . Some say Joe Outlear broke the S. S. Normandie’s record when he told a certain lass a thousand ’nots’ when she asked where did he spend the nite . . . Lorraine Harris still inquires about Monte Haw ley’s goings on . . . They say, too, that A. B. Coleman has went places. Beauticians want to know! Incidently, W. C. Stevens who gave Harlem (the mag) Harlem Life is slated to succeed your N. Y. corespondent as editor of the National Beauty Creator. All along I knew it wouldn’t last . . . Not to be funny, but does Ralph Cooper know you’re out, Billy Rowe? ? ? So to my friends, north, south, cast and west I am letting them in on the political situaion in ‘Hot’ Harlem, Oscar Godfrey and Daniel Burrows will vie for leadership—with one, Perry, mak ing it a three cornered fight. May be there are others, huh? Well, it’s about time we have a good battle. There have been too many fixed contests . . FLASH ! ! Vic tor Lloyd is sporting one of those German wrist watches Goodness gracious me. I must be slipping! LOS ANGELES CAFE SPORTS NOTED TALENT Leon Herriford, smart Kansan, who came west years ago with the Quality Four: Harvey Brooks, Tin Can Henry, Paul Howard and himself, introduced classy bands in the old Humming Bird Cafe opened by Gloria Swanson, owned by Dr. Eugene Nelson. Theatrical Career as a Lifetime Profession By EARL J, MORRIS < "The span of a theatrical career is only five years! ’ The aforesaid is the common belief of those outside of the theatrical profession. This is not true in the sense it is ut tered above. The chances for success following a career be hind the footlights are just as good as those in other profes sions. Each year thousands of people will attempt to become doctors, lawyers, mechanics, teachers, authors and what nots. Only a few hundreds are able to remain in their chosen profession. Those who do re main in any line of work, do so because they have some thing to sell. We are all salesmen in this game of life. We have to sell ourselves to our fellow man. For example, two doctors with the same amount of medical knowledge—one is a success, riding in a limousine, etc; the other is struggling along on a mere pittance. The success ful physician was simply a better salesman. You have to sell it, no mat ter what it is. If it is done right, you will have a market i for your talents. There are hundreds or ooys and girls working in taverns and cheap night clubs, who may be able to out-dance Bill Robinson or out-sing Ethel Waters, but they have no sales ability. That is the difference between a star and just anoth er singer or “hoofer”—of course, I mean a person who has talent. You have to let people kn^w that you have the ability, and you have to sell yourself to the multitude. One can last in the theatri cal profession as long as in any other vocation. We do not know the origin of the gross ly false statement that “the life of an actor is limited to jus. five years.” We are go ing to show you in subsequent paragraphs that this is high ly erroneous. Bill Robinson, who celebrat ed his 57th birthday recently, has been dancing for a living for 50 years. He has been a top act since 1908. Your grandmother, mother, you, or your children have thrilled at the dancing ability of Bill Robinson. Old Bill will be around for some time to come. “Bojangles” is a salesman. J. Homer Tutt has been on the stage for more than a quarter of a century. When this writer was six months old, his mother took him to the Pekin theater on State street with her to see the Tutt Whitney shows. Salem Tutt Whitney has passed into the great beyond, but J. Homer Tutt is still on the stage. He has a part in ‘‘The Green Pas tures.” Oertrude Saunders, the “boop-a-doop" girl, with Billy King, is still going strong. Jennie Dancer and Mae Alix have been in the theatrical profession “since Hector was a pup.’’ Blanche Calloway came out of the chorus of the Tutt-Whitney shows, and she is still “tops’’ in theatrical circles. Human Crabs Ethel Waters started her career many years ago. She has been a star for almost fifeteen years. Ethel had to sell herself to get to the top and stay there. Of course in a way there is plenty of room at the top—it’s getting there that is so hard, because the human race has often been compared to a basket of crabs, each pulling the other further back into the basket. Ethel Waters was no dif ferent from any other young girl who wanted to follow a [ career on the stage. She prob-1 d ably had been warned that the span of theatrical life would be only five years. But she dis regarded these bugaboos and went for herself. Buck and Bubbles started their careers about 1917 and they were a sure-fire hit and rose to the constellations and