James Patrick Hogan — The Story of a Man Who Knows Life (1927) 🇺🇸
Soldier of fortune, ball player and director, but first of all, a man
by Tom Waller
West Coast Representative
Thirty-three years ago, just a few days past, while a tiny stream of water was coursing between a few tiny black hairs on a tiny head, witnesses heard a voice solemnly reverberate.
“I christen thee, James Patrick.”
Just like the other regular fellows of today, the Pats and Jacks and the rest of them who submitted in swaddling clothes to a thorough spraying in behalf of their mother’s patron saint, Hollywood wouldn’t know what you were talking about if you called Jimmie Hogan James today.
There is a load of real news copy that Jimmie has stored up in those thirty-three years: Soldier, professional baseball player and then back in 1916 — the movies. Even with all of that there’s a bigger career ahead of Jimmie. Everyone knows he’s megaphoning big productions.
We couldn’t resist the temptation of sacrificing one of those rare tid-bits of news which would have afforded a smashing lead. We had to start at the very beginning about Jimmie because of something that happened while we were waiting for a few minutes gab with this director.
It was the baby Kate Price held in her motherly arms before the glaring lights on the interior set in Mountains of Manhattan, which Hogan is directing. The nurse was around and everything was evident, even to observers near the honky-tonk organ and squeaky violin, that Hogan was preparing to stage a christening for fans. The water was nearby and the clergyman was standing near us ready to be summoned on the set. Then the little feet commenced to kick. Long weak tears started to drool over chubby red cheeks.
“Naw! The poor kid can’t go it now. And he’s missed his sleep today, Kate. Let him have his nap and we’ll move over to the other set until he wakes up.”
They were going to name him Aloysicious, so, when we finally did get to Hogan, the first question which popped out quite unexpectedly was:
“How old are you?”
When he had shot back at us just as quickly:
“I’m thirty-three and for God’s sake don’t spell my name J-A-M-E-S.”
It seemed that Jimmie had had the same premonition and that our typewriter simply forced us to pick on James Patrick Hogan and not Aloysicious What-Not.
We didn’t have to ask Hogan many questions. In fact, the interview between lights on and off did not last over five minutes. Keeping us waiting gave us the heart of the story. A giant of a man with thick coal black hair. A man’s man with a man’s job stopping the works for a fledgling. A man with a heavy stubble on his face and grif of iron, knowing exactly why an infant was crying. A glimpse into the real character of a fighter and an artist and yet flashing an instinct more maternal than paternal in its accuracy.
“I suppose you want to know why I’ve been able to direct thirty-seven pictures,” Hogan chided us after the little “James” episode.
Just watching Jimmie for the few minutes before on the Universal City set, had already imparted this information, but we wanted to enjoy some more of the humor.
Just as suddenly Hogan changed. He swung a big paw over to our knee and said with all earnestness:
“In the pictures which I direct we all live like one large family. I take suggestions from the lowest property man.”
This statement also had made its impression long before it was uttered. Just before Jimmie joined us on a prop couch, and after he had ordered that the baby be given its napping period, we had occasion to note the way in which his cast flocked about him. They were all like one big family. Yet with it all, there was no undue familiarity. Everyone called him Jimmie. But everyone used the right tone.
How everyone in the game gets in the game is usually an interesting angle in an interview. It is true that practically all directors before they get their megaphones are assistants, and before they are assistants, cameramen or ambitious property men. Not so with Hogan, however.
Hogan had put five years in the army. He also had played first base in the old New England League. It was while he was recuperating from an injury sustained during a baseball game in 1916 that he happened to be wandering around a lot in Whitestone, Long Island, where Mary Pickford was working in Less Than the Dust.
As a ball player Hogan said he was drawing down seventy-five bucks per week, which was sixty-seven better than he had realized in the army.
He was quite satisfied with his advancement until he happened to inquire of a property man:
“How much does that bird make?”
“The bird” happened to be John Emerson, who was directing the picture.
When Hogan was told that he would have to add a cipher to his seventy-five in order to make up the difference he reminiscenced to us the other day:
“That’s when I happened to make up my mind to get into the picture game.”
The “How?” was another matter. Hogan’s physique landed him all over the studio in his first capacity. He was studio watchman.
Hogan’s chance came shortly after, when some expert advice was required on the making of an army guard house.
After that Douglas Fairbanks came along and Hogan found himself in Hollywood as an assistant director.
All of this happened in 1916. Now Jimmy Hogan doesn’t worry about ciphers!
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Carlos Duran and Rosalind Brynne in The Secret Studio for Fox under direction of Harry Beaumont.
There will be more stories by Tom Waller about the people who count in Hollywood. They will relate the real facts as given by the people themselves to an accurate reporter, who knows human nature and appreciates it. Waller, we believe, knows the studios and their people better than any writer now doing trade paper work on the Coast. — The Editor.
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James (Jimmie) Patrick Hogan
Steel Preferred, Capital Punishment, The Isle of Retribution
Collection: Moving Picture World, February 1927