William Holland — A Big Guy in the Movies (1926) 🇺🇸

Editor’s Note. — Here’s where we reverse the order of the old adage which says a prophet is without honor in his own country. Only to the folks in his home town does this assistant director appear as an important figure. His letters to Mazie were compiled from anecdotes furnished by William Holland.

Out in Salina, Kansas, my hometown, they think I am the pumpkins. “Yeh, he’s a big guy in the movies,” they say when they talk about me. And then when I go back home for the well-known vacation, all I’ve got to do is strut down the Main Street past the Globe Hotel to let the home folks know that their Great Big Movie Man is once again back in the fold. I just swells out my chest and makes the most of it, because these visits home are the only preventatives I have from getting that disease called an inferiority complex. You see, my gang out home calls me Director. And Hollywood only knows me as one of those poor simps who is only an assistant director. There’s some difference, too; believe me, there’s some difference.

But if the home folks is willing to think me a great man, I’m willing to have them think it ‘cause if it wasn’t for me and a few more like me there wouldn’t be any great men in Hollywood. I’ll go farther than that — there wouldn’t be any Hollywood, and more than all, there wouldn’t be any movies. We made that town, and we do the work; yet that’s all the credit we get. It takes the home town folks to give the credit where the credit is due, so I throws out my chest, and warms myself in the limelight, and lets ‘ern keep on thinking it.

All except Mazie. Mazie’s been to Hollywood doin’ extra work, so she knows the ropes. Mazie and I are gettin’ married some day, tho, and the great story of my rise to fame is never spoiled, nor made smaller by her. She’s a good girl, Mazie is.

We was talkin’ the other night about how things was goin’ and I was tellin’ her it was the same old story. The directors were all getting’ rich, while the assistants did all the work. “‘Tain’t fair, you know. Mazie. It’s the guy with the drag that gets the job,” I says to her and she says. “Yeh, I know it, you’ve got to know the guy that owns the thing before you ever get any place in movies. It’s hard sleddin’.”

Well, I had a swell time out home, but it only lasted for two weeks; so I packs the bag and beats it back to Hollywood where nobody’s appreciated, unless he has a million dollars. About the only fun I get in Hollywood is writin’ to Mazie. We write to each other every day ‘cause we’re gettin’ married soon, you know.

June 9th

I pulled in at six o’clock Tuesday night. I ate supper at the depot, then took a stroll out on the boulevard past the Studio just to see how things was getting along since I’ve been gone. I no sooner got to the gate than I meets Wally Worsley [Wallace Worsley]. He just bellowed his happiness at seein’ me and told me to come right in and put on my work clothes. I told him that my vacation wouldn’t be up till twelve, so he says, “All right, but be sure and he here then.” I was a darn fool to show my face around that studio. I might have known they couldn’t get along without me.

I showed up on the dot, ‘cause when I’m on the job, I believe in doin’ it right. Everybody was havin’ their midnight supper when I arrived, so I had time to walk around a bit and get acquainted with the job. At one o’clock the warning gong rings loud enough to wake the town, but it don’t have much success on the lot. There was about two hundred extras that had to be accounted for, so they told me to find them. I no sooner get here than I begin to do all the work. Well. I gouged those buzzards from behind doorways and sets till I had most of ‘em on the job.

Gee, what a sleepy crowd. I had to go to Ernest Torrence’s dressing-room to tell him we was ready to shoot. On my way there I passed thru a dark street that had a lot of dummies lying around on it. I stumbled on one of them and fell right down on top of it. It was soft and life-like. It could even snore, so I gives its nose a pull, and tells it to get on the job if it don’t want the gate.

Got to close and get to work now. Lots of love.

Monday.

Dear Mazie: You’d have died laughin’ yesterday to have seen what I saw. Lehrman [Henry Lehrman], the comedy director, told a coon to get ready for an ablution scene. He meant he wanted him to take a bath, you see. The coon was a little shaky about it all anyway, but when the director told him to put a lot of suds on his back, so a lion could come in and lick it off like it was ice-cream, that coon turned white. I thought his eyes was goin’ to pop any minute. he looks at Lehrman and says “What lion’s goin’ to lick whose back?” Lehrman trys to smooth matters over by tellin’ the coon that the lion’s tame, that it was brought up on a bottle. The coon thought that one over for a couple of minutes and then says: “Boss, I was brought up on a bottle, too, but I sure enough eats meat now. No suh, boss. I’m goin’, good-bye.”

Things are goin’ same as usual, Mazie. I know and you know, tho, who’s doin’ the work. Ain’t that right, sweetie?

Thursday.

Dear Mazie: We’d been makin’ comedies all morning ever since seven o’clock. Slim Summerville and Bobby Dunn, those two comedians who are always having fun pulling jokes on each other, are just about drivin’ us wild with their darn foolishness. When the lunch gong rang, I was glad to get away from the strain of that set. So I goes in and has a good lunch. When I come back, I found Bobby Dunn up in the air on a wire. He and Slim had been the last ones to leave the set, and Slim had thought it would be a swell joke to leave him there while we were all eating.

