by Garland Burns Porter

Did you know that the world's wealthiest newspaperman could yodel? If your answer is no, you are in the majority, and I'm in there with you. When I learned William Randolph Hearst could yodel, I was a guest in his fabulous Hearst Hacienda at San Simeon, which grew from a purchase in 1865 by his father, George Hearst, of the old Piedra Blanca (White Rock) ranch for about sixty cents an acre, to the 225,000 acres that surrounded the Hacienda in 1934 when I was there. It crowned a hill overlooking the Pacific Ocean, a majestic castle that fitted the Laird of San Simeon in a manner to be believed, had to be seen together. The many millions of dollars that went into the "ranch" expressed in one sense the vastness of the Laird - Duke would be a better word and in another did not do justice to the magnitude of his unique personality and talents. He inherited a reputed seventeen million dollars, but at its peak his wealth was at least half a billion. All but a few of the sons of vastly wealthy men never live up to their sire's press clippings; George Hearst, who became a United States Senator and millionaire himself by wringing things out of the raw Wild West, had one son, but that one beat par for the course.

I was there in April of 1934, member of the group of office managers of the Rodney E. Boone Organization which was the name of name unit of Hearst that sold national advertising in his twenty-four evening newspapers in the East, the South, and Middle West, and the three morning newspapers on the West Coast. The way that Boone Organization came into being was interesting: Rodney Emerson Boone, native of Missouri, was working for the Hearst evening Chicago American, stationed in New York, where he was doing a good job. Herman Black, publisher of the Chicago evening paper, was a top operator in the Hearst chain and was held in high esteem by Mr. Hearst. I am not certain which paper was added to Mr. Boon's responsibilities, but a question came up as to whom they should assign it to in the New York area. Mr. Hearst, who knew of the good job Mr. Boone was doing, spoke up:

"Why not give it to the Boone Organization." At that moment and in those words, Organization attached itself to Rodney E. Boone. He was notified that he was getting another paper to represent, and the statement by Mr. Hearst was relayed to him. Ever a man to catch things on the first bounce, if not in the air, Boone called a sign painter and had Rodney E. Boone Organization lettered on the door. His first employees in the fledgling organization were Herbert W. Beyea and William C. Hobson. Eventually they had twenty-seven newspapers, as I recall, and several hundred employees. I was made Southern Manager of the organization in early 1934 and I had hardly got my name on the door in Atlanta when I was told by Mr. Boone that he was taking all his office managers, plus a couple of key men from his office, on a trip to the West Coast where we might see at first hand the markets we were selling to the national advertisers in our respective regions. Needless to admit, I was elated at this chance to see the West. I had no idea before we left this side that I would be asking Mr. Hearst to yodel for the entertainment of his guest at San Simeon, and for the guests at Marion Davies' Easter Party at her seaside home at Santa Monica, before I returned to the less spectacular life along Peachtree Street - that was before Gone With the Wind blew the Big Names of the West Coast into our town. Clark Gable, who did his share of singing at Miss Davies' party, was to lend his presence to the premiere of GWTW at Loew's Grand Theater in Atlanta five years later ....

One of the first things I did after hearing from Mr. Boone that I was to join the group at Chicago, from which point we would proceed by the Burlington Route to Seattle, was to go downtown to Zachry's clothing store and ask Zach, one of my very good friends, what he thought I should wear. He fitted me into a snappy gray, Ragland Sleeve overcoat, a handful of other items of gentleman's attire, including a black homberg hat, and I headed for Chicago. I was not certain about that homberg, but Zach, a tall, impressive dresser himself, assured me that it would be distinguishing item, and that I would get accustomed to it in no time. That was the day the Jimmy Walker snapbrim headress. When I got to Chicago, Roy Hutchinson, himself a neat dresser, as were most of the Boone men (in fact, none of them was a slouch, Rodney E, Boone saw to that), took one look at me and said:

"Look who's here - the gentleman from the South. Where do you think you are going?"

"To Hollywood, no less " I said, trying to be nonchalant, which I didn't feel at all.

We had a special car from Chicago, as the run-of-train accommodations did not express what the Boone Men, as we were called then, had in mind. We kept the same porter all the way too, and he was a champ in his line. I trust I don't have to say that we were well supplied with refreshments for the trip. Fact is, I'd never been on a trip up to then that conditioned me, even a little, for the long drink that lasted from Illinois to long past the Cascade Great Divide. We stopped at Butte, Montanna for some reason; I'm not certain whether the train changed crews there, or whatever. We walked around a bit. After we left Butte, we were told that some bear steaks had been taken on there, but I didn't order any. I had discovered nothing wrong with the excellent fare we had been using to assimilate the refreshments we had along.

I remember particularly on that trip: Hap Kern, Manager of Boston office of the Boone Organization, later to be the top-notch publisher of Mr. Hearsts' Boston papers; Jim Gediman, assistant to Herb Beyea, Manager of the New York office, and who later became President of Hearst International Advertising Service, himself to be succeeded by Jim Gediman; Fred Druehl, Manager at Detroit; Harry Koehler, Manager at Chicago, later to become publisher of The Chicago American; Ned Chalfant, head of the West Coast Division in the Boone Organization; Ralph Kinder, Philadelphia; F. W. Richardson, Detroit; W.E. Peters, Chicago; and Rodney E., Boone himself. We made Seattle as our first market to be visited and appraised. There we were joined by M. L. Applegate, Seattle Manager who accompanied us when we went to San Francisco and Los Angeles. A. R. Barlett, Brother of Sid Bartlett, Los Angeles, made the trip from Detroit.