stayed there. They are sales men. You will probably say: "Oh, they got the breaks!” Well, they made those ‘‘breaks”— Ethel Waters, Bill Robinson, and all the rest. It is no idle rumor that Ashton Stevens, the famous dramatic critic, was one of the most import ant factors in the rise of Ethel Waters. He knew that she was a ‘‘natural’’. But it was no lucky break that Ash ton Stevens happened to drop into the Grand theater and “catch” Ethel’s act. Mr. Stev ens had been invited there by Earl Dancer, who at that time was her husband. Dancer is a great salesman. He sold Ethel to Stevens, and Stevens sold her to the world, in big time style. Earl Dancer in truth sold little .Teni LeGon. You must be a salesman. Are you reading, “Gate?” When They Started About 1919, several girls, among them being Flo Mills, Josephine Baker, Elida Webb, and Alberta Hunter had a craving for the stage. In 1921, they blossomed forth at the foot of the profession as cho rines. They rose from the chorus to stardom. Flo Mills was a star in Florenz Zieg feld’s shows before her un timely end. Elida Webb is still head lady of the ensembles at the Cotton Club in New York. Josephine Baker is loved by all France, and is the number one star of that nation. Eddie Hunter and Alex Lovejoy, both comedians, are still in the limelight. They have been cracking jokes for more than 12 years. Leroy Brumfield started out about this time. He has danced his way from coast to coast, did his stuff in China, and is now in Los Angeles at Sebastian’s Cotton Club. Five Years—Phooey 1 Five years on the stage Phooey! You can stay any where a life time if you are good, and know how to sell it in the manner that the people like. Duke Islington came out oi Washington, D. C.. with a six piece band. Today he has twice that number of men in his or chestra. He started his career more than ten years ago. Claude Hopkins also came from Washington, D. C. He has been in the business long er than twice the alleged al loted span of theatrical life. King Joe Oliver, the trum peter, was a big shot in New Orleans, on Rampart street, when Louis Armstrong was trying to get a job in his or chestra. Oliver is still a box office attraction. His orches tra is probably the oldest se pia band in the country. Arm strong is a product of his. Armstrong probably learned his “A-B-C's'' of music from the old master. Fletcher Henderson is an other old master who is still being sought by dance lovers. Good Career Ivy Anderson came from California. She had a voice and Duke Ellington needed such a voice and personality and she has bpen with him ever since. Stepin Fetchit went on the stage when he was about 15 years of age. He was a suc cess on the stage before he became a screen star. To stay in the theatrical or any other profession, you must sell your talents to the world. The stage, as a life career, is just as good as any. People are wont to attack the morals of the stage. The actor gives the public what it wants—so you see the morality issue re bounds. From the individual side, the morality of the per formers is no different from yours or mine. Plenty of Money Choosing a career behind the footlights from a moneta ry standpoint, it is just as lucrative as any other. Bill Robinson’s salary on the stage ranges from $500 to $2,000 per week. His screen salary is reputed to be $30,000 a picture, and he has only to work about three weeks to complete a picture. Ethel Waters is the highest paid single act on any stage today. She is drawing $12,000 for a two-weeks engagement in Chicago. She coined plenty dough in “As Thousands Cheer.” The parents of Duke Elling ton wanted their son to be a pianist; he wanted to be an artist. His mother lived to see her son become one of the foremost musicians of he world. She chose his career for him; she made him prac tice when he wanted to play ball or wanted to dabble with paints and oils. She lived to see him earn enough money to do anythng that he, she, or meir iamuy aesirea. Adelaide Hall stuck in the theatrical profession from the time that she was just a wisp of a girl. She sang her way to fame and fortune. If you don’t think that her profes sion has paid, take a look at her home on the Palisades. It only cost her $30,000. Cab Calloway has a palace. Bill Robinson rides around in a Dusenburg. “Thar’s gold in them thar hills.” “Oh, we expect those ‘big shots’ to earn that sort of money,” you say, “but what about the ‘little fish’?" The average good act de mands a salary ranging from $50 to $150 a week, and that isn’t peanuts. Then there are those who earn smaller sal aries. But they are earning more than they probably would in some other line of woric. How to Be a Star How do they