What Kind of a Fellow Is — Schwalbe? (1918) 🇺🇸

Being a glance at the real human side of the big men of the picture game caught in action

by William A. Johnston

The first time we met Harry Schwalbe something happened that created a lasting respect for him.

Two other film men were in the party. One of them expressed an opinion on film conditions and methods with which Mr. Schwalbe did not agree.

Did Mr. Schwalbe smile sweetly, say an idle word or two and let the conversation pass on? He did not.

Emphatically, he did not.

He said that he didn’t agree with the first speaker, said so quietly but firmly. At first a mere barrage of disagreement, then a gradual marshalling of artillery that raised facts on his adversary.

Our respect for Harry Schwalbe, of Philadelphia, was born when we discovered that here was a film man who didn’t always agree with what the other fellow said. That is, agree until the other fellow had gone — then tell you why he was all wrong.

Our respect grew into admiration as we heard him unlimber his facts.

This man Schwalbe, we believe, has at his finger tips more facts and figures about all phases of the picture business than any film man we can recall.

Producing, exhibiting, distributing— they are all the same to him. From experience and from study he seems to have gathered ledgers of figures, figures, figures.

Ask him the total amount of film rentals paid weekly in the United States and we’ll bet he’ll give you the answer in dollars and cents.

Ask him the percentage of usher’s salaries spent on chewing gum and we’ll bet again.

Ask him the approximate overhead distribution cost of any particular exchange system and — well, he’ll know as much as the head of the particular system does anyway.

He’s a quiet man and a conservative man — the one marks the man who keeps silent and learns facts, the other the man who acts on those facts. Is it any wonder that the members of the First National Exhibitors Circuit are glad to rest their affairs in his hands as secretary and treasurer.

His intimates and employees swear by him with equal voice; his employees because — “if he gives you a job to do he lets you do it yourself. He doesn’t bother you by fussing about details, and if there’s anything wrong he tells you, not someone else.”

He lives in Philadelphia — one-half of the time. The other half is spent in New York at the First National offices. His publicity department has strict instructions that “ he doesn’t like publicity for himself.”

But as we near the close of our page we must mention the one blot on the Schwalbe escutcheon.

He was once a musician — and he played an atrocious instrument.

We are not sure which, but our informant says — either the trombone or the oboe.

Think of it in connection with the fact that Jesse Lasky once played a cornet, that B. A. Rolfe played some other sort of a thing-a-majig.

We begin to harbor a suspicion that if we could dig deeply enough into the history of many other picture magnates we might find a whole film orchestra.

Which brings to our mind a suggestion — why not as one of the features of the coming Boston Exposition a Film Magnates Band?

We’ll almost wager that William A. Brady will volunteer for the bass drum.

And then every time William A. got going too loud with the bass Jesse Lasky could inject a little softly artistic cornet note.

And if the pace got too fast Harry Schwalbe would be there with the conservative purring of the oboe.

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Illustration by: Harry Palmer (Harry Samuel Palmer) (1882–1955)

Collection: Motion Picture News, June 1918