Arriving at Seattle, we had our special car set off and proceeded to give that most attractive city out attention. M. L. (Monroe) Applegate, Manager of the National Advertising Department, today called General Advertising Department of newspapers, had things arranged for us and we had a delightful time in the corner State of the Great Northwest. It was at Seattle that Herb Beyea and I, while walking along the downtown shopping district, spotted a music store in the window of which was a small display of harmonicas. I had been lamenting the fact that I had not brought my harmonica with me; so Herb said:

"Come on in - I'll buy a Harmonica for you. Then I'll know weather you have been lying about playing one."

We went in and he explained that if I could play a harmonica, he would buy one for me. They did not have any real expensive models, which was bad from my point of view, for our expense account could have stood it: on the train we had been spending nothing for days. The one he bought was a small Marine Band, made by M. Hohner, Germany, top harmonica manufacturer of the world, according to me. It cost a dollar and a quarter. About five dollar model now. Anyway, I played a tune on it; the clerk said, "not bad." He was selling, you know. Beyea grinned and paid the man. The harmonica was to be the key that unlocked Mr. Hearst's unheralded gift as a yodeler.

From Seattle we went down to Portland, looked the city over a bit

I believe we had our special car unhitched and picked up the next train south on the Southern Pacific, but I am not certain. Mr. Hearst did not own a newspaper there, so we had no reason to spend much time there. Our next stop was to be San Francisco, and it was there that we hit the high gear of entertainment. Mr. Boone's brother Lou was Advertising Director of the Examiner there, and Lou had the Boone touch when things settled down to two-fisted going maybe I should say rose to two-fisted going. I will not relate the full score at San Francisco, but it included a big night in the suite engaged at the Palace Hotel and next night in Chinatown. If you've ever heard about a night in Chinatown arranged by Lou Boone, you have been short changed - you will have to regret it rather that hear about it. We enjoyed some of the authentic Canton food, saw some spirited playing of mah-jong, visited some of the places where doll-like Chinese girls served the drinks. I never did remember how we got back to the hotel, but we did.

I recall that by the time I got to San Francisco, I had heard enough about that homburg, so I went into Hastings men's store and bought a snapbrim. I wore that hat for a season or two. One day Russell Garner, whose office was in the Glenn Building, Atlanta where ours was then (720 Glenn) was in my office and picked up the hat, put it on.

"How does it feel, Russ?" I asked.

"I bought that hat in San Francisco on my trip, "I said. "I believe it looks better on you that it does on me. You may have it."

He grinned. "Do you mean it? If you do, I'll take it. I like it. But why are you giving it away? I'll trade you something"

"No - no trade. It does look good on you. My compliments.:"

"Thanks, Geep." That was his nickname for me. He wore the hat when he left my office. Russ had done me many favors-I was as pleased as he ....

At San Francisco we added Lou Boone to our party, and Lefty Wheeler. Lefty, who had been a pitcher on the New-York Yankees before going into advertising, became Manager of the San Francisco office of the Organization, and eventually joined the important advertising agency of Emil Brischer and Staff, later partner in Brischer and Wheeler. Franklin S. Payne, who had been Manager at Detroit, enjoyed that trip quite some; he later became Advertising Director to The San Francisco Examiner. He and Lefty were two of the finest looking men in the advertising profession and two of the best, two of Rodney Boone's stars.

On the trip Jim Gediman was the busiest member, the only one who did much work: Mr. Boone had designated him as the cashier, in that he carried cash which made possible our making out vouchers as we spent money and which he cashed. We kept Jim busy, as I heard no such word as keep expenses down. Everything we spent was on the house - House of Hearst. Mr Hearst was never a man to spend dollars by the halves. We kept that special car all the way, moving into expensive hotels when we stayed in the cities, such as the Ambassador in Los Angeles. Nor were we content to have rooms or suites in the hotel, if something more swank was available, notably the Huerta and another cottage on the grounds at the Ambassador. There were sixteen of us and we were not crowded together. But while at the-Hacienda at the ranch, Ralph Kinder and I shared a room. I doubt that the furnishings in that room had a market value of more than fifty thousand dollars, not much more, anyhow. Don't blink ... the ranch house , with its art and furniture -including Cardinal Richelieu's bed which was in one of the guest houses - and part of the land represented and outlay of $30,000,000 or $40,000,000, according to figures used somewhere by W. A. Swanberg in his book, Citizen Hearst. When dealing with figures in that range, no need to whittle down to the thousands.

One might say that San Francisco is the most interesting city in the West, and not be so for wrong that he can be proved either a liar or a fool. It has everything: the sea, intriguing mixture of people, view of the hills and at least one interesting island, Alcatraz, picture of which I added to my collection of snapshots. When we were there, it had been in use as a Federal prison since the year before, 1933. Street cars run up hill, or are dragged by a cable, like nothing you have ever seen before-I hadn't. There is still a flavor of the Old West in such names as Nobs Hill where rich miners and others who had make their fortunes had their homes. And this eloquent fact: I did not meet any one, male or female, who had made their fortunes had their homes. And this eloquent fact; I did not meet any one, male or female, who wanted to move. My brother-in-law, Van Wolff, who had lived "all over" eventually got to San Francisco, and there he stayed and today is buried. Van, one of the really individualistically interesting men I ever knew, must have relished the place called Frisco. Lou Boone, with some help from his associates on; the Examiner, particularly the circulation director, showed us why the town was unique.

