On finishing Hiawatha, the "wanderlust" took hold of me very forcibly. Somehow a ride in the subway did not seem to fill the bill. I began to look around for a position wherein a young man, who desired to travel but who lacked the financial means necessary for the realization of his air castles, could make himself useful.
About this time, the Pathe Weekly was being organized by Mr. Franconi, the first editor of the now famous news film. I learned of the budding enterprise and accordingly called on Mr. Franconi at his headquarters at No. 1, Congress Street, Jersey City. He allowed himself to be convinced of my ability as a cameraman as well as my readiness to recognize news value, and placed me on his staff at a salary of $35 per week plus expenses.
First Pathe News Staff
The staff then consisted of the editor, Messrs. Hutchinson, Struckman and Richard and the writer. At the same time the Pathe dramatic staff consisted of Joseph Dubray and William Marshall, now A.S.C. members, Arthur Martinelli and Alfredo Gandolfi.
Covered U.S. and Canada
The four of us in the news department were kept busy jumping from place to place over the United States and Canada. It was nothing unusual to receive a wire from Congress street while I was covering, for instance, a flood in Galveston, Texas, to hop to Montreal, Canada to shoot the winter sports on Mt. Royal. Now, however, it is somewhat different with the news weekly men. The various news reel organizations have the field so well patroled with representatives that a man covers his particular territory in a certain part of the country and is seldom called upon to make a trip of more than a couple hundred miles- which means the elimination of the fascinating journeys of yesteryear.
Personal Baggage Light
Our outfits consisted of the famous Pathe professional model including six magazines; two, three and six inch lenses; and a trunk especially designed for transporting the outfit having one compartment for am extra pair of sox and an extra collar.
"Movie Minute Men"
I enjoyed the work immensely, particularly the element of uncertainty of being ready to go at a moment's notice. It was only a matter of time before Messrs. Hutchison, Struckman, Richard and I held a consultation and decided to be systematic in our expense accounts. You can readily understand that if I sent in a bill for $30 for the use of an automobile for a day and if Mr. Hutchinson, working under similar conditions turned in a bill for $15, things might appear not so efficient. However, the company was very liberal and insisted that we stop at the best hotels, seldom objecting to any item on our "swindle sheets."
"Nose for News"
It was not long before Mr. Franconi, except in the instance of assignments for some fixed event, developed enough confidence in my "nose for news" to allow me to exercise my own judgment in speeding to cover happenings which I thought held outstanding news value. Whenever I embarked thus on my own initiative I always sent a wire to Mr. Franconi detailing my move and informing him the next spot where he could communicate with me. The news men were not so numerous then that the editor had to keep trace of their moves with colored pins on a map.
Presidential "Photographic Habits"
It was in the regular course of duty that I "shot" Roosevelt, Taft and Wilson, and learned their "photographic habits." One of my numerous assignments while working out of Congress street was to cover the 1912 Democratic campaign of Woodrow Wilson. I began this assignment when Mr. Wilson was to speak at Buffalo, New York on Labor Day. I joined the Wilson party at the Grand Central Station and was duly introduced to Mr. Wilson who then was very interested in the news value of the Pathe weekly and promised to help me obtain good shots at Buffalo.
Wilson Shot from Own Platform
The arrival at Buffalo evidently exceeded the expectations of the Wilson managers who doubtless did not anticipate the overflowing crowd that was on hand to greet the future President of the United States. In the excitement that followed I was left high and dry, and was unable to get near enough to Mr. Wilson's car to obtain effective shots. Later, however, I filmed him while he was addressing a gathering of citizens at some picnic ground. There weren't very many people present so that I was able to record some excellent views of Mr. Wilson. I set up on the platform front which he spoke and made close-ups as I pleased.
Wilson Interested in Results
On the way back to New York City, Mr. Wilson came over to my seat in the Pullman and expressed his sorrow over the fact that I wasn't taken better care of at the depot the previous day and hoped that I obtained good pictures.
