Helen Gibson — The Girl with Nine Lives (1916) 🇺🇸
She is certain that she has lost Eight of them. The photographs are the evidence — What do you think?
by Cecilia Mount
Do you remember your childhood superstition — that cats were gifted with nine lives? Some wag, who disclaims any intention to term Helen Gibson “catty,” early in that intrepid lady’s career christened her “The Girl with Nine Lives.” The Motion Picture Magazine representative had that phrase in mind when he set out to secure an interview with Miss Gibson, and it was the subject of his first question.
“Oh, yes,” laughed Miss Gibson, “I have heard that they call me ‘The Girl with Nine Lives.’ Well, if the description is right, I am pretty certain that I have lost eight of the nine already, for it is a rather weird coincidence that in my career as the ‘hazardous Helen’ there have been just eight occasions when I really did come within a fraction of an inch of losing my life. But I am not afraid; I am just going to keep on carrying out the actions of thrilling scenarios. Only I hope the ninth extra narrow escape is a long, long way off.”
Slight of build, pretty, and with a somewhat shy air, Helen Gibson did not impress me as the reckless, daredevil type. Had I had not been long an admirer and close follower of her work on the screen, I might easily have come to the conclusion that she was the sort of girl who would climb atop a six-foot bookcase, should an innocent little mouse poke his nose out of the corner of the room. But Helen is not of the braggart type. Indeed, it was with some difficulty that I prevailed on her to tell me some of the details of the eight “lost lives.”
“The one narrow escape that will always remain in my mind,” she declared, “occurred when I was called upon to jump from the top of a railroad station to the top of a train that was speeding by. Of course, you can easily see that we are not able to rehearse the thrill scenes of the Hazards very thoroly since once is enough for any one to perform most of the deeds. I had measured the distance from station to train very carefully, however, and had tried the jump with the train stationary. Then, when I told the director I was ready, the camera was placed in position, and the train went a great distance down the tracks and prepared to get up speed.
“You can imagine my feelings as the train came rushing toward me. I had to calculate the moment of my leap to the fraction of a second, for a miscalculation would send me between the cars of the train. When the right moment came, I flew from the station and landed squarely atop the train. I had calculated the jump correctly; but the sudden shock of landing on a speeding train was greater than I had imagined, and before I had secured a grip on the slippery car-top, I had rolled to the end of the car. The next second I felt would send me to eternity, but just as half my body had fallen between the cars, I secured a firm grip on one of the small air transoms that you see in the top of the car.
In what seemed a terribly long time, but was really only a minute, the train had been brought to a stop. The director was running about, half crazy by this time, and the camera man told me later that it was sheer force of habit that kept him turning the crank, for his wits had completely deserted him. We certainly were fortunate, for the camera got it all.” In her last sentence Miss Gibson seemed to sum up the total of Moving Picture philosophy. “We were fortunate; the camera got it all” — hardly a thought of the barely escaped catastrophe, but all concern over the result for the screen.
The same trend of thought ran thru all Miss Gibson’s other experiences as she related them to me. While appreciating the narrowness with which she had averted death in most of them, there was only reason for regret when the camera failed to register the full force of the peril, self-congratulation when the screen was able to show you fans all the risks that had been encountered. She told me, with the same naïve air, of the hazards which you see illustrated here of the time when she had fallen fourteen feet from a massive railroad bridge after a thrilling fight with a gang of supposed ruffians; the leap from a speeding auto to a runaway train, when a slight swerve of the machine almost threw her to the ground.
Then there was the story that called for her to leap from a hand-car to a locomotive that was pursuing her; and the reverse — when she pursued a dynamite car on a hand-car, and then jumped to the hand-rail of the freight. On both occasions slight mishaps that could not be foreseen almost brought about serious accidents. “And you can bet,” concluded Miss Gibson, “I was really glad when I saw that dynamite car exploded later, in the story. I am sure I felt a personal grudge against the horrid thing.
“Another thrill that almost tore my nerves to threads, if I have any nerves,” she continued, “was the drop from a railroad bridge to the top of a speeding train that was going under the bridge. I also remember well the time when, riding on the cowcatcher with another player, I had to lift a man from the tracks before the locomotive. I really think that was among the worst of my experiences, for, besides myself, I had also to consider the lives of other players.
You can be sure that my hair all but stood on end while we were holding the player for the few minutes that elapsed before the train could be brought to a stop. “We had to go a certain distance to carry out the action of the plot. Narrow escape number eight had come in the same picture a few minutes earlier, when I had walked along the runway of the locomotive to get to the cowcatcher. In rounding a curve, I very nearly lost my balance on the narrow perch. Number nine? I don’t know when it will come, but I’m not worrying. As long as the fans want railroad pictures I’ll keep on taking risks playing in them.”
With all the danger that is clearly attached to the making of railroad pictures, it is one of the Kalem Company’s boasts that no serious accidents have ever occurred to any of the players engaged in the work. This is due in great part to the long experience of the company in staging subjects of this nature and the fact that every facility is afforded the producing force. The studio devoted to these pictures is located in a switchyard, and the entire branch spur of a California railroad has been leased outright.
Ever since Kalem originated railroad pictures, they have proven among the most popular of subjects with photoplay fans. Not a little of the popularity is due to the charming personality of Miss Gibson, the Hazards of Helen girl, “The Girl with Nine Lives.” Look over the photographs and see if you agree with her when she says that she believes she has already lost eight of the nine.
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Collection: Motion Picture Magazine, February 1916
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