Evening star., 1940-03-21

To-Day Is not, as you probably
know as well as we do, Thanksgiving
Day. But today there is something
for which we are thankful. We are
thankful that our sense of balance is
where some one connected with fly
ing airplanes once told us it was, in a
fluid in our ears, and not in our
eyes. We have just spent the last
hour in the back room at Tom
O'Donnell's new emporium of the
sea food, the room which represents
the cabin of boat, where you look
through portfolios and apparently
see the sea and three master on
the distant horizon rise and fall as
the ship you are supposed to be
aboard rocks on the waves. We spent
an hour there and we are not sea-
sick. Hardie Meakin, Keith's pleas
ant manager, was there, too. He ate
his steak like healthy man would,
glanced occasionally at the distant
schooner, showed not the slightest
sign of NAL de mer as he arose to
stride back to his office and there
contemplate the joys of having
"Pinocchio" to show you come to-
morrow morning.
Those people who have been
asking why doesn't some Washing
ton spot have name bands?" have
been heard up on Woodley road
Come Monday night, a mammoth
cake will be presented to Eddy
Brandt at his farewell party and the
moment the last crumbs are swept
away the Wardman Park Metronome
room will be invaded by couple of
busy little carpenters, intent upon
readying the room for the arrival of
Gray Gordon Tuesday evening. The
"Tic-Toc Rhythm" fellow brings
with him 13 musicians and a girl
who sings, lass named Rita Ray,
so the Metronome bandstand must
be enlarged to accommodate them.
The carpenters and Whatnot will be
busy with other things, too. There
will be, according to report, new
murals, new lighting effects, sundry
other details occupying them in the
Is hours between Mr.. Brandt and
Mr.. Gordon.
One of the boys about town
will learn here, if he is listening,
that he got what he has been asking
for the other night. Meeting one
of the villages lovelier and, though
he didn't know it at the time, more
discerning blonds, he started to un-
reel his line.
Il know you," he told the lass.
"I'll bet you've been in pictures.
"Yup," she agreed. Il have"
Where and when, he wanted to
know and she thought up a studio
and a year
That's where it was" he an
nounced. Il was a writer at that
same studio at the same time. What
was your screen name?"
Rita Raphael" the young lady
told him.
Certainly" the lad maintained
with an air of a man remembering,
"I knew you well out in Hollywood. }"
What he does not know until now
is that she was at a different film
studio at a different time and Rita
is just name she thought
of on the spur of the moment the
other night.
If you are contemplating any
in the near or even
the far future with Miss Roma Reid,
We advise you to use typewriter.
We advise you even to sign your
name via the typewriter. For
Miss Reid is that handwriting ex-
pert at the Club Troika and one
glimpse of the way you write en-
ables her to tell you things about
yourself you never knew till now.
The things she can find out about
your character, just from examining
what happens when you set pen
to paper, are amazing, as was dis
covered by a Hollywood bound
critic at Troika's happy farewell
party for him a recent night. He's
going to be amazed clear to Albu-
querque. Miss Reid, incidentally, has
amazed number of screen stars
with her handwriting analyses. One
of them is Ginger Rogers. Another
is, according to our notes, somebody
named "Shhmmma." Maybe those
green candles Troika broke out to
honor st. Patrick's Day do not give
as much light for note-taking as
the familiar red ones.
The Midnight Merry Co
Round Madrillon plays host to
two of Lounge Riviera's ex-head-
walters the same evening-Leo, now
back at Club Troika, and William,
maitre d'hotel at the Wardman
Park. This is the same evening
are interrupted in their