That really was our first big league port of call. Finally we went to the Southern Pacific station where our special car was parked and proceeded down the hill, figuratively, to San Luis Obispo. where the car was shifted to a side-track and we went up the winding road to where Mr. Hearst was expecting us. I might make a few more remarks about the Hacienda, but it really can't be described in such an account as this. After I had been there a few hours. I said to George Hearst, oldest son and named for Mr. Hearst's father, trying to be a bit more facetious than necessary - he and I had glasses in our hands:

"This place can be described in only one word, George."

"What"s that?"

"Indescribable."

We laughed, a bit hollowly, I suspect. George was a very cordial kind of fellow, the only one of the sons that was rotund. He and I became friendly; he was interested in the fact that I was from the South. The Hearsts had some Southern blood: it led back to the Whitmires of South Carolina; in fact, David, twin brother of Randolph Apperson Hearst, carries the name David Whitmire Hearst. I bought home with me a pack of Camel cigarettes he gave me, as a token that I handled the Camel account, it being in my territory. Mr. Hearst also knew that I handled Camels, as will be referred to later. I also brought home one of Mr. Hearst's package of matches on which "W.R.H.'was printed. I still have a part of that match package, but the Camels got away' probably went up in smoke. George smoked them; I don't know what Mr. Hearst smoked, if cigarettes at all. His drinking. I heard was confined to a beer and occasionally a light wine. In fact, he supported light wines and beer editorially in his paper, saw no good in hard whiskey. If I had all the money his organization spent on whiskey. I would-well, I'd likely own a ranch in New Zealand.

I won't forget the first evening at San Simeon. Our group was not the only one enjoying the hospitality of the place. Marion Davies, who had an apartment in the Hacienda, had some friends, which was often the case, up from Hollywood. Two of her particularly good friends were Constance Talmadge and Ailene Pringle. The latter was an Australian and had been, as had been Miss Talmadge, a star in silent films which were just gone at the time. She had an excellent voice and talk was that she should have carried over into the talking era, but she did not. She and I became very good friends, as was the case with Constance Talmadge; both of them were totally without aloofness. As a matter of fact, having a passel of advertising men around the place seemed to give them quite a bang. Same was true with Marion Davies, who one afternoon, spent the better part of an hour playing records for Ralph Kinder and me. We were calling her Marion and she was calling us Ralph and Garland.

I have often been asked about Marion Davies: was she pretty, was she friendly, was she stuck-up? I answer yes a bit lighter than that, although she could easily control the color of her hair, as who can't in this scientific age? But it was lovely hair, luxuriant and healthy-looking. Her complexion and her blue eyes were the striking things about her looks. I will say that her type of beauty did not move me except for those eyes, and that flawless complexion as soft-looking and smooth as velvet. Constance Talmadge was not the beautiful type, just good-lookin with a good, slender figure, and a personality that preempted one's liking her. Her voice was soft and warm. I do not recall any particular quality of Marion's voice except that it was clear and her enunciation was all that a big star had to have. I told her that I had liked her singing, and that I had thought she did a great job in her Singing in the Rain. At this she negated me straight out.

"I hated it," she said. "I did not like that song. I just sang it because -" she mentioned the director's name, but I don't recall to. "I must confess now that I agree with her. There was no music in the song, just some words, and action. She was making a Civil War picture at the time, and had to get up early in the mornings for the job. When our group, and the others, repaired to Los Angeles after several delightful days at the ranch, we had a great time at her house at Santa Monica, and did a lot of partying and drinking, although she had to meet that early morning shooting. I recall that Mr. Hearst went in his private Lockheed Vega, with his guests.

At the ranch while we were there also was Matt Moore, brother of Tom Moore, both well-known stars of that era. Matt took me, my first evening, out on a balcony so I could see something never seen on our side of the continent.

"Have you ever seen the sun set in the ocean?" he had asked..

"No; but I've seen it rise out of the Atlantic."

"Come on," he said, "get your drink and I'll show you."

And that was; the first time I ever saw old Sol drop into the water. Matt Moore was a genial fellow, wore casual clothes, held himself in a nonchalant slouch, but still in nowise sloppy. He was the kind of person you like instantly. He had been married to Alice Joyce, I believe; but they were not together when I met him. Ted Netcher, husband of Constance Talmadge, was there at the time. He was also a friendly fellow, dressed about like Matt Moore is, but did not have Matt's nonchalant insouciance. The Netchers owned the Boston Store, of Chicago, quite wealthy-that's a big store. When I am in Chicago, I go in and look around, think of Ted, but I've never asked for him. He's probably gone by now. I had seem Matt Moore in some of his pictures. I asked him if he was making one at the time. I believe Matt is gone too? His brother Tom was married to Mary Pickford, before Douglas Fairbanks, yes, a small part in Such Men Are Dangerous, he said. I never did see it. The title comes from Shakespeare's Julius Ceasar. "Yond Cassius"-remember? "such men are dangerous."