At the end of Mr. Wilson's first term in office I found that it was by no means a simple matter to get shots of him, due to the vigilance of the secret service men. Mr. Wilson also began to complain that the cinema made him appear to walk faster than he really did. I had to resort to many tricks to work myself into his immediate vicinity. One method was to conceal an air-operated camera in the shell of an 8 by 10 Graflex. Why the secret service men tolerated still cameras and frowned on cinema cameras was probably for the same reason that the military in Ireland are said to regard certain types of modern cameras as machine guns.
Wilson has been termed a poser by some writers, but, judging from my experience with him as a photographic subject, I don't believe that I can endorse such a statement unqualifiedly. Wilson had a certain reserve, that may or mayn't have resulted from aloofness, self-affected or otherwise, which is considered as typical of the professional school teacher or school head. I will say, however, that Wilson never became so engrossed with his speech as to be oblivious to the camera, its I invariably felt that he was watching me out of the "corner of his eye" while I operated the camera. One thing seemed certain in his first campaign, and that was that he was not entirely inappreciative of publicity values. He did not affect the attitude that he "didn't give a whoop" whether photographers got pictures of him or not instead, as indicated on the return trip from Buffalo, he was solicitous as to the success of the taking of pictures of him. Whether he regarded publicity as a necessary evil or not, it was plain that he comprehended that it was essential to the success of his party and hence to himself, or vice versa; and in this respect he might be likened to film players, publicity to whom, as most every one understands, is a part of their stock in trade.
Roosevelt
The paths of Theodore Roosevelt and the writer crossed many times. I loved to photograph "Teddy." He certainly was a regular fellow, although, unlike Mr. Wilson, he at times was inclined to berate the news man when down in his heart he was tickled that his picture was being taken.
Close-up of "Teddy's" Teeth
Shots of Mr. Roosevelt were never complete unless they included a close-up showing his teeth, made famous when he was police commissioner in New York City. I remember on one assignment I was to cover Mr. Roosevelt's unveiling a monument of "Goethe" in Chicago. Mr. Roosevelt left the La Salle hotel, drove up Michigan boulevard while my camera was set up in the tonneau of a touring car which preceded his machine. The unveiling took place as scheduled but I made one fatal mistake. After registering a long shot of him speaking, I picked up the camera, changed focus to a large close-up and planted the box within three feet in front of him. The blood rose to his face, and the conviction grew on me that he was not a bit enthused over a crank grinding so immediately in his proximity.
Requested Print
When he finished the speech, Mr. Roosevelt gave me to understand that I should be arrested for my audacity, that he had never been so humiliated by having a camera thrust into his face, and that "movie operators" ought to be "flogged in the public square." Then, characteristically Rooseveltian, he wound up his denunciation by requesting me to be sure to have a print of the picture, that I had just made, sent to him.
Meet Again in Arizona
Another time I encountered him and Kermit resting in the shade of a cave at a remote spot of the Hopi Indian reservation in Arizona at the time I filmed the Hopi snake dance. I walked into the cave and without flourish said "hello" to him.
He liberated an exclamatory remark, commented on the migratory proclivities of the news men, and concluded by informing me that I had taken pictures of him in Newport, R.I. less than a week ago. So I had.
Fed Up on "Picture Stuff"
I broached the subject as to how atmospheric it would be for me to take some shots of him in his western garb. He took a decidedly opposite view, however, and addressing both Kermit and me, declared that he was getting enough of the "picture stuff," that it was nothing but a bother. Shortly there I left the cave, and, as I began to pick up my camera equipment which lay a few yards away I saw that Teddy also had come out of the cavern and was standing still surveying the scenery. I immediately set up, and made 50 to 60 feet of him. Judging from his previous remarks inside the cave about not wanting to be photographed, he didn't see me making pictures of him although I can't explain how he missed detecting me shooting pointblank at him. At any rate, I got the picture I wanted.
An interesting sidelight on the Roosevelt characteristics was that he went out of his way later, during his same visit to the Hopi reservation, to gain permission for me, after all my attempts had virtually failed, to film the Hopi snake-dance, which never before had been photographed as the writer stated in a previous article in the "American Cinematographer." It was for just such reasons that all the news men loved to film Roosevelt.
