Claire Whitney — Claire in the Gloaming (1920) 🇺🇸
Some one happily said “A room which flowers have made sweet is sweet long after the flowers are gone; the sky glows long after the sun disappears; there are people who make us feel happier and richer and leave us lonelier and poorer when they go away…”
by Adele Whitely Fletcher
Claire Whitney is one of those people. After I had left her, I wondered why I had placed her among them, and I knew it was because she is one of those understanding hearts who longs to understand and who is. supremely interested. At first I had the feeling of having understood Claire Whitney, of gathering the whole import of what she had said, and, more than that, of the things she had left unsaid. But I came to realize it had really been Claire Whitney who had understood me.
She had just come back to her cozy New York apartment after months on the road because the play, a satire, in which she appeared could not get a New York theater in the mêlée of the season’s premieres. And, jumping here and there as she did to fill the engagement, she found it quite impossible to do any screen work.
It was all quite Clareish — the living-room where we chatted, with its Japanese lights, old mahogany and burning logs. Rare Japanese prints brightened the softly toned walls and peacocks adorned the hangings and upholstery in a gorgeous splash of rich, warm colors.
But in all its charm, the room didn’t submerge Claire herself; rather it served as a background for her, with her wealth of pale gold hair and her quiet little air of distingué.
She had switched on the silken-shaded lights and drawn the peacock curtains, for it was the hour of the gloaming, and she admitted that she felt luxuriant in the little things of the home after so Iong an absence.
“While I’m not fond of the routine of housekeeping,” she told me, “I love to potter about, making the hangings and cushions and trying the effect of one color against another. But it falls to mother’s lot to see that things are kept comfortable and pleasing. Mother loves it, tho, and so does grandmother, and I’m home so little that I really wouldn’t have the time anyhow.”
Life has not always laid a loving hand upon Claire Whitney. She has encountered little unpleasantnesses upon the road. People have abused some of the privileges she has generously offered, as people sometimes do, and while tragedy has not stalked across her path, things have not always been easy. Her work, too, has meant more than it did originally, for at her father’s death it fell to her to care for the dearly loved mother and the charming grand-mother who came in to meet me. Yet these things have not caused her to become a cynic. She has not permitted the disillusions every one meets to use her — one might, in truth, say she has used them — accepted them — been taught by them.
“Any one who breasts the world must accept some disappointments,” she said. “Some of those whom I felt I might trust have broken faith perhaps, but must we always remember the unfortunate when there is so much of the fortunate?”
A white ball of fluff, so very white that one felt his bath knew bluing, had been snoozing before the fire. Rising, he stretched himself and, jumping to the lounge, made a place for himself beside the girl, with a manner of assurance absurdly funny in anything so tiny.
“Was it a theatrical tendency of the family which caused you to go upon the stage?” I asked her.
“No, I am the first of the Whitneys to know the joy of public life,” she told me, rubbing her hand affectionately thru the fluffy white ball of a dog at her side. “It caused something of a furore, too, when I spoke of the stage, and mother vowed she would disown me if I became a chorus girl, but, of course, she didn’t. Father stormed and grandmother pleaded. I’m very clad tho, that I decided to for today I’m able to give them both the things father gave them when he lived. I’ve been able, thru my work, to accept the position as bread-winner for our little family.”
More and more, as one meets them and knows them, one comes to admire the women of the profession. Many of them are, like Claire — bread-winners, accepting the responsibility, not with a sense of duty, which is so often an unpleasant sense, but more with a sense of privilege.
“When I was a schoolgirl here — we’ve always lived in New York— I used to be a habitué of the local stock company,” she went on, laughing softly at the remembrance. “After the matinee, I’d go around to the stage-door and wait for the leading-lady to come forth, shivering almost to death in the blustering cold. And when she did appear, I would be incoherent She was the most wonderful creature upon this good, green earth to me, and one season, when it was rumored that she would not return. I was disconsolate. That is her picture — there on the piano — I keep it to remind me of what I feel a responsibility. Perhaps there’s someone somewhere who has made an idol of me. woven me into some ideal dream as I did that little leading-lady. I should not care to disappoint them by anything I might do.”
She doesn’t know which she likes best. the stage or screen. She explained that the response of your audience in stage work is immediate and while that is absent in picture work, you have the satisfaction of knowing that your work is far-reaching. She is happiest when combining and screen work, for she feels she then does both better too.
There is an almost indescribable air of whimsy in Claire, which is fascinating, and the material things of her life would often, perforce, give way to fantasy — one divines that from the Japanese prints. they breathe things intangible — delightful.
When I saw her, she was dressed for her evening’s engagement in a frock of silver cloth with slippers to correspond. As someone once expressed a similarity, “it was Claire in the dress, not the dress on Claire.”
Again she was not submerged.
Claire Whitney is not obtrusive — nor is she “submersible.”
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But the room in all its charm didn’t submerge Claire Whitney herself — rather it served as a background for her with her wealth of pale gold hair and her quiet little air of distingué
Photos by Campbell Studios
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There is an almost indescribable air of whimsy in Claire which is fascinating — and the material things of her life would often perforce give way to fantasy — one divines that from the Japanese prints, they breathe things intangible — delightful
Photos by Campbell Studios
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What’s in a name? — much, says Hayakawa
“What is your name?”
“Sessue Hayakawa.”
“Where did you get that name?”
“That’s a fair question,” retorted the actor, “but you’re stealing away part of my mystery stock. I hear people pronouncing it “Seessoo” and “Susie” and I’ve been addressed as Mr. Hakawaka. Mister Kakawaha and what not.
“The meaning of the name is ‘successful fisher.’ Sessue is ‘sure’ and Hayakawa ‘fisher.’ One of my paternal ancestors was a famous net caster and he used to catch more fish than anybody in his native village. In Japan a name always has a family history — for this inculcates pride in ancestry.”
So the mystery is solved!
Collection: Motion Picture Magazine, March 1920