I had heard that Mr. Hearst had a habit of ringing a large dinner bell, which he handled quite amiably, to summon his guests to dinner in the large dining room. I had read he did these honors promptly at five o'clock, but I do not recall that he did so at five the evenings we were there. But he did ring the bell and we assembled. There were drinks for the guests, but, as stated, he did not drink with US. Guests were free to ask for drinks, and Albert, the house man, would serve them; but none allowed in their rooms. There was a magnificent indoor swimming pool, colorful in blue, a theatre where films were shown in the evenings, billiard/pool room (two tables, as I recall), and many more things that I could not possibly list. I recall, however, that a large collection of volumes in which his art treasures were catalogued, with picture and price and where located, was kept in large reading room. I happened to come upon this collection while exploring the wing of the place in which Ralph Kinder and I were rooming, and got into the area where Mr. Hearst had his apartment. I spent hours going through those volumes. I recall some Rembrandts and Sir Peter Lelys among many famous artist's work-the Lely's picture of Nell Gwyn, one of the famous Windsor Beauties of Charles the Second's Court, I saw listed and saw it later also, but I am not certain where-I believe it was in Marion Davies' magnificent home below the Palisades in Santa Monica.

I have read somewhere that there are four particularly famous Gobelin tapestries in all the world-two of them are, or were, hanging in the main big room at San Simeon. One of the finest concert grand pianos in existence was there, as to be expected. Glance out through a window and you were likely to see antelopes and other wild animals grazing on the hillside, in the enclosed area. In the zoo I was not surprised to see one of the three-I believe there were three then-known black leopards in captivity. For all these things William Randolph Hearst paid the asking price; he would not demean anything that he wanted by trying to get a bargain price. I cannot say too much in admiration of that man, although many aspersions have been hurled at him; bear in mind that many of them were engendered and publicized by competitors. I doubt that any one ever gained the public eye who had as man and competitors with machinery of disparaging at their hands as did W.R. Hearst-he owned newspapers all over the land, and magazines, and every one had at least one direct competitor. Many harsh things were said about Abraham Lincoln, you know, and George Washington: imagine how high the howls might have gone if every where he went he had run into a publication that wanted to give him the business. I read just about every directive to Hearst Executives that he sent out for some ten years, and they were always insisting on two themes:

Get the news fast , but get it right. Reward reporters who did that job, and fire every one who did not live up to that rule. That this rule worked is proved by the fact that rarely ever was a libel suit sustained against his properties, and there must have been millions of chances over the years. And this: he said make the news exciting. There's a difference, which is proved by a great many other newspapers, even this day. In Atlanta we, after a number of years of striving, finally came up with a newspaper that was exciting, alive, and successful - we were gaining every year, every quarter even, until we had to sell because the Organization needed money to pay a dividend, in 1939 and The Georgian was the only unit he could spare and had a ready buyer offering cash. That fact is part of my recollections, of course, because I was right in there when it was happening. Randy-Randolph Apperson Hearst-was stationed in Atlanta then, and he can bear me out when I say that he personally did not wish to sell this one, nor did his Dad-if they might have got the cash elsewhere as that year was ending to pay the dividend. I still regard the success of The Georgian as a testimonial to the way a newspaper has to operate to succeed-and Mr. Hearst had this one under his daily and wise old eye at that time: his son was here and this one was in the South. The Journal and the Constitution were hometown products, and they were tough competition. But this narrative is about the sometimes modest Southern operative, so let's go back to the main theme-where were we? At San Simeon.

That first evening we were in a festive mood when Mr. Hearst rang that "let's eat" bell. We, as I have said, were sixteen men of the Boone Organization, Mr. Hearst, his son George, Matt Moore, Ted Netcher and his wife Constance, Miss Pringle, Marion Davies, and some others up from Los Angeles, including Ed Coblentz and his new wife, whose name I do not recall. Coblentz was one of his top editors in New York, a very talented and genial newspaperman, and high in the Chief's esteem.

We had begun our meal and every one was talking generally and enjoying the evening. I happened to notice Mr. Boone speaking in a low voice into Mr. Hearst's ear. The latter glanced toward me. Something told me that the Sotto voce was about me. I was talking with Bill Hobson at the moment, but presently Mr. Hearst rapped on the glass before him. Everyone stopped talking and listened. He said:

"While we are waiting for desert, I would like to say that we have with us this evening Mr. Garland Porter, the champion harmonica player of the South. We would like to hear a few selections from his harmonica."

I was feeling pretty good, of course, and was not in the least shocked; in fact, I was happy to oblige. I arose and began explaining that I did not have my harmonica with me, when Mr. Hearst interrupted.

"Go get it - we can wait."

As I was turning to leave for my room, Miss Davies caught my eye and gestured to me to come to her. I was sitting only one person removed; I stepped over to and leaned down. She whispered to me:

"Mr. Hearst can yodel. When you get back with your harmonica, tell him that if you play the harmonica, he will have to yodel."

I nodded and went for my harmonica. When I returned, I took my place behind my chair and grinned toward Mr. Hearst.

" Mr. Hearst," I said, "I appreciate this opportunity to let you good folks out here know how we play the harmonica down south. But I want to explain that we know a few things about you that are not generally known even by your friends on the Coast: We have heard that you are a very fine yodeler, and if I play the harmonica, I think you should also entertain your guests by yodeling."