get to the top? They are salesmen; they have a commodity to sell. The same basic principles of salesman ship are used. In other words, a lot of “ballyhoo” is em ployed. win p lay ueueilLa* dance and sing at every oppor tunity they get to keep their names before the people. Many times the reported en gagements of motion picture stars are no more than high powered press agent stuff. Let's take Sally Rand, the fan dancer. She thrives sole ly upon publicity. Her act is simply to appear in her “birth day suit,’’ and make a few ar tistic turns to music. The nov elty lies in the fact that it is considered daring. Her man ager, Leo Salkins, at the height of her career, had to sell her to the public. He em ployed a high priced press agent and soon the world knew about Sally Rand. The press agent sold her to Ameri ca; started controversies about the morality of the dance—whether it could fall into the category of art, etc. He even pulled those arrests so as to make her page one copy. Stars will conveniently attempt suicide, by jumping into the lake just as the cam era man is near (and he is always near). When a new star is em ployed at a motion picture stu dio, or by the Mills’ Artists bureau, which manages such orchestras as Duke, Cab, and Lucky Millinder. they are turned over to the publicity department and given a coat ing of exploitation, which arouses your interest to the extent that you will ‘‘plank down” the price of admission i to see them. Of course, they change with the present tempo of things, but in the main, they are the same. You no doubt have seen performers who in truth did not display any exceptional talents, but they were bub ling over with personality, and you encored them again and again. They know how to sell their wares. Then on the other hand you will see a fel low almost break a leg try ing to entertain you with his dance—he is no go. He lacks the personality, the ability to sell his number. So, if you are thinking of choosing a theatrical career, provided, of course, you have the ability, don’t fear the bug aboo that you can only last ve years; because if you are good, people will want to see you forever more. We laugh at good jokes that we heard when we were chldren. We en joy seeing artists perform in the same manner that we did years ago. You can remain in any vo cation in life more than five years if you have that swing. - ---- ‘Third Row-Center r\ | (The World, the Theater) I fl By MARJORIE MURRAY * REV. KINGSLEY in dinner clothes, and the ony male guest so correct at the Antiilia Protective Association dinner in honor of King George’s Silver Jubilee. He sat next to us at dinner, and we found him most human and jovial, yet decidedly convincing. He's temperate, you know, and as a result we drank his wine. That's what he gets for being so sincere a preacher, and having to raise | his water glass when a toast was , said to the king. Those watermelons we saw in that shop window were almost more than we could bear. Here it is in the dead of June, with snow and sleet all over the place, and a guy thinks up a stunt like that. I think they were for sale, too! The funny shopkeeper would make ten times more if he’d put the watermelons in a glass cage like a mummy or a stuffed dodo, and charge a dime a peep. That section of the MONTGOM ERY ADVERTISER devoted to the commencement at TUSKEGEE IN STITUTE, and its editorial in par ticular. Those of you who still have visions of the South being cluttered up with boogie men go ing about hanging you to the near est tree should dash right out and grab yourselves a copy. We bet after you’ve read it you’ll call your selves a couple of big Jack Hor ners and give yourselves a swift kick, or do you inhale? I’ve been humming that tune all day “East of the Sun and West of the Moon,” from “Stag’s at Bay.” Pretty, isn’t it? And that was a grand number that kid did the other night over the air from Frisco. (Sorry, her name has slipped me.) It was after she sang “Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child.” “Foot Loosa and Fancy Free” from “Hooray for Love,” the new Bill Robinson flick er. • • * It was nice having a few high balls with KAY FRANCIS’ best girl Friday. She’s IDA PERRY JOHNSON and on her way to Eng land . . . not to meet Kay but on a jolly jaunt quite her own. She wouldn’t discuss the Kay-Cheval ier rumor, but did say that if there’s any feeling out in Holly wood about our natural sun-tan, she didn’t know it. 4 4 4 For a pick-up, take 1-3 Bacardi rum, 1-2 dry gin, 1-2 French Ver mouth. Shake well, and pour in to cocktail glasses, or any glasa for that matter. You may then, my dears, relax, and count your blessings one by one. 4 4 4 Cheerio—See you Friday.