Taft Was Congenial Subject
William Howard Taft was a blessing to the harried news man as well as to the newspaperman. He was jovial, never out of humor and always ready to do anything we requested of him in the way of lending assistance in any views that we shot of him. He was not inclined to the spectacular as was his predecessor in the White House nor was he marked by the reserve which was common to his successor to the Chief Magistracy.
Always Agreeable
He caused very few gray hairs to enter the crops of photographers, thanks to his always being agreeable. While his corpulence was always an object of caricature and to this day is held apparently to be a matter of news interest, he displayed no vanity in requesting us to photograph him, so that he would appear to best advantage. He left the picturing of himself in our hands, and never sought to take it into him own. He seemed to take it for granted that we knew our business.
Coolidge
Much is said these days of the "recalcitrance" and the "silence" of Calvin Coolidge's make-up. "Photographically" the writer did not find him so, although Coolidge became President several years after the writer left the news weekly field. However, my photographic experience with him may have revealed the man as he really is- before there was any thought of the weight of the presidential office resting upon his shoulders.
Taught Coolidge Camera Operation
More than a decade ago Coolidge came into the famed establishment of Eberhard Schneider and bought a motion picture camera for his own use. Mr. Schneider assigned me to teach Coolidge how to operate the instrument, and in so doing I found him to be quite congenial and communicative, and not at all "stiff" or retreating as he is sometimes described.
In fact, during the course of his learning how to operate the camera he himself became a "performer," throwing snowballs with the zest of a boy while I turned the crank on his capers. It did not shock his sense of propriety when I conducted myself as a staggering and limber "drunk" in the first scenes that he ground on after he had mastered the operating principles of the camera.
"Heiniekabubales"
Later during my service as a news cameraman I relieved Struckman in Chicago as he was returning to Congress street. Our headquarters was the Sherman hotel. On the day before Struckman left, we had dinner together, and he suggested that we visit "Heiniekabubales'" place to meet John Barleycorn. Struckman kept up a stream of conversation all the way to the entrance of Heiniekabubales' palace. There were a number of men at the long bar as Struckman introduced me to the bartender. The well-known question being asked me, I replied "a beer." About this time everyone at the bar stepped back. It did not strike me as unusual at all until later. The beer, contained in a tin cup, was placed on the bar and as I reached to pick up the cup an electric current went through me, all of which made it impossible for me to turn the cup loose. I hung on for dear life, not breathing a word of my predicament, as I did not want the habitues to appraise me for a "hick." After a few minutes the current was shut off and as I lifted the cup Struckman called my attention to a beautiful painting of a beautiful woman. As I gazed at the work of art, I felt a tricking sensation down my trouser leg- the beer was slowly leaking out of a fine hole in the bottom of the cup. I awoke about this time. The laugh and the drinks were on me. I was initiated.
On my return to the hotel a wire instructed me to leave for Denver and to make my headquarters at the Brown Palace. The city, I found on my arrival there, was decorated in honor of the Knight Templars who were gathering for one of their celebrations. I obtained- it was still in the days when parades were in vogue in the news weeklies- some excellent shots of the conclave, shipped the film by express and decided to take in a show. When I went back to the hotel the lobby was being paged for me. I was handed a wire. My instructions were to leave at once for Shanavon, Saskatchewan. I did not get to a show for in a very few minutes I was on my way to St. Paul whence I went to Shanavon.
An enterprising publicity man had painted a very rosy picture for Mr. Franconi of the one great, magnificent, extraordinary rodeo to be held at Shanavon, and he swallowed hook, line and sinker. I arrived at Shanavon on a bright, sunny morning.
Baggage Car Hid Town
Looking out of the car window, I failed to see the town- it was hidden by the depot, which consisted of an old baggage car. I was informed that the rodeo was to take place the next morning. There was nothing to do that day but kill time. With difficulty I managed to get an army cot that night and I slept in the baggage car, flanked on either side by two gentlemen of the West who kept me awake with their snores which finished with a whistling accompaniment, the old Canadian three-star. Well, the highly-touted rodeo wasn't worth the film to shoot it. The publicity chap surely was a live-wire and we both had a hearty laugh over the affair.
Victor Milner, "Fade Out and Slowly Fade In," American Cinematographer, January, 1924, pages 8, 18-21.
© 1998, David Pierce, on editing and revisions (if any)
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