At this, his grin was immediately fixed on Marion Davies. It was obvious what she had whispered to me; as for me, I thought that if she put me up to something, it was a safe bet.

"All right," he said; "that's fair enough. You play and I'll yodel." I played The Old Spinning Wheel, an air that was popular at the time. There was appreciative clapping, and encouraged I played another number, I've forgotten what. Everybody was in a jovial, mostly alcoholic, mood, and clapped loudly. I was about to start another encore, when Bill Hobson, sitting next to me, pulled on my sleeve. I leaned over. Bill was an old hand at parties and entertainment.

"That's enough - that's fine," he whispered. "In the entertainment world, never leave your audience with all it wants. That's the way to bore them."

I was feeling quite elated and did not want to stop, but recognized Bill Hobson's knowledge of the world which was strange to me. I turned to Mr. Hearst and said:

"That's my act, Mr. Hearst, and thank you, sir. Now it's your turn." I sat down. Grinning like a young fellow asked to yodel before his high school mates who didn't think he could yodel, William Randolph Hearst, whose editorials were read by the millions, whose newspaper voice reached from coast to coast, stood up and began to yodel. Don't think for an instant that he was in over his head - he could yodel. Instantly it was apparent the Marion Davies took no risk when she triggered the yodeling act. He ran up and down the scale like an Alpine native; it started an avalanche, not of snow but of delighted applause. Sitting there and considering myself part of this amazing unrehearsed performance, I was soaring. Marion Davies looked at me and smiled .... It was to say, "You have gone over with him."

He had more trouble ending his act than starting it - everybody wanted more. But he was wise, as Bill Hobson was wise, as regards audiences. He held up his hands while being encored and sat down; add to the actual talent of a yodeler, who the man was, and you have the score.

My very good friend Bill Hobson, one of the best advertising salesmen and merchandising men in his profession, knew many of the attractive women of Hollywood, He is mentioned elsewhere in these recollections. As a young man he had been a dancer of prize-winning rank around New York and New Jersey, deservedly in the class of George Raft. I always got quite a kick hearing him talk of his experiences. He died a short while ago in retirement at San Diego. (This is being written in April, 1974, having been started Febuary 7, 1972.) Since I started the nostalgic account, Herb Beyea also has departed, as has every one of the sixteen who made the trip with exception of Hap (Harold G. Kern, Bob (Robert Cody) Brown, Jim (H. James) Gediman, And this Harmonica player. In another section of this account, I will quote a letter I received from Borah Minevitch, top harmonica player of the era who wrote to josh me for the harmonica bit - he was put up to this by my pals in New York. Borah Minevitch and his Harmonica Rascals was a headline attraction on stage and radio. (He sent me one of autographed harmonicas.)

Because of the bewildering opulence of San Simeon, it cannot be ranked below any other segment of our three weeks trip, but our stay of a week in Los Angeles can't be beaten either. We had the run of the grounds at the Ambassador Hotel. We went to the movie lots, saw pictures being made - Myrna Loy and William Powell making Manhattan Melodrama. I still remember how pretty she was standing there smiling and chatting with us, as if advertising men were of compelling interest. Powell, wearing a swank gabardine top coat, called for in the scene they were waiting to enact, was just as amiable. I admit that our crowd of advertising operatives was maybe a rare sight on the movie lots. And I must say that Frank Payne, Lefty ( Franklin C.) Wheeler, and Hap Kern would not pass unnoticed in any gathering.

We went one morning to see Marion Davies in a scene she was acting in Operator Thirteen, a Civil War picture, in which she played a role of The Little Colonel. A number of the lesser members of the cast were talking with us, when one of them caught my accent, and learning I was from Atlanta said he was a Georgian too. The big laugh was that he was wearing a Yankee uniform. Jim Gediman got a big kick from that, as Jim is a New England Yankee, and up there our side was looked on as Rebels. Anyhow, this young Yankee soldier explained his role to me by saying in a loud whisper;

"I'm really a Rebel spy, but I don't mind telling you."

We had arrived in L.A. on Sunday, as I recall. We spent the early part of the week touring the city, and a run down the coast to Long Beach and over to Riverside, Where I made a picture of the first navel orange tree of California - or a shoot from it.

I was particularly interested in Riverside, as I had heard that was the Carrie Jacobs Bond who composed the music for Just A-Wearyin' For You. Words for that hauntingly beautiful song were written by Frank L. Stanton, columnist on the Atlanta Constitution and whom I had known when I was a cub reporter on the paper. At Long Beach we saw ships of the Pacific Fleet of our Navy at anchor. I made a picture of them too, at some distance.

On one of those trips though the outlying areas, we passed my sister's home -I knew the street and number and as chance would have it, I happened to notice we were passing along Carpenter Street in Fullerton and presently there was her number. I had not seen her for a number of years. I got permission from Mr. Boone next morning and went out to surprise her. I rang the doorbell; a lady whom I did not know came to the door. I asked if Mrs. Triplett was in. She was in, but was ill, so I could not see her. I had wished to surprise her; I told the lady that I was her brother, so just let me come in and see the effect -that is, if she were not too ill. After I convinced the lady who was living with her; I was taken to 'Tish's bedroom. The effect was heartning. We had a good talkfest, she told me later that she had no idea I was in that part of the world, and that she began to get better right away.

