J. Warren Kerrigan — A Son O’ the Stars (1917) 🇺🇸
Jack Warren Kerrigan must have been born under a lucky star. In twenty-seven years he has become one of the play world’s twelve most popular men, and one of the supreme matinée idols of the movies. He’s Irish, and he isn’t married. If Kerrigan isn’t lucky, then there’s absolutely nothing in luck.
by Delight Evans
He is said to receive at least one-hundred letters each day from various admirers — mostly girls, occasionally boys. Moreover, he answers them. And he finds time to prove that he’s a very good actor — his matinée-idol record notwithstanding. Verily, the stars smiled when Kerrigan made his first entrance, and they have been smiling ever since.
When J. Warren [J. Warren Kerrigan] told me that sometimes “all this hero-worship stuff” bores him awfully, and that he dislikes nothing so much as the feeling that he is “on exhibition,” I stared at him. I couldn’t help it. Fancy a matinée-idol whose idolators bore him! But when Kerrigan tells you with his Irish smile punctuating his words, that it’s so, you believe it.
“And those letters you receive — are they all of the ‘mash note’ variety?”
“No, not all of them. Some are frankly silly; others intelligently appreciative. And I’ve had some, from ministers and mothers that more than make up for all the rest.”
“I like sincerity,” he continued earnestly. “And I like serious-minded people — perhaps because they are so hard to find. And I meet so many of the other kind! On this speech-making tour of mine, I’ve had perfect strangers call me ‘Jack,’ and some of them insist they went to school with me, or know my family. Why, one man grasped my hand and told me he was sure I remembered him — used to go to school with me in Louisville. ‘And you’re just my age — 47,’ he added. I said he must be confusing me with one of my older brothers — perhaps Ed or Harry. I reminded him that I happened to be the youngest son, being just 27. But he wouldn’t listen. He thought I was lying out of it, and told me so. You see, I don’t like to argue with ‘em!” Kerrigan laughed at the recollection; then added: “But don’t think I’m unappreciative. I’ve enjoyed meeting all my friends, and it has been a pleasant experience. It is hard on a fellow, though.” He just couldn’t help being truthful. He reminded me of the small boy who wanted to tell a ‘whopper,’ but couldn’t.
“Please tell me — are you ‘Jack’ or ‘Warren’ Kerrigan?” ‘Jack’ in “The Road to Yesterday,” on the ‘legit,’ the boys began to call me ‘Jack’ and the name has stuck to me ever since. It’s my lucky name.”
And then we discussed the relative advantages of stage and screen. Mr. Kerrigan, like most actors who have tried both, loves the stage, but thinks the photoplay offers wider opportunities.
“Do you believe the picture-field to be overcrowded?” I asked.
“Indeed, yes. There are hundreds on every waiting-list. But the boys and girls won’t believe it. They come to me and I give them what advice I can. I try to impress upon them the fact that there are talented and experienced people who can’t ‘get in.’ They must see for themselves, however, and they do if they are in earnest. But many of them seem to go into it ‘for fun.’ If they were serious, they would go farther. Now, to prove that statement, take the case of Lois Wilson, who won a beauty contest and came to Universal City. She played very small parts at first, but she worked hard, and studied, and soon she was my leading woman.
She’s succeeded, because she is a wonderful little girl, and deserves it.”
Speaking of the mistaken impressions which some “fans” seem to entertain, Mr. Kerrigan told me that, contrary to general opinion, a photoplayer must work harder than men in other professions, and has very little time to himself.
“We must be able to do almost everything, and do it well. And the harder we work the more they demand of us. Personally I refuse to work after six o’clock or on Sundays. I want some time to myself! You have no idea how little privacy I have,” he declared. “People think I don’t give them enough for ten cents, I guess — for they demand more than my efforts on the screen. They confront me at every turn. I don’t even answer my telephone out in Los. Mother became nearly distracted because she thought it her duty to answer every call, until I entered an assumed name in the directory.”
“So all that is not merely ‘press stuff?’”
“I should say not,” emphatically, “and I’m not proud of it, but it’s true, and there’s no getting around it.”
My next question was neither original nor particularly brilliant. “Your hobby?”
“Why, mother’s my only hobby,” he returned. “She’s the finest mother in the world; I call her my angel.”
The thought may not be pleasing to some of Mr. Kerrigan’s admirers, but I can tell them for a certainty that the little mother out in California occupies all of their idol’s thoughts, and that he is happiest when he is with her. And his favorite role is not that of matinée idol. He much prefers to be simply the son of Sarah McLean Kerrigan. He’s a Broth uv a Boy… Good ‘cess to him!
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Collection: Photoplay Magazine, July 1917 (The Photo-Play Journal for July, 1917)
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