Bobby was good and sore, so he gets a hold of Sloppy Gray, a fellow who is workin’ with Slim during the afternoon, and puts him wise. There were two hundred extras standing around waiting to be told what to do. Sloppy was told to run in and jump over a table. The camera started to grind, and the extras started in to do their stuff. All of a sudden Sloppy runs in and holds up his hands, hollerin’ to stop the camera. After we stop, Sloppy announces from the middle of the floor that he can’t go ahead because he doesn’t feel the scene. Slim chased him all over the lot while the two hundred extras waited. And I just about went crazy.

It’s a great life, honey, but I’m getting ready for a change.

Tuesday.

Dear Mazie: I was goin’ home the other night, when the boss called to me. “Here’s a little assignment I wish you’d take care of before tomorrow,” he says. His little assignment proves to you what they think of my ability out here. All he wanted was thirty black cats, an elephant, another cat that will eat out of the same bowl with rats, a horse that will blink its eyes and cry, a chicken that will swallow a fake diamond the size of a golf ball, a man that will roller-skate around the top edge of a twelve story building, a rooster dressed up in a trick suit of clothes and one thousand whiskey bottles with labels. Well, I got them. Had to — we were starting the picture in the morning, and then I’ve got my reputation that’s got to be lived up to.

Nothing’s happened since the last time, but you know my motto, Mazie, “Grin and bear it.” If you didn’t grin, you’d pass right out on the job. All my love, honey, and I’m hopin’ to see you soon.

Friday.

Dear Mazie: I had to go out the other day and find a house where we could shoot some front porch scenes. I found one, finally. The guy that owns it didn’t want to let us have it, but I gives him the old line, and he didn’t hold out on me long. They can’t resist me long, you know that, Mazie. We shot a couple of scenes with Bert Roach and Neeley Edwards, when the fellow that owns the house comes out and asks us to leave. The boss talked to him, but the boss didn’t make no progress at all. The man went in the house after telling us he would call the police if we weren’t off in ten minutes. The boss turns to me, and asks me what I’m goin’ to do about it. I asked him back why he should ask me that question any more than any one else and he said I was the guy that had got the house, so he thought it was up to me to keep it. You see, the boss knew I was the only one who would be able to accomplish the impossible, but he wasn’t willing to lose his dignity before the rest of the company; so I get bawled out and have to do the job besides.

I went up and rang the bell, and when the old fellow came to the door, I went in and started to talk with him. He was one of those guys who likes an argument, especially when he is pretty sure of winning, so we talked and we argued and we argued and we talked till I could see, from my position by a window, that the boys had finished up with their work. I bid my host good-bye, with many apologies, and walked out of the front door feeling fine.

The boss didn’t say anything about it. I guess he must have felt kind of cheap, because he hadn’t done it himself.

Saturday.

Dear Mazie: Awful busy these days. This is just a note to tell you a good one on Joe Murphy. We were making an Andy Gump comedy with him one day out by the lake. Joe was in the water supposed to get bitten by a turtle. The camera grinds away as Joe splashes around in the water. All of a sudden he grabs his hand and starts hollerin’. Seeing that Joe is actin’ more natural than usual, we investigate and see that he is actually hurt. He had cut his wrist on an old tin can, and it was bleeding so that we had to take him to the hospital. I was told to go with him. He passed out half-way there, and had me scared stiff.

When he came to at the hospital, I was at the side of his bed and was the first person he saw. He looked at me, and his first words were. “Get me my press agent, so he can run a story about this.” Can you beat it, the way these movie guys are always wantin’ to be talked about?

Sunday.

Dear Mazie: Tomorrow morning we’re starting a burlesque of Uncle Tom’s Cabin [Transcriber’s Note: The ‘burlesque’ might be referring to the “Our Gang” short Uncle Tom’s Uncle (1926)]. The director just phoned me to have everything ready. I’m gettin’ used to that, Mazie. I never worked for a director who didn’t expect me to do all the work. And I never will work for one where I won’t expect to do it all. So it’s all right. If the directors can’t do it themselves, it’s a darned good thing that there’s fellows like me who have the ability to put it over.

All this director wants for tomorrow is for me to have a pack of funny lookin’ dogs to be bloodhounds, arrange for the ice blocks, make plans for the snow storm, and see to it that all the cast is on the job.

After that he probably figured I could go out and have a good time. The directors are such considerate fellows. Well, Mazie, I haven’t gotten the raise yet, but you know why as well as I do. They’re afraid of me, and they don’t want to give me too much authority.

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Illustrated by Charles Joseph Mulholland

It was up to me to find a rooster that could be dressed up in a trick suit of clothes

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The director told him to put a lot of suds on his back so a lion could come in and lick it off like it was ice cream

All that he wanted was thirty black cats, an elephant, a horse that will blink his eyes and cry, and a chicken that will swallow a fake diamond

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Collection: Motion Picture Magazine, February 1926