A highlight of the highlights was the Easter Party given by Marion Davies. Her parties at that season were justly notable events. When we saw her at San Simeon she had mentioned that her big party was being planned for the coming week and that she would like to have us attend. We told her that we would be delighted. We had said no more about it, but did discuss with Mr. Boone that we were running sort of our time schedule. Somehow, we did not plan to go to the party, as we planned to leave on the Santa Fe Chief for Chicago the following Thursday. During the afternoon Thursday, we packed our bags, and gathered in Mr. Boone's suite in the Huerta Cottage on the lawn of the Hotel. He called Mr. Hearst and as we stood by and listened, he told the Chief that we had spent a most profitable three weeks (lacking a few days at that moment, for which we wished to thank him, and that we now had to say good-by. To us I should say, to me, Mr. Hearst appeared to interrupt Mr. Boone before he had quite finished his little farewell speech. Mr. Boone paused and listened intently. His brow wrinkled, his eyes narrowed.

"Well, yes, sir, she did, Mr. Hearst."

He then listened closely for another moment.

"I agree with you, sir, but we were thinking that now we have just bought the new property in the West and should be getting back to our desks to go to work on plans for it."

He listened again, and visibly relaxed.

I agree entirely with that, "he said. " Of course we will be delighted to be there. Of course we will stay over; we can find plenty to do in the meantime."

In a moment, he replaced the receiver. He turned to us, shrugged.

"Unpack men," he said. We will be here till after Marion's Easter Party." There we stood top coats on our arms, with a few of us carrying our bags. "What did he say, Rod?" asked Ned Chalfnat.

"You noticed he interrupted me. He said, "Mr. Boone, I thought Miss Davies had invited you and your men to her Easter Party." I said that she had. He then just said, " I think if I were in your place, I'd be there." He looked at us with a faint smile on his round, cherubic face. "You heard it - get me a drink, Jim, then call the railroad and tell them to take our car off the Chief."

He was speaking to Jim Gediman, who opened his bag, took out a bottle and went for the ice. Finished with that, he called the Santa Fe Station and ordered the special car not to be hooked onto the Santa Fe Chief which was to leave for Chicago within the hour. Frank Payne and Sid Bartlett, who were stationed in Los Angeles, being there to tell us good-bys, again took charge of our extra days of market study - and diversions. I was ready to get back home, having been well saturated for most of the time since leaving Atlanta March 13, but managed to stagger through the routine until Sunday afternoon when we chartered a bus and proceeded to Marion Davies' beach home at Santa Monica. I recall that we took with us on the bus a few other guests, including Adolph Menjou's then blonde wife Catherine Carver.

Later as we relaxed in Mr. Boone's suite, he told us what Mr. Hearst had said when he, Mr. Boone, tried to make a good play by reminding him that we should get back and begin to plan our sales story on severial markets, just visited. The man who had just laid a large bankroll out for our trip said: "Let me worry about the markets for now, Mr. Boone. I don't think you should show bad manners to Miss Davies."

We arrived at the luxurious establishment, really a palace that had represented with the art and accoutrements, an outlay of some $7,000,000 according to W. A. Swanberg's Citizen Hearst, a biography of William Randolph Hearst, but many of the greats of Hollywood were already there and in convivial mood. We began to move about, meeting pleasant guests, some of those names we had heard and whose pictures we had seen, coming eventually to a magnificent floral arrangement that occupied the central spot in the reception parlor. Interested guests were already admiring it, and I heard someone ask who had sent it.

"The Card there say's 'Happy Easter' from the Boone Boys.' Who are they?" "I don't know," came the answer, "but I think they are a group of advertising men from the East."

We were delighted to hear such acclaim; and it was a beautiful arrangement of flowers, roses, orchids, lilies, and other such tastefully supporting each other. We had chipped in a hundred dollars and given the sum to Bill Hobson and Herb Beyea, with instructions to sell some florist on the purpose of the tribute. If the result did not qualify for five hundred dollar impression, none of was worth a cent as judges. As we stood there in awe at the bargaining - and selling - prowess of Hobson and Beyea, Mr. Hearst came up and added his smile to ours.

"It's the loveliest arrangement I've ever seen," he said. "You fellows have put me in the shade. Over there's mine." His smile was as broad as - you name the smile.

We looked to a corner where a really pretty arrangement was rendered modest by the gorgeous deal that our delegation had sent. Mr. Hearst leaned forward and tried to read the florist's name.

"Where is it from?" he asked.

Beyea told him. The idea that our two purchasing agents had used to get that overwhelming bargain was lodged where they promised it would be - with the man who had the really big money. Not only would Mr. Hearst be impressed by a florist's skill and art, but Hollywood in general would get the message. That was one promise advertising men made with high purpose that more than came through .... Do not overlook the fact that our bill eventually was caught by W. R. H.. Although he had paid more for his (unintentionally) modest entry than we had for the triumph we had achieved.

The first night we had staged our private harmonica-yodeling routine at San Simeon was hardly a prelude to the big party of 116 guests at the beach home at Santa Monica. Moguls of the movie industry were there: Jesse L. Lasky, Clark Gable and his wife, Norma Shearer, Reoul Walsh, Laura Lane, Johnny Weismuller, Alice Marble, and just about every star attraction of the day, including directors.

