Ruth Stonehouse — That Stonehouse Youngster (1920) 🇺🇸
There are certain Sunday afternoon motor trips in Hollywood, just as each town, however small, boasts some favorite Sunday afternoon stroll, whether it be up Bon Ton Avenue or to the reservoir. Laurel Canyon, which is a canyon because of two towering mountains on either side, is the Mecca of Hollywood motorists who have enjoyed a late dinner and seek a short but pleasant spin.
by Betsy Bruce
One doesn’t wonder at its selection, for it is a beautifully picturesque road, and now and then, if you return after dusk, you’ll see the glow of the lights in the pretty bungalows scattered here and there along the mountainside and quite secluded from view by the huge eucalyptus-trees which spread sheltering arms around them.
In one of the most attractive of these domiciles, which boasts glorious fruit-trees, a prize grapevine and, most wonderful of all, an honest-to-goodness old-fashioned garden like the one grandmother used to revel in, with a garden wall ‘n’ everything, lives Ruth Stonehouse. And it was here at “Stonehouse Castle,” as she whimsically calls her abode, that she had requested I visit with her when I had ‘phoned her early that morning.
There were two ascents to the house, one of wide stone steps up the mountainside, while a little further up the road was a sloping, flower-bordered path. Luckily, I chose the steps, for they led to the kitchen-garden and fruit-trees. Had I gone the other way, this interview would have been very different. As it was, I saw something very much like golden hair glitter thru the branches of one of the fruit-trees and, walking about to the other side, I discovered “Ruthie” Stonehouse endeavoring to balance a ladder, a huge basket of fruit and herself at the same time.
Coming quickly down the ladder, she brushed her hand off on the brown overalls she wore and then offered it to me with her word of greeting.
“I never do anything like other people,” she admitted, regretfully, as we wended our way toward the attractive house and entered thru the French windows overlooking the garden. “The last thing Joe told me when he left was not to gather that fruit, but, of course, I had to have my own way, and now look at me! Any other person would have been dressed when a perfectly good interview was at stake, but I always do manage to accomplish the taboo act.”
Joe, kind readers, is Ruthie’s husband. And he’s a very, very nice husband, too, so she says, and not eligible for “Only Their Husbands’ Club.” being a scenario writer of repute and extremely clever.
“Well, as long as you don’t mind, I’m glad the fruit is mostly all gathered,” continued Ruth. “You just can’t get a man around here to do anything but hug the studios. It doesn’t matter whether they were gardeners or school-teachers in their home town — they’d rather starve to death believing themselves a second Booth than help conserve the season’s crop. Now, if you’ll make yourself comfy. I’ll take ten minutes to make myself respectable, and if friend husband returns, please don’t tell him you discovered me up a tree, will you?”
And, obtaining my promise, she flew up the winding stairs, leaving me in the long living-room, with its inviting chairs, filled bookcases, huge fireplace, Oriental rugs and pretty hangings.
In less than the requested ten minutes she returned, looking like some elfin spirit which had glided in thru the open window, in a simple white crepe de chine frock, her hair waving about her forehead in golden ringlets.
Ruth’s voice is particularly musical. The fact that she planned a career on the stage and, in fact, was on the stage for a time, may account for this fact, for it is well-modulated and always well under control.
Nestling up comfortably on a chaise longue. she looked at me from beneath half closed eyes and, deciding that I was not particularly dignified or ancient. I imagine, she laughed and laughed at the manner in which she had been caught.
“You just can’t be gardener, housekeeper, cook and movie star all at once,” she managed to gasp between spasms — “while working on ‘The Master Mystery,’ the Houdini [Harry Houdini] serial and ‘The Masked Rider,’ I was away from home and had no servant problem, but now that I’m working here in California with Hale Hamilton at Metro I often run home between scenes.
She loves to laugh — you see that in the roguish twinkle in her eyes — but almost in a moment they can become unfathomable depths — deep pools that seem to know the wisdom of the world. Ruth Stonehouse does her share of thinking too — she is not all the elfin spirit — perhaps that’s what makes her so interesting, so fascinating — she is a study of highlights and shadows, but the shadows are like summer showers and quickly disperse in the sunshine of her smile.
“Essanay was the first motion picture concern with whom you worked, was it not?” I asked.
“Yes — it was at Essanay that I received my introduction to ‘Scandal Alley.’ she laughed. “The family moved from the Montana ranch to Chicago, when I was a young girl just in my teens. I loved dancing and planned to continue on to New York and accept a vaudeville engagement when a friend, whose father was an official at the Essanay. suggested the movies. And so I journeyed to the studios every day and perched myself on one of the trunks in the corridor of the dressing-room building where I would sit and wait for some kind-hearted director to call me for a bit as a maid. In reality I was about as important at those Essanay studios as a groom -at a wedding, but finally they decided to put on a circus picture and behold — my ability to do stunts at last came to my assistance — well, the public liked me and I was made a star. I think a star’s salary then was about fifty dollars a week.”
“Are you going to return to New York?” I asked.
“Oh yes, I’m saving for another trip now — I need a young mint in New York. The wonderful shops tempt me so that I really suffer. The last time I was there I stood before a beaded bag in one shop so long, trying to ease my conscience about paying the price they asked, that when I left the counter a woman followed me. I’m sure she was a detective. I lost her at a bargain table rush, however — my only fear was she’d tap me on the arm before I reached that table — I knew I could lose her there. Of course nothing would have happened, but it would have been sure to get into the papers and all the time I was dodging her I could see the headlines. Well, anyhow, the next day I walked into that shop and purchased that bag just like such extravagance was an ordinary occurrence.”
Somehow, Ruth reminds you of days when you used to play “Tap on the Back,” “Relivo” and all the other games. She’s the kind of girl who would be responsible for every game invented. but who would adopt every homeless cat and dog for miles around; and who would bear the “bully,” however large and terrifying he might he, who teased the younger children.
And the “Mrs. Neveryoung” of the block be sure to call her “That Stonehouse Youngster.”
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Two new portraits of “Ruthie” Stonehouse, who admits she was as important at the Essanay studios, where she started picture work, as a groom at a wedding
Photo by Hoover, L. A.
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Mrs. J. Anthony Roach, née Ruth Stonehouse, on the grounds of her Hollywood home. She loves to laugh — you see that in the roguish twinkle of her eyes.
All photos by Browers, L. A
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Collection: Motion Picture Magazine, February 1920