William Haines

DOUGLAS FAIRBANKS, JR.

Billy Haines is, physically, a most annoying and contradictory person.

He is gigantic of stature -with extraordinary large bone structure, together with a deep resonant voice. He is muscular without being athletic, yet when he walks there is a certain grace that suggests delicacy. There is masculinity in his actions, yet a definite tendency toward femininity in his thoughts.

Being at heart an expressionistic artist, he has a great deal of the woman in him that is best expressed in his discriminating taste in decorations, furniture and art works. He runs an antique shop in Hollywood under a friend's name.

He is embarrassingly frank in everything that he does. He carries about him no inhibitions or "spooks" as to convention or precedents, and does what he damn well pleases, either because he wants to, or because he thinks it is right. He is candid to a fault.

He seems to be forever seeking something, and whilst passing away the time, he will act the clown. It is a contagious humor which has seldom, if ever, been what one would conservatively term dignified. In fact, he frankly states that only the Rabelaisian species of humor really appeals to him. He is the only individual that comes to my mind who can tell an anecdote and at the conclusion be his own most enthusiastic audience without being offensive. He has a deep spasmodic laugh that seems to deprive him of his breath every few moments—most of the time it is forced, and one may, with a little effort, detect it.

He is the life of every party—its most likable fool, and at the same time its most profound philosopher.

He rarely imbibes to any considerable degree, yet he can go the limit and never be suspected.

He has a great deal of pride that visibly manifests itself at rare intervals. His temper is cautious and shrewd and his vocabulary at such times is devastating to say the least. He is super-sensitive and extraordinarily easy to offend.

He admires smart women. If he knows the lady and she is not wearing what he considers the correct things, he will not hesitate—very politely—to tell her so. He is one of Marie Dressler's greatest and most ardent fans.

He takes great pleasure in dressing himself meticulously in whatever may be at the moment the dernier cri. He has a passion for large white linen handkerchiefs, and has an enviable collection of imported ties. He is a gourmet par excellence, but that talent has a potent tendency to carry him overweight.

When he is working he is forced by the demands of his profession to limit his luncheon to a slim glass of buttermilk. He is a diligent worker and the majority of his most amusing scenes are the result of an impromptu inspiration. He would rather be a serious actor than a comedian, but being a good business man, he knows that at the moment his success lies in comedy.

The fresh character which he portrays in the cinema annoys him considerably more than it does some of us.

His most pregnant fear is that his hair is visibly thinning in front, making him easy prey for any and all hair growing systems.

There is still a trace of "Old Virginny" in his speech that adds a certain naivete to his manner.

One needs but two things with which to arm oneself against such a calamity, and place oneself in a comfortable position for a good hearty laugh—first, read the reports from the theatre managers as to the increasing attendance of each succeeding picture; second, meet him and know him. C'est assez.