None of our group ever forgot that evening at the palatial beach home under the Palisades that looked down on the Pacific Ocean's edge at Santa Monica. I'm sure that the same might be said of the other guests. With drinks in hand we walked about marveling at the splendor of the place. It actually was five connected Colonial houses with a total of 110 rooms and fifty-five bath rooms, as I have read - we did not get through more than a mere sampling of them. The big dinning room was not crowded with the 116 guests; and when we danced later in the place where the MGM Orchestra played for us, it was not jam-packed either. I had an eye out for the pictures that I had read were in the place, some of which I had seen reproduced in the large cataloguing volume at San Simeon. I saw somewhere the Portrait of a Young Man, self-portrait by Rembrandt (I do not know which one, as he painted quite a few.) and I can't begin to finish the list! I believe the figure as set forth in the catalogue referred top, for the Rembrandt was $250,000 good money at the time. Having made no record of these things and groping back forty years, I could be far off.

I have however, some indelible pictures in my mind today. At the dinner table, which must have been considerably more than fifty feet long, I was seated between Raoul Walsh's daughter, on my left and a director, whose name I have forgotten. Clark Gable was seated directly across from me with his first wife -I believe it was his first one - and the group of Marion Davies, Aileen Pringle, Constance Talmage, with Mr. Hearst was seated several places to the right of the Gables, which meant to my left. I would glance toward them from time to time, as we chattered away, sipping champagne to keep out any thirst that might try to crash the party. I saw Aileen Pringle whispering with Miss Davies. They looked directly toward me, and I sensed that something was being cooked up that the chef in the kitchen didn't know about. Sure enough, Aileen circled the end of the table and came around, leaned down and whispered to me:

"Do you have your harmonica?"

"I have - I am under orders from Mr. Boone to carry it in my pocket everywhere I go."

She giggled. "That's fine - Marion just said that Mr. Hearst is going to call on you."

When Aileen left, Raoul Walsh's daughter, I do not recall her full name, asked me what the whispered conversation, bit of which she had caught, was all about. I told her that I could not say, but she would know presently. We had been enjoying skits, bits of songs, and segments of a show, some of which I had seen on the screen. Ted Healy had somehow taken over as master of ceremonies, and himself did an act or two. He had at his command some of the highest-priced talent of the entertainment world, and it was a free floor to our visiting firemen from the East. After one of the guests that Ted Healey had called on made his contribution, Mr. Hearst tapped on his glass. Everything was quiet.

"I don't know when I've attended a more entertaining party," he said. "But we need a little harmony - I mean harmonica. I happen to know that we have with us tonight, the champion harmonica player of the South - Mr. Garland Porter. I have Miss Davies' permission to call on him to play for us."

All eyes had been focused on the man whom everybody in Hollywood knew as a great of greats, but when he finished his suggestion, they began glancing to right and left, wondering to whom he had referred. He glanced in my direction and flashed that big grin on me. I stood up. There I was with the eyes of movieland measuring me for a role none of them had ever suspected. It truly might be said that I was the biggest surprise of the party... up to then. The biggest one was coming up fast. I tried to look modest as a champion harmonica player of the South - or even the hill country - should look. I am sure I fooled none of the young or old professionals of my captive audience. But I did give them a turn when I began to-speak. I returned Mr. Hearst's grin. I had thought of something.

"I am having the time of my life," I began, "and I can truthfully say that when I came out here I didn't know my reputation as the champion harmonica player of the South had preceded me, but Mr. Hearst owns many newspapers and he keeps up with things. I will be happy to play a tune or two, but I first must tell you all that we in the South know some things about Mr. Hearst that you don't know."

I looked toward him. His friendly grin told me that he was reading my mind." You know our deal, Mr. Hearst." I turned back to the table at large. We know the he is one of the top yodelers of this or any other part of the country, as I am sure you will soon agree." I turned back to my sponsor.

"When I finish, Mr. Hearst, you will have to yodel."

Some truly remarkable camera work had been done in and around Hollywood, putting on film expressions and changes of expressions. If some of the talented lenses had been focused around the table at that "Hollywood" moment, the result would have become a collectors item. Expressions had been genial amusement one moment; when I called on WIlliam Randolph Hearst to yodel, consternation, shock, incredulity - search the book for synonyms - ran across those faces like something I'd never seen before on or off the screen. Some jaws actually dropped and for a moment silence was deep enough to hear. I'm sure that the man who owned twenty-six miles of Pacific Ocean Front at San Simeon, almost thirty newspapers from the Pacific to the Atlantic, hundreds of thousands of acres in Mexico, magazines in half a dozen fields, mining properties - as I say, the man who owned all these things from here to there, enjoyed that moment beyond smile. He nodded his head toward me and the big smile widened.

"It's a deal," he said. "You play the harmonica, I'll yodel."

It I played The Old Spinning Wheel which had gone over so well at the Hacienda; also, I liked its nostalgic mood and it is well suited to the harmonica. With few exceptions, my audience was feeling no more pain or reticence than I was, so it went over with loud approval. I then started to play Over There, which was still a bit in fashion then. Directly across from me, Clark Gable took up the words and began to lead the singing, with spirit. Although I was enjoying the "harmony - I mean harmonica", as Mr. Hearst had said we needed, I suddenly remembered what Bill Hobson had told me at San Simeon. After a few more flourishes, I held up my harmonica, turned toward Mr. Hearst.

"That's all for me. I thank you all for listening. Now, Mr. Hearst. it's your turn."

The worlds wealthiest yodeler proceeded to demonstrate that he had a talent quite unsuspected. Deservedly, he got the loudest hand of all, such an ovation that even Clark Gable had rarely ever heard, or any of the others whose forte' was to live by applause. He was the sensation of the gathering, a number that it was impossible to follow. Nor did any one try, we simply finished our desert and proceeded to the dancing.

( I'll interrupt for a moment to say that after the guests drifted out to the large room where we were to dance, a young fellow whom I had not met, but who worked somewhere in the Organization in the West, came up to me and said: "That was some show you and Mr. Hearst put on. When you called on him to yodel, I thought you must be drunk or out of your head, and I said to the man sitting next to me, ' that's one son-of-a-bitch that won't be with us tomorrow.' But he ate it up. It was incredible." I explained that I had taken no chance at all; that Marion Davies had put me up to it while we were at the Ranch.)

Nothing had been overlooked to make that Easter Party an event of the season. Our group was lucky in that we happened to have planned that West Coast junket at the time of year when the Marion Davies gatherings had become a yearly event. The MGM Orchestra was brought out to the palatial beach home to furnish the music - our sixteen visiting firemen helped furnish the fire. I never was much of a dancer, but that one would have stood out in my memory even if I had measured steps at at thousand tersichorean festics. (No such word? Oh yes there is - you just saw it.) The hostess quickly became the center of admiration; she and Lloyd Pantages did a few graceful maneuvers through the couples who had lost no time getting into the spirit of the dance - of course the champagne helped.

I had not singled out any partner. As I chanced to look toward where Mr. Hearst was standing talking to Mr. Boone, he caught my eye and beckoned to me. I made my way across to him. Standing with them was the prettiest girl I saw on the entire trip, a dark-haired lovely of about twenty, I judged. There was something familiar about her face that I could not place. Mr. Hearst spoke:

"Miss McConnell," he said. "I wish to present Mr. Garland Porter. He's a member of our Organization and as the Camel account is in his territory, I thought he should know the Camel Poster Girl."

It was Margaret McConnell, who was the Camel Girl of the year and then I knew why she looked familiar - her picture adorned the Camel Cigarette posters and advertising. There was nothing remarkable about Mr. Hearst's knowing that I handled the account, as Winston-Salem, home of R. J. Reynolds Tobacco Company, is in the South. Later I asked Mr. Boone if he had prompted the yodeling member of the harmonica-yodeling act to make the introduction., He denied any such; Mr. Hearst had not known that I played the harmonica before Mr. Boone told him at the Hacienda, but he did know where Camels were made. This was just another instance of how well WRH knew his business. Margaret McConnell was then being coached for the movies, a career for which she fitted in every measurement of looks, but she never did surface as an actress, for some reason that I find difficult to understand. I did notice as I led her away and to the dance floor that she was on the shy side, fundamentally and with no pretense.

Mr. Hearst had a curfew for himself - he retired around ten o'clock. After he left, the festivities smoothly moved into over-drive. Bill Hobson, who had been a championship dancer in his younger days, still could match lively steps of that era. He was in his element. Many excellent performers were on the floor, but Pantages and Davies soon were winning, going away, we might say. I led my Camel account to a sofa that edged the dance floor, when CRASH - not a sound, but in feeling. Pantages and Davies had become unbalanced in one of their pirouettings and were on top of us. The latter fell on me, the former on Margaret McConnell. They were not knocked out, but should have been. My right knee was sore the next day, and not from dancing.

Someone soon claimed my partner, and I found myself dancing with one of the starlets, whom I will not name; but she lost no time getting to the routine that was typical Hollywood.

"Your act went over big with Mr. Hearst," she said. "How well do you know him?"

"I handle advertising in the South for the Organization." I said. "I had met him once before I came out here on this trip."

"I wish you would take me over by him and when the dance stops, introduce me. Will you?" She gave me a pleading little girl smile. Nothing surprising about this, of course. In Hollywood, pretty young things have their eyes trained toward the top of the ladder. I danced along until we were near the top-of-the-ladder. When the music stopped, I introduced the young lady. She showed no inclination to continue the dance with me, so I drifted off.

Louella Parsons who had come to the reportorial side of the Hearst newspapers by way of her movie coverage in New York Telegram, was at the party and gave it her attention in the editions of April 4 (1934, of course). I will quote all her eighty words; for some reason, I've always thought that the outstanding example of inadequate reporting I have ever observed at first hand. Here is the account, as it appeared in the Atlanta Georgian, which I saw when I got home:

"Los Angeles. April 4 - Great fun at Marion Davies' beach home. An impromptu Easter dinner, informal, followed by a vaudeville show with the guests as performers. Ted Healey putting on a special song and dance act.

"Marion contributing imitations and songs. All the guests joining in the chorus with gusto. A pretty youngster, Laura Lane, who plays in Marion's pictures, doing a buck and wing dance.

Lenora Bushman back from her honeymoon with her director bridegroom. That's all today. See you tomorrow!"

Louella probably had a headache on that tomorrow she mentioned. I know I had, as should have been true of everyone except Mr. Hearst, who did not drink. She might have been writing under wraps, not wishing too much hilarity and drinking and dancing on Easter Sunday.